White Blood

by Holder, Angela

  Maryn flinched, and struggled to suppress the memories roused by the stark words. She tried to make her voice steady, but it came out a squeaky whisper. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Coewyn looked at her sharply. “There can be no question your milk was at fault, then. He was healthy and thriving up to the time he was killed?”

  This time Maryn did not trust her voice. She nodded.

  “Hmm.” Coewyn pursed her lips. “The midwife explained to you the significance of the fact that you have nursed no other living child? Nor shared your milk with any other? I must stress that your honesty in this matter is non;-;negotiable. If you are lying, we will find out, before the prince tastes one drop of your milk, and you will be punished.”

  Maryn stared at her clasped hands. “I understand, ma’am. I’m telling the truth.”

  “Good.” Coewyn set the paper down briskly. She opened a drawer in her desk and drew out a small round mirror. She passed it across the desk to Maryn. “Let’s see what you have to offer.”

  Maryn took the mirror and blinked at it stupidly. It filled her palm. The glass was smooth and clear, reflecting her face sharply. She was startled to see how young she looked. She didn’t feel young.

  “Go ahead.” Coewyn scowled at her.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”

  Coewyn gave a gusty sigh. “Your milk, girl. I need to test your milk. Squirt a bit onto that mirror.”

  “Oh.” Maryn groped at the tie of her shift. At least after all her practice of the past few days it was a simple matter to spray a generous splash onto the smooth surface of the mirror. She pulled her shift up and passed the mirror back to Coewyn, watching the Stewardess in surreptitious fascination while she retied her drawstring.

  Coewyn tilted the mirror, studying the droplets of milk as they rolled across the surface. “Nice white color, clear, no spottiness or cloudiness.” She ran the tip of one finger through the middle of the puddle, intently observing the clear streak left behind. “A tad thin, but it will do.”

  Her actions reminded Maryn of a herdsman evaluating whether he should purchase a dairy goat. The thought made her feel small and insignificant, but she shrugged aside the discomfort. That’s what the Royal Stewardess was doing, wasn’t it?

  Coewyn set the mirror down on her desk. She took a cloth from the desk drawer, meticulously wiped the trace of milk from her finger, and murmured a brief phrase Maryn recognized from the blood;-;cleansing ceremony. The towel sparked faintly and Maryn felt a tiny buzz of power. Coewyn leaned back, set her elbows on the arms of her chair, and steepled her fingers. “Now, tell me about yourself, Maryn.” Maryn thought her tone sounded positive, even pleased.

  Maryn obediently began a recitation of the basic facts of her life. Coewyn interrupted often with questions. She probed deeply into the most intimate aspects of Maryn’s experience, until Maryn found herself describing her physical symptoms upon her first flow of blood, and the fleeting attractions she had felt for various neighbor boys before her marriage. She blushed and stammered, but forced herself to answer as truthfully as she could manage.

  “And your husband? Tell me how you met.” Coewyn looked at her expectantly.

  Maryn’s voice faltered. She had barely spoken of Edrich since the fire. But if she was to have any hope of being chosen, she would have to answer, no matter how painful she found it. She forced the words past reluctant lips. “I was sixteen. Every day I would bring our family’s tithe of eggs to Lord Negian’s manor. One day Edrich was there, negotiating to buy fleeces from Lord Negian’s flocks. He saw me, and stopped the steward in the middle of their haggling to ask who I was…” The words flowed more easily as she went deeper into the dear memory. She found herself cherishing every tiny detail she could recall about Edrich, from the way his thick blond hair had fallen over his forehead, to the way he had clenched his hands behind his back so tight the fingers whitened when he finally worked up the nerve to approach her father. Coewyn listened with a little half-smile as Maryn rambled on about their courtship and wedding, almost forgetting that her words were being judged.

  Coewyn leaned forward a bit. “So you came a virgin to your husband’s bed?”

  The intrusive question shocked Maryn out of her momentary reverie. If anyone else had asked, she would have refused to dignify the question with an answer, but the Royal Stewardess held Maryn’s fate in her hands. “I—Yes, of course. But I don’t see what that has to do with my suitability to be the prince’s nurse.”

