by Anne Logston
Randon was silent for a moment, then he sighed.
“I want to say I wish you hadn’t tried it,” he said. “But I’d be half lying. I know why you took such a risk, and in your position I might have done the same. So I’ll thank you instead of lecturing you and say no more about it.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Kayli said, relieved. “I assure you, High Priestess Brisi, my mentor, will be far less charitable when she learns what I did.”
“Well, it’s hard to scold when I’m so happy.” Randon stepped around the table, gave her a fierce hug, then dropped to his knees to press his ear to her belly.
Kayli laughed.
“You will not feel anything now, or for many weeks to come,” she said, amused. “Your child is a tiny spark of life only just kindled.”
“Well, this little spark is going to light a big fire in Agrond,” Randon said, patting her belly contentedly. “I suppose Stevann’s already told the ministers?”
“I told him he could not deprive you of that pleasure,” Kayli said, smiling. “Just as I must have the pleasure of telling you.”
“Hmmm. Too late to call them back now, I suppose,” Randon said regretfully. “They’ll all have gone home for dinner. But I’ll ask them to supper, and Terralt, too, and of course Stevann. We’ll make a grand occasion of it.”
He fairly ran out of the room, leaving Kayli chuckling beside their abandoned dinner; it was not long, however, before he returned.
“I’ve got messengers and servants scampering around like frightened rats,” he said with a chuckle. “But for once nobody knows what’s going on but us.”
“I have not even told Endra,” Kayli said, a little surprised herself. “She has been spending most of her time with Ynea.” She told Randon what Stevann had said, and his brow furrowed with concern.
“I had no idea it was so bad,” he said. “I’ll try to persuade Terralt to let Stevann bring in other healers.” He hesitated. “Are you sure you won’t have troubles like that?”
“Endra says I should bear with no difficulty,” Kayli assured him. “I am not small and frail like Ynea, nor am I too young, nor will I bear my children so closely as to sap all the strength from my body.”
Randon looked even more worried.
“What, you mean that now you’ve conceived, you’re going to ban me from your bed for the next three years?”
“Of course not,” Kayli reassured him. “But there are teas and powders to inhibit conception; the Orders in Bregond have used them for centuries. Surely your own healers have them; did you think all your whores barren from birth?”
Randon grinned a little abashedly.
“Do you know, I never thought about it,” he said. “I suppose it’s unlikely that so many healthy women all happened to be barren while a frail thing like Ynea is so fertile.”
He shook his head.
“And Ynea has all my sympathy. But right now I’d rather think about you. And me.” He pulled Kayli warmly to him. “Want to celebrate?”
Kayli slid her arms around Randon’s neck, brushing her lips lightly over his.
“Yes,” she said simply.
After pleasure, remembering Terralt’s comments, Kayli insisted on a bath. Then she resignedly chose one of her simpler gowns (there was no hope of getting back into her formal gown with only Randon to help her), musing rather bitterly how her own attitudes had changed since she left Bregond. In the Order she would never have fretted over the formalities of cosmetics and dress.
“Not that” Randon cupped her shoulders from behind and laid a kiss at the juncture of her shoulder and her neck. “Wear that outfit you wore when you arrived that first night”
“My riding clothes?” Kayli protested, laughing. “Why?”
“Because they’re more you than anything else,” he told her. “And consequently you look more beautiful in them than in anything else. You’re going to be their High Lady, and you’ve worked hard adjusting to us. Let them start adjusting to you.”
“ ‘Them’?” Kayli chided gently.
“All right all right.” He surrendered. “Us.”
Kayli gazed into his eyes, and saw an openness there that pleased her. For the first time since she had arrived in Agrond, she thought, Yes. This is right.
“Very well,” she said, and the expression in Randon’s eyes said that he understood she was agreeing to something more than the choice of her clothes. Some essential gulf between them had been bridged in that instant. As Kayli folded her gown away and donned her riding clothes instead, she realized that Randon had understood something she had not—that the familiarity of her clothing made her feel more confident and comfortable. By the time she laced her boots, her movements had taken on their old efficiency and firmness, and she no longer felt like a performer on a stage. She braided her hair in a single plait, regretting that there was no time for the thirty-nine thin braids to which she was entitled. Well, that would wait; nobody at dinner would be impressed by their symbolism anyway.
