by M. C. Elam
“I’m sorry, Devon.”
Her voice came soft as morning dew settling over fields he remembered from boyhood. She’d brought the sound of Ascalla across the mountains. How he yearned for home, the home of his boyhood, Pa’s strong voice singing one of the harvest songs, and Ma serving up rich stew and sweet cakes. Gentle days, sun-filled days, the days of youth when drawing fish from a stream was an adventure worth savoring, and oh how Ma did exclaim. Ma’s promise to find the tutor willing to teach him letters. Books changed him, and the wise man of Baline found a ready pupil in a boy who suffered from vertigo, the malady Ma had called the woozies.
The lilt of the girl's voice carried images of Ascalla, his parents and the village that lay in the shadow of the mountains. He’d met other captives from Ascalla. None moved into his head and took residence as she did. She must be the one Lady Millicent sought.
His strong hand clasped her, and he kissed the tips of her fingers. “I know your plight.” He raised his head and called for Winnie. “We will speak more tomorrow, Miss Ceri.”
***
Devon followed Ceri and Winnie through the dining room but left through a door that led into the shed attached to the corrals. The odor of the slave pens hung heavy in the night air. He worked to keep it away from the stable, but when the wind currents changed, there was no masking the smell. Outside the shed, he climbed through the split rail fence that surrounded the corral and walked around to the backside of the stable buildings. The no man’s land between the fences stood empty. He’d have to wait for Billy.
26 - Evan’s Sacrifice
“You’re certain she’s the one?” His chest tight with worry, Christopher Tyndall stood beside the fire in Lady Millicent’s small room. Ellyanna’s time drew near, and he didn’t relish leaving her alone in the palace.
“Aye, Devon Runderly sent word through Billy two days past.”
“But you haven’t talked to her.”
“Devon’s word is good, Christopher.”
“With child, you’re certain?”
“Aye, and ready to deliver any day.”
“What if the girl refuses to go along with the plan?”
“Nothing is sure, but think. Would you want your child born in the pens?”
Christopher nodded. “I see your point. Even if she can expect no more than the role of wet nurse, the plan gives her child royal position.”
Millicent poured a goblet of wine and handed it to him. “Exactly, that’s why she’ll accept.” She filled her own goblet and set the decanter on the table. “Time grows short.”
“Aye, milady, short. Ellyanna is near to birthing.”
“We’ve a lot to do.”
“You’ll speak with the girl?”
“I’ll make arrangements through Clay.”
***
In the morning, Clay Willis pressed a finger to his lips and handed Maudie a note. “For the lady.”
Tomorrow night at 10:00. Billy will escort you.
***
“Best you walk beside me. Any sees you walking to rears might wonder.” Billy stopped until Lady Millicent came abreast. “I got to give you a boost over that fence. Be no gate by the stable. Devon’ll catch you on the other side. Don’t be scairt there, Lester,” Billy talked to her as if training a new guard. “Walking sentry’s not so different from gate duty. Only you just keep moving.” His halfhearted attempt at creating an alibi endeared him to Millicent. He had devised the name as a cover, but Billy’s sweet pretense was weak at best, and she prayed no one saw them.
They approached the portion of the path that ran close to the stables, and Billy slowed. He put out an arm to stop her. “Devon be along any minute now. I expect this here be the safest spot.”
Standing in the darkness, the time seemed interminable before they heard gravel crunch underfoot and a husky voice call to Billy.
“I’m here brother.” Devon Runderly stepped out of the shadows. “Good to find you safe.” He stuck his arm through the fence and gripped Billy’s shoulder.
“Safe and sound. I brought her like you said.”
“Best we get her over the fence and safe in the stable, lad. I don’t want to risk a mistake.” Devon held the fence taught. “Milady, Billy can hoist you up.”
Billy made a stirrup of his hands and knelt before Millicent. “Take a step up now, Lester. I got a good hold to you.”