  Coewyn frowned. “It has everything to do with your suitability. Don’t you know that the character of the nurse is transmitted to the child through her milk? I am charged to choose only someone of the highest moral fiber, the most impeccable reputation. So far nothing of what you have told me casts any doubt on your qualifications in that regard. Though if you are in the habit of indulging in such rude outbursts, I might have to reconsider that judgment. It will not do for the prince to acquire a defiant temperament.”

  Maryn gulped. “I’m sorry, Madam Coewyn. I’ll tell you anything you want. I promise, I’m not rude or defiant. Of course you know best what to ask; I won’t question you again.”

  Coewyn leaned back, satisfied. “Remember that. Now, tell me more about your relationship with your husband. How soon after you were wed did you conceive?”

  Maryn was about to launch into a detailed account, desperate to give Coewyn whatever she might want, when the door opened. The page poked his head in. “Madam Coewyn, the Royal Sorcerer is here.”

  “Ah, yes. Send him in.” She rose and beckoned for Maryn to do the same.

  The Royal Sorcerer strode into the office. He was a tall man, and his rich burgundy robes swirled about him dramatically. He nodded graciously at the Stewardess. “What can I do for you, Coewyn?”

  She returned his nod. “One more wet nurse candidate, Rogelan. I hope I haven’t put too much of a burden on you, with so many. But I do think this should be the last, as long as the scrying doesn’t show anything unexpected.”

  Did that mean the Stewardess favored her? Hope caught at Maryn’s breath and set her heart racing. But there still remained whatever mysterious test the sorcerer was going to perform. Maryn eyed him warily. She knew she had nothing to hide, but magic was dangerous and unpredictable, and she had always viewed those who wielded it with awe and fear.

  “Not at all. I’m always happy to assist you. May I use your desk again?”

  “Certainly. Here’s the sample.” She indicated the mirror on her desk and came to stand by Maryn.

  Rogelan settled into Coewyn’s seat. After fussing for a moment with the exact position of the chair and the mirror, he drew a knife from a sheath at his belt. It was smaller than the common knives everyone carried to cut their food. The blade was polished to a brilliant shine, the hilt gold and set with precious gems. Rogelan laid it crossways on the desk, between him and the mirror that held Maryn’s milk.

  The sorcerer set both his hands flat on the desk, to either side of the knife and mirror. He drew a deep breath. Taking up the knife in his right hand, he extended his left over the mirror, and began to chant in the ancient language of sorcery.

  His rich bass voice intoned the invocation used at the beginning of every working. He pricked the ball of his left thumb with the point of the knife. A drop of blood welled out; he twitched his hand and it fell onto the surface of the mirror. The scarlet spread and mingled into the white puddle of Maryn’s milk.

  The buzzing sensation of magic vibrated in Maryn’s bones. Setting the knife down, Rogelan picked up the mirror and swirled it, further mixing the blood and milk. He continued to chant; his incantation reached the end of the words Maryn knew and continued in unfamiliar cadences.

  The liquid on the surface of the mirror began to steam, like water boiling in a kettle, though no bubbles disturbed it. More and more vapor poured from its surface and swirled into a dense cloud, shot through with a network of faint blue sparks. Rogelan set down the mirror
and put out both hands. The cloud stayed confined between them, thickening. Maryn began to catch glimpses of shapes forming within. Vague and indistinct at first, they gradually resolved. Her own face first, just as it had appeared in the mirror, though drained of all color in the white mist. Then, fainter, and wavering a little even when they reached full resolution, two other faces. Maryn caught her breath and bit back a cry. There were Edrich’s beloved smile and bushy eyebrows. And there were Frilan’s plump baby cheeks and long lashes, and the unbearable sweetness of his bow-shaped lips.

  Coewyn scowled at her, and Maryn choked down her sobs. She fixed all her attention on the cloud, to feast her eyes on the dear faces as long as possible.

