CHAPTER
32
HEATH HAD HIS ARM
AROUND ATIRA’S HIPS, SUPPORTING her every slow step. He was
relieved to see Detros at the door of the Queen’s chambers. “Just
in time, Captain,” Detros said as they walked up to the chamber
doors. His eyes narrowed as he took in their condition.
“Lanfer?”
“Dead.” Heath stopped
and held Atira tight as two women went past, carrying buckets of
water.
Detros nodded in
satisfaction. “Eln’s inside. Crazy Firelanders—begging your pardon,
miss—are washing everything. Archbishop and the witnessing lords
are already in.”
“You’ll seal the
doors?” Heath asked. There was a bunch of guards standing about and
runner lads sitting farther down the hallway, ready to take
messages.
“Aye, we’re ready.”
Detros heaved a sigh. “Been a damn hard day, but we’ll
cope.”
“Aye to that,” Atira
grumbled.
Heath tightened his
grip on her hip, and they entered the room. It was good to know
that Detros had things under control.
The new Archbishop
was standing by the door with his two acolytes beside him. Iain was
trembling, and Heath knew the young man was probably exhausted. But
the grim look on his face told Heath that Iain was determined to do
his duty.
That grim look turned
to concern as he took in their condition. “Eln is in with the
Queen,” Iain said as he shut the door behind them. “Perhaps we
should send for another healer before I seal the
doors.”
“No,” Heath
said.
“We look worse than
we are,” Atira groaned.
“I am not sure that
is possible,” Iain replied, but he threaded a golden chain through
the bolt and pressed a soft lump of lead to both ends. One of the
acolytes handed him a crimper to use, squeezing the Archbishop’s
seal into the soft metal. Heath thought the lad seemed pale; he
sympathized as Lara cried out from her chamber.
The hearth was filled
with fire and pots of water. Marcus was busily working, providing
kavage and tea to all. The room was filled with all of Lara’s
bodyguards and the witnessing lords.
“Let us all witness
the sealing of the doors,” Iain announced, his voice wavering a
bit. “The birth of the heir can now go forward.”
“As if he has
anything to say about it,” Atira mumbled.
Heath snorted, then
flinched as Lara cried out again.
“The healer’s in
there with them.” Marcus scowled at him. “Take her in
there.”
Heath girded up his
loins and did just that.
ATIRA WISHED SHE
COULD SCREAM WITH LARA.
Lara had just taken
to her bed when they pushed their way through the bedchamber door.
She seemed to be fighting off the efforts by Anna and her women to
put her in bedclothes. “A sheet will be enough,” Lara growled. She
was sweating, her curls plastered to her head.
Keir reached over,
grabbed up the nightgown, and over the cries of the women, opened
the heavy wooden shutters and threw it out the window.
Eln was at the foot
of the bed, letting Amyu pour water over his hands. He nodded in
approval of Keir’s action. “That takes care of that, I
think.”
“Men in the birthing
chamber,” Anna scolded as she spread the sheet over Lara. “It’s not
proper. They’ll just get in the way, or faint or some such, wait
and see.”
“I was there when the
babe was created.” Keir settled in at the head of the bed, moving
to support Lara. “Why not now?”
Anna flushed bright
red.
Lara laughed and
groaned, and then caught a glimpse of Heath and Atira. Her eyes
went wide. “Dearest Goddess, what happened to you?”
Eln turned, raising
an eyebrow as everyone else stared.
Heath shifted his
weight from one foot to the next. “Maybe we should stay in the
other room. We can wait.”
“I’m just in labor.”
Lara scowled at him. “You both look like you’ve been dragged
through the streets.”
“Over here.” Eln
moved to a bench by the wall and cleared off some supplies. Heath
limped over and settled Atira down on the bench as carefully as he
could. Atira groaned, but she managed to stay upright, putting her
back to the wall.
“Lanfer?” Keir
asked.
“Dead,” Heath
said.
“Good,” Keir
growled.
“Where does it hurt?”
Eln asked.
“Everywhere,” Atira
replied, trying hard not to breathe.
“He broke her arm,”
Heath said. “And she vomited during the fight.”
“Let me see,” Eln
said. He tipped her head back and looked into her eyes. “How’s your
stomach now?”
“Better,” Atira
said.
“Can you see? Are you
dizzy?” Eln knelt, digging through one of the bags on the
floor.
“Yes,” Atira replied.
“Yes.”
“All right then.” Eln
pulled a bottle out of the bag. “We’ll start with
this.”
Lara was struggling
to sit up, trying to see. “Orchid root? Eln, if she’s been
brain-bruised—” She groaned and fell back into Keir’s arms. “Oh
Goddess.”
“Her eyes are fine,
Lara.” Eln scooped out a small bit of thick red paste onto his
finger. “Open wide.”
Atira eyed him
suspiciously.
“It will take the
pain away,” Eln said impatiently. “Unless you want me to touch your
shoulder without.”
Atira opened her
mouth.
Eln put the paste on
her tongue. “Just let it melt. Heath, get that cloak off
her.”
Heath helped her ease
the cloak down over her shoulder, revealing the tatters of her
dress. Atira would have ripped it off, but Heath seemed intent on
keeping her breasts covered. City-dwellers.