The hint of humor in his voice lifted her spirits, and she put her foot into his strong hands. He raised her high, and she made a grab for the fence. Billy held steady until she began the hand-over-hand climb. She swung first one leg and then the other over the top and held her breath when she felt the fence sway.
“Easy milady. Even if you fall, I’ll catch you.” Devon steadied her descent until her feet touched the ground. She turned to thank Billy.
“He’s gone.”
“Aye, he has a checkpoint ahead.”
“The girl?”
Devon took her arm and led her toward the shed. “She’s waiting. I told her to expect a company tonight.” Millicent felt fragile next to him. “You’re trembling, milady.”
“Just thinking about crossing that fence on the way back.”
“You’ve scaled it once.”
“Yes, and now I know just how much my knees can shake.”
“Aye, you do at that.” His soft chuckle broke the tension.
***
Evan stoked the fire in Devon’s sitting room. She wanted more light to examine the newest part of the mural. He had added a second rider, a woman. The fire blazed higher, and she faced the mural. He had painted the woman’s face in profile. Evan could distinguish the delicate line of her nose, the angle of her chin and the slender curve of her neck. He gave her dark hair caught in a single braid that hung across her shoulder. The girl wore trail leathers, just like a pair she used to wear. The crosshatched lacing closed each leg but left triangular shaped openings that revealed bare skin from ankle to hip on each side. The vest left the girl’s arms bare but closed with the same design. Because she wore no blouse, the deep v-neckline revealed the rounded swell of her breasts.
Evan had never seen the painting in daytime, and firelight gave it a mystic quality that appealed to her imagination. She closed her eyes to clear the image, opened them and looked again. The girl’s horse pawed the ground, raising a small dusty cloud that masked the sharp edge of its hoof.
“Tommy,” she whispered. What she wouldn’t give if the image were true, she and Hawk riding across the Ascallan plain, she and Hawk overlooking Baline, she and Hawk. She felt the baby kick and smiled. I have part of you, my love, which no one can claim.
***
“You must see the logic.” Lady Millicent sat in one of the fur-draped chairs by the hearth. She leaned toward Evan with outstretched hands.
Evan ignored the gesture. The room held a chill not dispelled by the blazing fire or glowing oil lamps. A woolen shawl draped her shoulders, the fringed ends trailing across her swollen belly. She shivered and gathered it closer.
“What I see,” she said, “is that you want to give my baby to the Lawrenzian Queen.” She turned and faced Millicent. Her face livid, her small hands balled into fists, arms stiff at her sides. She’d strike the woman in a moment. “I’m not as helpless as I look. Don’t think to test me.” She paced the length of the room and returned to stand in front of Millicent. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”
“Ellyanna is my daughter,” said Millicent.
“And that makes it right?”
Devon approached and stood between them. “Sit and talk with her, Ceri. Let her explain.”
Millicent’s voice took on a pleading tone. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out that way.”
“You think to take my baby?”
“Will you hear me?”
“I seem to have little choice.” Evan slumped into the fireside chair across from her.
Millicent chronicled the events, everything from King Peter’s alliance guise to
the brutal murder of her husband and son. She laid bare her own history, her religious devotion to the Mother, her healing and telepathic senses and her tutor, a leader of the shadow people. The girl sat still and silent as death watching her face. Aware of the scrutiny, Millicent’s open gaze never faltered. She spoke about Ellyanna’s forced marriage to Peter Brenan and about the two stillbirths. She spoke of Peter’s angry threats when the last baby wasted away in three short days.
When she stopped, Evan touched the gold chain around her neck and drew it into the open. “I believe what you say. I recognize what you are. But take my baby?”
“You are like me, Ceri.” Millicent spoke in a whisper. “One daughter of Anutaya knows another.”
“I am more.” Evan opened her hand, and the black pearl glowed in the firelight. “I hold a black pearl of Ascalla.”
Millicent stood and closed the distance between them.
“Stay away from me,” Evan warned.
“What you hold in your womb is more precious than any trinket.” When Evan rose and twisted away, she stopped. The girl must think she meant to seize the pearl.
