The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [179]
Avain frowned, considering something. Over the winter past Mic had seen her scry far-off things often enough that he no longer doubted that she was as dweomer as the island itself.
“Avain wants to really see them. Avain go downstairs.”
“All the way to the manse? Will you go all the way to the manse? That’s where they are.”
“Avain go to the manse.” She stood up. “Now.”
Getting her down the stairs and out took a fair while. She would descend a few steps’ worth, then lose her nerve, but every time that Mic suggested she go back to her room, she would shake her head and take a few more stairs. Finally they reached the tower door, where she balked one more time.
“There’s the manse,” Mic said, pointing. “The babies are in bed with your mother. Do you want to see them, or do you want to go back?”
Avain took a deep breath and stepped out into the sunlight. She yelped and put both hands over her eyes, separating her fingers just enough to peer out through them.
“Nasty,” she remarked, perhaps of the glare. “Avain wants to see the babies.”
Mic led her inside through a back door to the manse, so they could avoid the men in the great hall. Once in the relative shade she sighed and lowered her hands. The stairs up she took willingly, giggling a little as they climbed. At the door Mic knocked; in a moment it opened a crack to reveal an irritable Lonna.
“And what do you want?” she hissed. “I won’t have anyone bothering my lady—oh! Avain!”
“Avain wants to see the babies,” the lass said. “Two babies.”
“Well, there are two, truly.” Lonna stepped back and opened the door. “If you want to see them badly enough to come down, then see them you shall.”
Avain marched into the room, and Mic followed to keep an eye on her. Back home in Lin Serr he never would have been allowed into the presence of a woman who had just given birth—men were forbidden to impinge upon such sacred and dangerous matters—but Lonna, so long away from Dwarven society, let him in. He did stay well back by the door, though, lest he pollute Angmar and the infants somehow.
Avain ran right over to her mother’s bedside. Angmar woke, smiled and sat up, turning her face so Avain could kiss her cheek.
“Babies!” the lass squealed. “Two babies!”
“Just so,” Angmar said, laughing. “My darling Avain! How sweet of you! Here are your new sisters, right enough.”
With Lonna’s help, Avain picked up the bigger infant. Mic was surprised at her gentleness; she held the baby carefully and merely gazed into its eyes. Finally with a sigh she handed it back to the maidservant.
“Pretty!” Avain announced. “So pretty!”
“She is, isn’t she?” Angmar said. “Would you like to hold the other one?”
Avain smiled and nodded, then once again took the infant with surprising tenderness. When she bent her head to look into its eyes, she squealed in delight.
“Granmama!” Avain said. “Avain is here, Granmama!”
With a glance at Angmar, Lonna leaned forward to take the baby. Avain planted a kiss on the baby’s cheek, then surrendered her. Lonna handed her back to her mother.
“Avain?” Angmar whispered. “Do you mean Grandmother Marnmara?”
“It is. Granmama.” Avain looked up and laughed, then spun away from the bed, spun around and around, suddenly graceful as she grabbed her dress at the seams and held it out, as if she were tugging at wings. “Mama wants to go home, Granmama.”
In the crook of Angmar’s arm the baby had fallen back asleep. Lonna came stumping over with a short bit of green thread.
“Let’s just tie this around Mara’s little ankle,” Lonna said. “So we can tell her and Berwinna apart.” She glanced Mic’s way. “I’ll explain later.”
“Well and good, then. If I don’t die of curiosity first.”
Avain laughed, clapped her hands, and danced over to the window.
“Home,” she said. “We all go home soon.”
Mic felt foolish for allowing himself to hope, but hope he did, that perhaps she’d been given an omen that soon Haen Marn would return to Dwarveholt. But what did “soon” mean to her, anyway, and what, truly, would she see, staring into the