The thick paste was
melting on her tongue with a sweetish taste to it. Atira grimaced
and swallowed hard.
Lara was panting now,
and Keir was leaning over, whispering to her, offering his muscular
arms for support, letting her grasp his strong hands. Anna and the
women, all dressed in white, moved about the bed like clouds in the
sky. The whole room seemed to take on a glow, and Atira sighed,
relaxing, suddenly feeling warm and content. She felt herself tilt
over onto Heath’s shoulder. It was a good shoulder, and she liked
the way his hair smelled.
“That’s the way.”
Eln’s voice seemed to come from quite a distance, and Atira blinked
as his strong, thin hands explored someone’s arm. She frowned,
thinking that she should be concerned about that for some reason.
The person the arm belonged to might be hurting.
“Ah.” Eln had reached
the other person’s shoulder and neck and was feeling the bone under
the skin. Pain surged over Atira, and she blinked as her arm
suddenly belonged to her.
“Now, this might hurt
a little,” Eln said as he gripped her wrist. He wrenched her arm
over and—
By the time she
regained her wits, Eln was tying a cloth around her neck that
encased her arm. “The joint was out of its socket. Not much more I
can do than this and willowbark tea.”
Atira grimaced as she
stood and walked back to the bed. “How long?” she asked, trying to
clear her head.
“Depends on the depth
of the bruising,” Eln said. “Could be a few weeks. Could be a month
or more.”
“I knew it,” Atira
whispered to Heath.
“You need to wash
again, healer,” Amyu said as Eln approached the bed.
“Yes, yes.” Eln stood
and tossed a packet to Heath. “Brew her some of this, and make it
strong. And don’t try to move her just yet. The orchid root will
need time to wear off. But for now—”
Lara groaned
again.
Heath went white and
swallowed hard. “I’ll see to the tea,” he said. He gave Atira an
anxious look. “Will you be all right?”
Atira leaned back
against the stone wall and looked at him. “She’s just having a
baby.”
“Yes, well,” Heath
said, darting a look at the bed. He gave her the oddest look, then
made his escape.
Atira laughed weakly.
The Warprize had explained that Xyian men did not normally aid at
the birthing. Which made little sense to her.
She sighed again,
then yawned. Healers always seemed to make it worse before they
made it better, but she had to admit that paste and the cloth had
eased her pain. Now, if she just didn’t have to move for a month or
so . . .
“I see the head,” Eln
announced as he took his position between Lara’s legs.
Atira blinked and
focused on the scene before her. That seemed fast, although one
never knew with first babes. Still, it was good to know that Lara’s
time would be short.
Lara was breathing
hard now, following Eln’s instructions, and pushing as best she
could. The women were gathered with warm clean cloths in which to
take the babe.
Eln was reaching now,
his long, thin fingers encouraging the babe’s progress. Atira got a
quick glimpse of a mass of dark hair as the healer started to
smile. “Oh-ho, what have we here?” He lifted the bloody pink mess
that wriggled in his hands. The tiny face screwed up, and then a
cry rang through the room.
The room echoed with
joy as everyone smiled and laughed. Atira smiled, too, but there
was an odd tugging at her heart. An old sorrow hovered over her as
memories crowded in.
“A boy, and a fine
one,” Eln announced.
Anna was standing
there, cloth at the ready, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, he’s
lovely, Lara,” she said as she took the babe and waited as Eln tied
the cord.
“Let me see, let me
see,” Lara said, sobbing and laughing at the same time and reaching
out. Anna obliged, leaning over the bed to display the babe.
“Welcome to the world, Xykeirson.”
Amyu stepped away
from the bed, averting her face from Lara and the babe. She caught
Atira’s eye and drifted over to the bench to sit beside
her.
Lara groaned again
and started to pant. “Eln, the afterbirth? That felt more
like—”
Anna drew the babe
back in alarm, but Eln just started to laugh. “Push, Lara.
Push!”
“It can’t be.” Lara
started laughing then and straining again. As Anna and the rest of
the ladies looked on in wonder, Eln worked swiftly, then lifted
another babe with a head full of dark hair. He took a cloth from
one of the women, used it to cradle the child, then stepped around
to place the bundle in Keir’s hands. “A Daughter of
Xy!”
Lara burst out into
happy tears.
Keir looked down,
astonished. A little hand appeared, waving in the air as the little
girl squalled at the top of her lungs.
Eln returned to his
place. “There’s still work to be done here, Lara.”
Lara panted, propping
herself up on her elbows. “Two? Twins? Let me see,
Keir.”
Keir held the bundles
close, and Lara started crying again. “Oh, beloved.”
“They are perfect,”
Keir said in awe. “But she needs a name, Lara.”
“Kayla for the girl,”
Lara said, easing back onto the pillows to finish the business.
“Her name is Xykayla.”
Atira watched as Keir
was overcome, tears forming in his eyes.
One of the women
offered to take the babes, but Keir was having none of that. He
took the children over to Anna, and together, they started to clean
them.