“Aye, the child inside me is a gift. One you shall not take from me. This too,” she thrust the pearl forward, “is a gift most dear. Prince Hawk made a promise to me, and sealed it with a pearl from the queen’s strand.”
“By the gods, you’re the one they call the foundling, daughter of the white wolf?” Millicent took a faltering step.
“Don’t call me that. My mother died when the Owlmen destroyed Baline fourteen years ago. She hid me in the forest.” Evan felt heat color her cheeks.
“Aye, an old man found her dying, a wise man, your teacher and mine,” said Millicent.
“You speak too freely of my teacher. If you know so much, name him, name me,” Evan’s eyes glittered in the firelight.
Millicent sighed. “I know your name from Glynmora gossip.” You are Evangeline. She hesitated nearly calling out her pet name for her teacher, a name from the long ago when the shadow people reigned. She’d used it to amuse him. Danced for him and tangled her slender fingers in his beard. He wasn’t so old then, and she fancied herself in love. He had never entertained the same devotion and put her off with a gentle smile.
“You may have heard my name bandied about, but my teacher?”
Millicent caught the tone. “Melendarius.” The name sounded almost musical on her tongue. “Your teacher’s name is Melendarius.” She watched the girl’s expression soften.
Tears welled behind Evan’s half-closed lids until her eyes brimmed, and tiny droplets wet her cheeks. “From the moment Luther took me from Baline, I lost his essence.” She looked toward Devon. “That man, Luther, the one who brought me here, he came to the inn with another. They struck Melendarius down.” The fear she had carried over the mountains and through all the desperate days since stuck in her throat.
“No, no, Evangeline. Melendarius lives. I lost his essence five years ago, the day we crossed the border from Glynmora, but I know he lives. The sinister hand that clutches Lawrenzia holds us in darkness.” Millicent saw beyond the girl’s rigid bearing. Such tender years, fewer even than Ellyanna. “Your burdens rest heavy, child, but the Mother chooses her disciples well. They are no more than you can bear.”
Evan brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I have no choice.” She stood, stepped away from Millicent and bumped the edge of a small table. A half-full wine goblet toppled spewing the contents over the floor and staining the wood blood red. Glad for a new focus, she knelt to pick up the pieces, but before she retrieved them, Millicent touched her shoulder. Evan twisted away and lost her balance.
“Careful there,” Devon steadied her.
“Get away from me. Both of you,” she scrambled to her feet. “Get away. Do you hear? You pretend friendship to soften me; make me think I can trust you.”
Devon tried to ease her toward a chair.
“Don’t touch me, I said. You, with your soft words and artist’s hands, you paint images of Ascalla to trick me.”
“No one wants to trick you, Evangeline.” Millicent extended her hand. “If we wanted to trick you, all we had to do was wait until you gave birth, spirit the baby away and claim it died.”
“Can’t you see she’s telling the truth? Saving her daughter may save all of us, especially your baby.” Devon only managed to spark Evan’s rage further. Her furious gaze, whipped back and forth between them.
“You think you can fool me by peppering your lies with bits of truth.”
Millicent shook her head, took another step and touched Evan’s sleeve. “Do you want to hear the fate of babies born in the pens? Women have two possible uses here. They are sold as slaves or kept as whores. Gentlemen have no use for a whore that comes with a brat nor does the auctioneer. The Owlmen take them. Do you understand? The Owlmen take them away to the wilds and leave them to die.”
“No, I don’t believe you. You’d say anything to get my baby.”
“I am telling you the truth. You must believe me.”
Evan extended her free hand toward the woman. “Show me. Show me your heart.”
Without reservation, Millicent stepped forward. “Aye, lass, in your place I would demand the same.” She took Evan’s hand in her own and placed it over her heart.
Evan focused all of her concentration on the woman and closed her eyes. Millicent’s body jerked in response to the touch. Her head snapped back and a choking sound issued from her parted lips.
“Let her go!” Devon shouted. Evan’s eyes snapped open and her gaze leveled his.