  Rogelan’s chanting went on. The faces in the mist held steady, nothing else appearing. Too soon for Maryn, the sorcerer lowered his hands. The shapes faded into indistinctness, and the mist began to disperse. When it was fully gone, Rogelan’s chanting shifted, and Maryn began to recognize some of the phrases again. The remnants of the pool of blood and milk burst into a fountain of blue sparks. The buzz, which had subsided into a background drone, crescendoed to a teeth;-;rattling throb before ceasing. The sparks died, until all that remained was the mirror, smudged with residue. Rogelan brought his spell to a close with a reverent intonation of the closing words, and fell silent.

  Coewyn broke the silence first. “Well, girl, it seems you spoke the truth.” She turned to the sorcerer. “I only saw the three. Did I miss any faint traces?”

  Rogelan examined the tip of his knife. There was a bit of blood residue, but he apparently detected no power left in it, for he wiped the blade on a cloth at his belt and sheathed it. “No, no traces. Just the three, and the two clearly passed into the next world. She’s free of kin-ties.”

  Coewyn sighed, and for the first time since Maryn had entered her office seemed to relax. “That’s a relief. I’d been worried we were going to have to settle for that woman from Whito and pay off the friend to take her son out of the country. But there would always have been the possibility of something like what happened with that milk;-;sister of Marolan’s, and you remember what a mess that was.”

  “Indeed.” Rogelan rose and moved out from behind the desk. “This girl will serve much better. Good work finding her.”

  Joy and terror churned together in Maryn’s gut. It was going to happen. They were going to give her the job. She hadn’t believed it was possible, not really. In the back of her mind she had never stopped rehearsing the gracious words she would use to accept rejection and thank the Stewardess for her consideration. She had plotted the route from the palace to the merchants’ guildhouse; the coins to pay for her passage back to Ralo were safe in her purse. Becoming the prince’s wet nurse was only a dream. She had to go through the steps so she could say she had tried everything, before accepting her fate and going back to the miserable but familiar life of a serf. But now, impossibly, the dream was becoming real. What had she gotten herself into?

  Coewyn ushered Rogelan to the door. “Thank you again for your aid.”

  “It’s no more than my duty. Don’t hesitate to call whenever you have need.” He swept from the room.

  Coewyn turned back to Maryn. “Well, Maryn, my choice is clear. The position is yours. Now let us discuss the terms of your contract.”

  Maryn fought an impulse to stammer a refusal and flee. She would not throw this chance away, not after she had worked so hard and come so far. She drew a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you, Madam Coewyn.”

  “Thank me after the prince is safely born and your place is secure.” The Stewardess sat down at her desk and pulled a cloth from the drawer. She picked up the mirror, rubbed off the sticky film of blood and milk residue, and tucked cloth and mirror away. “With any luck this will see much use in the next few years, with Princess Voerell married, and Prince Marolan’s bride arriving in the fall. Now, if only Prince Carlich will leave off his wild ways and settle down, King Froethych might finally be able to rest easy.”

  The Stewardess rummaged through the papers on her desk and produced a sheet of finely written text. “This contract spells out your responsibilities and obligations. It’s the standard agreement, save for a few provisions unique to the royal family. You will note, in particular, that instead of the typical five-year term, you will be bound to abide by certain conditions for life. Under no circumstances are you permitted to engage in any sexual relationship, licit or illicit, until after the prince is fully weaned, on pain of immediate dismissal. If at any point after that you wish to marry, your prospective spouse must be approved by my office.” Coewyn looked sharply over the paper at Maryn. “You will receive a generous payment each year you refrain from producing a milk;-;sibling for the prince.”

  Maryn blushed and looked down at her lap. While she knew intellectually that someday she might wish to wed again, her grief was still so fresh she couldn’t imagine wanting another man. Certainly not before the prince weaned. That might be as soon as two years, although some children nursed much longer. But even if the prince was one of those who didn’t wean until he was five or six, Maryn didn’t anticipate the prohibition would pose any difficulty. “I understand.”