Thus when she took Randon’s arm to walk down to the dining hall, her step was lighter and freer than it had been since she had arrived in Agrond. And if a few eyes went wide when they stepped into the dining hall, if muttered conversations came to an abrupt halt, what did that matter?
“Good evening, lords, ladies, Terralt, and Stevann,” Randon said rather grandly, giving them all a brief bow. “Tonight we’re dining together to celebrate the recovery of my wife, Kayli, your High Lady—and the mother of my child.”
Silence. It was a crucial moment, and Kayli’s eyes darted to each of the advisers, noting their reactions. Lord Kereg and Lady Aville schooled their faces to impassivity immediately. Lord Jaxon did not bother to stifle his broad grin, nor Lady Tarkas her thin-lipped skepticism. Lord Disian seemed mildly annoyed. At last Kayli glanced at Terralt, expecting to see anger or at least dismay in his reaction. To her surprise, he gazed directly back at her with a sort of resigned amusement. As their eyes met, Terralt gave her a wry smile and bowed his head briefly in acknowledgment.
The brief moment of shocked silence passed quickly, followed almost immediately by an uproar, the advisers clustering around Randon or firing rapid questions at Stevann. For a moment Kayli felt almost forgotten. Then Terralt rapped the hilt of his dagger sharply against the wooden table.
“Lords, ladies!” he said sternly. “This is, I believe, a joyous occasion which requires due celebration. And I’ll make the first toast.” He raised his goblet. “To High Lord Randon and High Lady Kayli—congratulations on the lady’s swift recovery, and on their joyful news.”
Randon led Kayli around to their places at the table, but when she started to lift her goblet, he touched her wrist, halting her. He glanced over at Stevann, who gave the barest hint of a nod. Randon took his hand away, smiling at Kayli, and raised his own glass.
There were questions, as Kayli had known there would be, and her supper was more an inquisition than a celebration, but she had expected that, too. She kept quiet and let Randon and Stevann explain while she concentrated on swallowing her second solid meal in a week.
“With respect, High Lord”—Lord Kereg hesitated—“and High Lady, a public wedding should be held as soon as possible. The banns should be posted immediately, and some sort of festival planned as well.”
“You’re right about that.” Randon was silent for a moment “We’ll have the wedding day after tomorrow. Forget the usual formalities; Gate the messengers to the outlying cities and towns if you must, and Gate back any nobles you think will be mortally offended if they can’t attend.”
Randon’s announcement surprised Kayli as it apparently did the others, and for a moment she was too confused to follow the hot outbursts that followed.
“High Lord, you can’t possibly be serious,” Lord Kereg protested. “A wedding of this magnitude must be conducted according to the proper protocols. I must insist—”
“No, I must insist,” Randon said firmly. “Lord Kereg, put yourself for
the moment in the shoes of High Lord Elaasar. Since he sent his daughter to marry me, she’s been attacked by Sarkondish raiders and poisoned by our own people, both while we were supposedly protecting her. The announcement of her pregnancy is going to cause even greater conflict. So long as she’s pregnant but not yet confirmed High Lady, she’s still a target. So the wedding will take place at noon—”
“At dawn,” Kayli said gently.
Randon glanced at her, then smiled.
“At dawn day after tomorrow,” he said. “With feasting and frolicking to follow. Then Brother Santee can return to Bregond with the news that High Lord Elaasar’s daughter has been properly confirmed High Lady of Agrond.”
“How can we possibly prepare for a festival in two days?”
Lady Tarkas asked patiently. “Mages can Gate in the nobility, true, but they can’t conjure up a feast, musicians—”
“Nonsense,” Randon said. “Plenty of performers are already in the city for the midsummer festival in a few weeks. They’ll be glad of the extra work. As for the feast, send messengers to the bakers and butchers in town. Hire them to prepare food and bring it to the feast. Right now it’s important to let the people get used to the idea that Kayli’s here to stay, and the alliance is here to stay, too.” He raised his hand. “No more argument. Now let’s eat, please. This was supposed to be a celebration.”