“Get away, Devon,” Millicent warned. “We know what we are about.”
While he watched, the black pearl Evan held in her outstretched hand lost its gray sheen and turned rosy. The soft glow grew brighter and brighter until a brilliant light exposed every corner of the room. Washed in its shimmering essence, he felt the same freedom of spirit that claimed the women. He understood now. The girl took nothing from Millicent nor did Millicent conceal her spirit from the girl. They walked an ancient road, blessed with the gifts of the shadow people. An immense feeling of peace settled over him. He knew he witnessed something extraordinary, the melding souls.
27 - Peter Brenan’s Son
Peter Brenan did not pray for a son. Nor did he give thanks that his young wife had survived two failed births. What Peter Brenan did was apply his shiny sword to the neck of the attending midwife with such accuracy that her severed head bounced against the wall seconds before her body crumpled to the floor. When the second child died and that midwife met the same fate, he ordered the Owlmen to search Brendemore for a new one. He wanted the best, demanded the best, but word about what happened to those who failed spread throughout the realm, and the Owlmen returned alone.
“Buffoons,” his screech shook the walls. “I am Lawrenzian law. Find a midwife.” He waved them away, confident that no man in Lawrenzia dared fail the king.
If the kitchen fell short a cook or two, or the laundry’s scrubwoman disappeared in the night, Brendemore’s staff had a private chuckle at the inconvenience such an occurrence might cost His Majesty, but the beheading of midwives made for nasty business about which no one smiled. Nor did they smile when the young queen’s labor began, for the third time, and Peter stormed her chamber. The ladies charged with her care scurried for cover like mice seeking a hole.
“How close are you madam?”
“Milord, what day is it?”
“‘Tis Eventide third day of the new moon. What difference does that make?”
“My labor began before the sun awoke a day past. I pray the child comes soon.” Her breath caught and held, evidence of another contraction. “Why does the midwife not come, milord?”
“Midwife! You call for a midwife. None to be had, and my physicians fled in the night.”
“Then I am doomed, and your son with me.”
“Nonsense woman, the lowest peasant gives birth in the field and toils past dark.”
�
��I know not those ways, husband, and fear for your son’s life.”
“Speak you not of my son; I’ll cut him from your belly.” He tore the coverlet from her body and rested his hand on her swollen abdomen.
“Milord, I beg you. Let me live to nurture the babe.” She gripped his wrist, but he jerked away. “Milord, per chance, per chance a midwife resides close by.”
“How know you this when I do not?” he huffed at her.
“Christopher Tyndall, spoke of a midwife.”
Peter glared at her. “Tyndall, why didn’t he come forward?”
“He fears your anger.”
“Fool, weak sniveling fool. Why should the whereabouts of a midwife bring my anger?” He leaned close, his face inches from hers. His breath reeked with the garlicky remnants of roasted pheasant. “Speak woman.”
“He spends his time among the whores in the slave pens. He knows a midwife who tends them.”
Brenan laughed, and the harsh sound made her cringe. He moved away from the bed and grabbed one of the silk-clad mice from her cowering place. “Get me Tyndall and be double quick.” He shoved the woman toward the door, and listened to the sound of her footsteps recede along the corridor.
“So, sweetheart.” He sat on the edge of the bed, took her chin between his thumb and index finger and bent to kiss her. The firm line of her closed lips angered him, and he stopped her breath with one hand until she opened her mouth and accepted his tongue. “That’s it, little one. You know your master don’t you. So, Tyndall plugs the whores while I plug you. Perhaps I am angry at that.” He found the neck of her nightdress and ripped it down the front. His practiced hand ranged over her bare skin until he pinched a nipple and teased it erect with his thumb.” He eyed her and smiled. “That rock-hard bit of nibble betrays desire in you after all.” His thin-lipped mouth settled over her breast.
“Milord!” The strangled sound that came from her was barely audible. “Milord, the babe, think of the babe.” She tried to push him away.
“Fear not madam.” He stood and drew the coverlet over her. “I have no taste for you save the getting of an heir.”