  Coewyn studied her a moment, and nodded. “If you fulfill all your duties adequately, you will remain in the employ of the palace after your charge weans, continuing to serve as his attendant and servant. When the prince reaches the age of twelve, he will become a page, and you will be assigned other duties.” She went on for a good while longer, enumerating all the details of the contract in complicated language Maryn found difficult to understand. Eventually she quit trying and just nodded whenever Madam Coewyn paused for breath.

  Finally the Stewardess stopped speaking and looked at Maryn. “I trust you find all these terms satisfactory?”

  Maryn had no standing to negotiate them, even if she didn’t. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Coewyn pushed the paper across the desk to Maryn, and thrust a quill pen into her hand. “Good. Sign there.”

  “Excuse me, Madame Coewyn?” Maryn clutched the pen and stared at the marks on the paper. “I don’t read or write.”

  Coewyn narrowed her eyes. “That’s right; you were a serf. Didn’t you learn, after you moved to the town?”

  “Only a little.” Edrich had made a few half;-;hearted attempts to teach her, but he didn’t have the temperament for it, and it had not gone well. Truthfully, she had not been particularly interested. She was quite willing to allow Edrich to keep the family’s accounts, and there was little other practical use for the skill.

  Coewyn sighed. “Just make whatever mark you can; it will have to do.”

  Maryn poked the pen into the pot of ink and dragged it across the paper at the indicated spot. The ink blotched and smeared, but she managed to produce a wobbly approximation of the first letter of her name, the one symbol she had successfully committed to memory.

  The Royal Stewardess set the contract aside. She picked up another piece of paper, frowned at it, and set it down. “I suppose this won’t do you any good. It’s a list of the rules of protocol you are required to follow. I was going to instruct you to study it.” She glanced at Maryn’s contract as if she wished she might rescind it, but set her mouth and went on. “You’ll just have to listen while I explain.” She sat back in her chair and fixed Maryn with a stern gaze. “As wet nurse, you rank quite high. Beneath Princess Voerell’s ladies;-;in;-;waiting, who are all daughters of noble houses, but above her personal servants. Be sure to note, however, that the Under;-;Stewardess in charge of the Royal Nursery will have final say over the prince’s education, and you will be expected to conduct yourself accordingly.

  “Of course, Madam Coewyn.”

  “You must at all times observe the proper etiquette in your interactions with your superiors and inferiors. You will find life in the palace very different from the provincial town you come from. I will assign someone to instruct you in the full details, but for now you must at least understand the basics.” S
he launched into a description of the types of servants, employees, officials, dignitaries, and nobles that Maryn might encounter.

  Maryn listened as carefully as she could, but she soon became aware of growing discomfort. At length she had no choice but to interrupt. She chose her moment carefully, waiting until Coewyn paused between topics. Even so she spoke over the beginning of Coewyn’s next sentence, and the Stewardess glared at her. “Excuse me. But I must express my milk soon, if I’m to maintain a good supply until the prince is born. And if there’s a privy I might use…”

  Coewyn rolled her eyes. “I suppose you must. I’ll have one of my aides get you settled in your rooms, and show you to the garderobe.” She rose and led Maryn toward the door.

  Before they could reach it, the door flew open and a page burst into the room. “Madam Coewyn, the Royal Midwife sent me. She’s certain Princess Voerell is really in labor this time. She thinks the prince might be born in only a few hours!”

  Coewyn raised her eyebrows. “Tell the Royal Midwife I am on my way. And you can inform her I have secured a suitable nurse, and will present her to the princess shortly.” She turned to Maryn. “Take care of your business quickly. I will come to your room in half an hour to collect you. With any luck, you will begin your service before nightfall.”

  Five

  A low moan sounded beyond the ornate door. As Madam Coewyn conferred with the guards that flanked the entrance to Princess Voerell’s quarters, it escalated into a shriek.

  Maryn caught her breath. The sound brought back a vivid memory of her labor with Frilan, the way the pain had wrapped around her body, squeezing tighter and tighter until she feared she might break in half. The same cry had burst from her own lips as the pain climaxed. She had fallen quiet as the pressure eased, as the voice beyond the door did now.