Atira stifled a sob,
sorrow welling up within her, remembering all too well performing
her duties for the tribe. One did not speak of the pain that
life-bearers carried, except for. . .
Keir and Anna were
placing the babes on Lara’s chest, letting her touch them and
exclaim in delight. The Warprize had made it clear from the very
start that she would not follow the ways of the Plains in this. She
would nurse and rear her own children, according to Xyian custom.
Those of the Plains would guard and aid, but she would be as thea
to them.
As mother to
them.
It was too much.
Atira dropped her eyes, unable to watch.
Amyu’s head was down
as well.
Grief shared is
halved. Atira reached over and touched the back of Amyu’s hand. “We
are the life-givers. Life-bearers of the Plains.” Atira whispered
the words that were chanted at every birth on the Plains. “This is
our burden. This is our pain.”
Amyu stiffened. Her
sorrow was of a different kind, she who was unable to bear. How
many births had she witnessed; births of babes that she alone could
not bring forth. But she nodded, acknowledging the shared grief.
“The tribe has grown. The tribe has flourished,” she responded, her
voice meant for Atira’s ears alone. “This is our burden, this is
our pain.”
“Our babes are taken.
Our arms are empty.” Atira’s throat closed at the memory. “This is
our burden, this is our pain.”
Amyu finished the
chant. “This is the price of our freedom.”
Lara yawned as Eln
declared himself finished with his task. “You need sleep, Daughter
of Xy,” Eln continued, starting to wash his hands.
“We must present the
babes to the witness and have them blessed,” Anna said. “Lara,
close your eyes for a bit. We’ll get you cleaned up shortly. Amyu,
we’ll need more water for washing.”
Amyu got up and
followed Anna and Keir out the door. Eln was right behind them, a
cloth-wrapped burden in his hands. The afterbirth, no doubt. The
other two women had some of the dirty linens in their hands as they
followed him, laughing and happy. Atira could hear the shouts of
happiness and surprise as the door closed behind them.
Lara sighed, her eyes
already drifting shut.
Atira yawned as well.
It seemed like forever since—
A noise brought her
back. The sound of a door being barred.
Atira opened her
eyes. One of the ladies in white was still in the room, moving
around to the head of the bed. Atira glanced at the door. It was
barred.
She frowned. That was
wrong. Why would she bar the door?
The woman had a
pillow pressed over Lara’s face.
Lara was struggling,
but she couldn’t seem to reach the woman. Atira pushed herself to
her feet and staggered toward the bed. “Stop,” she rasped, the room
spinning widely.
A pounding at the
door, with voices raised outside. Keir’s was loudest. Then the
doors seemed to bulge as the men began to ram something against
them.
“This whore killed my
son.” The woman looked at Atira, her eyes filled with madness.
“Women die in childbirth all the time.”
Beatrice. Durst’s
bonded. Atira remembered seeing her, a shadow next to her lord.
There was no sanity there, no reason. The winds had taken her wits
as sure as the sun rose. Atira staggered over, grasped the pillow,
and yanked it out of the woman’s grasp.
That was her intent,
at least. But the woman hung on with both hands, and they tugged it
between themselves.
Lara heaved in deep
breaths, clutching at the bed with her hands, staring wildly about
the room.
Atira’s grip was with
a single hand, but Beatrice used both. So Atira tugged hard, and
when Beatrice struggled harder, she released the pillow, sending
the woman staggering back from the bed. Atira placed herself
between Lara and the madwoman and reached for her
dagger.
Her fist grasped
empty air.
Atira cursed. No
armor, no weapons. Never again would she wear a cursed
dress.
Beatrice had Eln’s
knife. She stood there, framed in the window, held the blade high,
and laughed. “I’ll cut her head off, just like the Warlord cut off
Degnan’s.” Beatrice waved the blade at Atira.
The door boomed
again, the bar starting to splinter. Lara was sliding off the bed
on the opposite side. She went to the floor, dragging bedding with
her.
“Then the babes, I’ll
kill the babes. Children die, so young, so precious. They die so
easily—”
“Enough,” Atira
growled. There was no choice. If the woman managed to take her
down, Lara would be an easy kill.
Beatrice attacked,
slashing with great sweeps of her arm.
Atira dodged the
blade and rammed the woman in the chest, forcing her back,
back—back once more, and Atira rammed her hard enough to force her
over the sill and out the window.
Beatrice never
stopped laughing as she fell.
Atira put her back to
the wall and closed her eyes.
“Atira?” Lara asked.
“Atira?”
The door burst open
and Keir and Heath ran into the room.
Lara peeked her head
up from the side of the bed, her curls in total disarray. Atira
smiled at her as she let herself slide down the wall. The pain was
calling, and she really wanted to go into it for just a little
while.
Heath’s arms enfolded
her, his voice in her ear asking questions. She didn’t even try to
hear the words. She just enjoyed his touch and the sound of his
love.
“Go ahead,” he
whispered. His arms tightened around her, supporting her. “I’m
here. I have you.”
That was right,
wasn’t it? He was always there, supporting her, standing with her.
What would it be like if he was always there for her? And her for
him?
She smiled at the
thought as she lay her head on his shoulder and slipped away into
sweet oblivion.