As the advisers murmured among themselves, Randon leaned over to murmur into Kayli’s ear, “I asked Stevann to check all the food and drink for poison. And until we’re confirmed High Lord and Lady, he’ll continue to check every drop and morsel to cross your lips.”
Kayli winced at the thought, but she could not argue, although she found Randon’s reasoning dubious. True, the confirmation would end any hope that Randon would repudiate his bride and nullify the treaty with Bregond. But if she were to die before her child was born, Randon must remarry, and the treaty could then be broken, if Randon was prepared to risk the war with Bregond that would follow. No, Kayli and her children would not be safe until she had gained popular support or the citizens of Agrond had become accustomed to the idea of the treaty. Involuntarily, she pressed her hands protectively over her flat belly and waited for the uncomfortable meal to end.
In their rooms later, Randon waved aside Kayli’s concern at his advisers’ reception of his news.
“Of course it’s a shock to them,” he said. “And they don’t like surprises. But I plan to keep surprising them. Neither one of us can afford to be thought their puppet—by the people or by them, either.”
Randon sighed, and Kayli twisted in his arms to look at him. He was massaging his temple with the fingers of his free hand, his face twisted with pain.
“Randon, are you unwell?” she asked.
“It’s nothing.” But Randon withdrew his aim from her shoulders and leaned forward, one hand pressing his left temple, the other covering his left eye. He twisted away from the light of the fire.
“Randon? What is the matter?” Kayli knelt before him, trying to pry his hands from his face. “Shall I call Stevann?”
“No—” His voice was weak. “There’s a potion.”
He waved his hand vaguely at his chest at the foot of the bed.
Kayli opened the chest. At first she saw nothing but Randon’s clothes, but as she pushed them heedlessly aside, she uncovered a small metal flask. She pulled out the stopper and carried it back.
“Is this what you wanted?” she asked.
Randon groped for the flask as if he did not see it, and in the end Kayli had to guide it to his lips. As soon as she had laid the flask aside, she pulled the tapestry screen in front of the fire, blocking its light, and helped Randon hobble over to the bed. His face relaxed slightly; Kayli hoped that meant the pain was easing as well.
“Randon, is there nothing further I can do for you?” Kayli asked gently, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. “Are you certain I should not send for Stevann?”
“Ice,” Randon muttered. “Ask the kitchen to send up crushed ice in a cloth.”
Afraid to leave him alone, Kayli rang for one of the maids. When the girl heard her request, she nodded.
“Got one of his headaches, has he?” the girl asked sympathetically. “I’ll have the ice up straightaway, and I’ll have cook brew up that clover-and-mint tea he likes. Always settles him after.”
True to her word, the maid was back with the ice in a cloth after only a few moments.
“Just put that on his head where it hurts, over his eye,” the maid said. “He’ll be right again in a bit. I’ll just bring the tea to the sitting room and leave it.”
Randon had turned on his side, away from the screened fire, and his wrist covered his eyes, but he seemed to relax a little more. He let Kayli gently move his wrist away, and he shuddered, gasping with a mixture of pain and relief, when she laid the icy cloth over his left eye and forehead. His right eye opened and focused on Kayli.
“I’ll survive,” he said, and his voice had some of his old cheer in it. “My father had headaches like this, too, from time to time, and so does Terralt. It passes soon.”
“Has it been like this all your life?” Kayli asked, worried despite Randon’s reassurances. She had known novices at the Order who had such headaches, but when pain struck, one of the priests or priestesses took them away for special rituals which apparently helped them. Unfortunately Kayli had no idea what sort of spell might have been used; that seemed more a matter for healing magic than the power of the Flame.
“Well, since I was fourteen or so,” Randon mumbled. “Look, Kayli, it’s nothing. A good night’s sleep’ll put me to rights.” He was silent for a moment, then: “Kayli, would you mind sending for some tea, clover, and—”
“And mint?” Kayli smiled. “Wait a moment.”
The tray was already waiting in the sitting room. Kayli poured Randon a cup, then helped him sit up to drink it, still holding the cloth over his eye. By the time he’d drained the cup, his uncovered eye was half closed.
“I’ll sleep now,” he said thickly, letting the empty cup tumble from his grasp. “Just... sleep.” His head lolled to the side and his hand fell away from the icy cloth.
Kayli lifted the cloth away, but Randon did not stir, nor did he rouse when she slipped off his boots. She left him in his surcoat and trousers and simply pulled the covers over him; better to let him sleep than risk disturbing him.
Kayli, however, was too shaken to sleep. She undressed and lay down beside Randon, watching him in the dying light of the fire. She had thought that the news of her pregnancy would bring joy and celebration. Instead, she had passed an evening as tense and miserable as any since she’d left the Order.
Kayli sighed and began one of the meditations to bring sleep. For at least the next two days, she would need all her faculties about her, and a weary mage, High Priestess Brisi had taught her, was a mistake waiting to be made.
Chapter Ten
There, that’s perfect.” Endra minutely adjusted the last jewel-tipped pin in Kayli’s hair. Kayli swallowed a groan. Endra and the maids had braided fine gold chains into each of her thirty-nine braids, which were now unbearably heavy. And then there were the pins, to hold her braids in the complex loops and whorls traditional for a noble wedding in Bregond. Then there was her heavy wedding gown, the petticoats to hold the skirt out, and the jewelry Randon had given her, the oddly long and narrow (and overly tight) gold-embroidered formal slippers—and, of course, the necessary creams, powders, and perfumes. By the time Endra deemed her ready, Kayli felt stiff and heavy and awkward, like a walking doll.
“Where is Randon?” she asked her maid distractedly.
“Likely already down at the entry way,” Endra told her. “There appears to be some ridiculous Agrondish custom that the groom shouldn’t see the bride until the ceremony—never mind that the two of you are already married twice over. I’m to take you down the backstairs and through the kitchens so he won’t catch a glimpse of you, and you�
��re to wait in the great hall until he’s outside. Then Brother Santee will take you out to him when the ceremony starts.”
The older woman patted Kayli’s shoulder reassuringly. “There, there, this’ll be the last of it,” she said comfortingly. “Why don’t you go have a peep out the window? You’ll be amazed at the front court.”
Kayli tottered to the window and peered out, then gasped. The eastern sky was only just beginning to blush pink, but already the courtyard was filled with tables, and the tables were rapidly filling with food. Some came from the kitchens—Kayli could see baskets and trays being brought out—but more came, apparently, from the city. Carts rattled in at the gate, and small figures below unloaded the carts and wagons onto the tables. Kayli could see Stevann wandering to and fro, probably casting his spells to assure that no poisoned food or drink could endanger the royal couple.
Kayli sighed. In Bregond, noble marriages were not public spectacles, especially when the marriage was made after a child was already conceived, and most particularly when the fact of the child’s prior conception was known outside the household. The very notion was unseemly. Kayli was embarrassed already.
Anida joined her at the window and sighed, too.
“Seems they’ve tried to make it as nasty for you as they could ever since you arrived, lady,” she said, shaking her head. “Wouldn’t surprise me much if they insisted on parading you down the streets in your shift in a few months so the peasants could see the swell of your belly.”
“I have tried to honor Agrondish custom as best I could,” Kayli said, “but I fear I have reached my limits today. What a spectacle I shall be.” She shuddered.
Devra leaned her head in the door.
“Lady, they’re nearly ready,” she said breathlessly. “You’re to come down now.”
Kayli took a deep breath, then nodded to Endra. She followed the midwife down the backstairs, hoisting her heavy skirt higher after she stumbled twice. If Agrondish weddings demanded such feats as scurrying around backstairs and corridors, then brides should be allowed to dress accordingly.