She approached him nervously and fell into step beside him.
“A stirring coronation, Your Majesty,” she said. “Everyone spoke of how regal you looked, such a contrast to that vile-looking Shobar. And the Zon were there in such force! Resident Rita herself with her entire staff, all paying you respect.”
“It would be disappointing if my own liegemen did not speak well of me,” said Lothar.
“Not every lord is beloved of his vassals,” said Guttrin sagely. “You warmed their hearts in the frigid northwest, and you continue to be their guiding light here in Nordberg.”
“Tell me what you want, Guttrin,” said Lothar. She was the eldest daughter of the Baron of Rocness, and she had brought his house a valuable alliance. But he had never much cared for her company.
“Sire, you are a wise and far-seeing leader,” she began in a measured tone. “But sometimes you are too trusting. There are many who would take advantage of your good nature.”
“Who might those be?” asked Lothar with a touch of his habitual sarcasm.
“Sire,” said Guttrin, undeterred. “You have taken Greghar, the bastard son of your brother, to your breast. Your love and kindness for your baseborn kinsman does you great credit. But I fear that you endanger the inheritance of your own trueborn and loyal sons.”
“Woman, if you will not speak plainly, you must leave me in peace,” said Lothar, irritated.
“I hear whispers in town that Greghar seeks his father’s throne,” said Guttrin. “While he may not dare to challenge one so powerful as you, what is to stop him from challenging Baron Pinnar when the time comes? What is to stop him from building a base of support right here in Nordberg Castle, under your very nose? Even he is innocent, what is to stop others from using him as an instrument against you, to their own ends?”
“Greghar has no such ambitions,” said Lothar, but his voice lacked conviction.
Guttrin saw her advantage and pressed on, outlining many scenarios, in all of which Greghar was a source of grave danger to Lothar and his family.
“Your counsel is not pleasant, woman,” said Lothar finally. “But I cannot deny that it has made me see some things that I had not considered. What does my son, Baron Pinnar, say to your thoughts? He grew up with Greghar; they played together as boys.”
“He refuses to even consider my worries,” said Guttrin with an exaggerated sigh. “I even spoke with Baron Bradar and his wife, Esgrin. Bradar is as blind as his brother, but Esgrin is of my mind. You may speak with her if you wish.”
“Greghar is my kin,” said Lothar. “I will not have him harmed.” As Hildegard said, his mien does recall my beloved brother, he thought. Though I cannot love his Zon blood, whatever she may say.
“I would never suggest such a thing,” said Guttrin, affecting shock. “I merely suggest that you neutralize the threat he poses. Send him far away from Nordberg, somewhere where you can have him watched by those loyal to you.”
“You want me to send him to Vesterans?”
No, sire,” she said. “For the Draigynys archipelago is part of the historic Nibellus fief. He may use his Nibellus blood to curry favor with the local barons. I suggest sending him to my father’s stronghold of Rocness. My father’s loyalty to you is unquestioned, and Greghar will find no friends in his court.”
Her words resonated with him as he stumped back into the High Hall. The castle stewards were laying out a reception, and a detail of Lothar’s men-at-arms from his Island Brigade was on hand with one of his senior captains. Pinnar entered a few moments later, followed by Bradar and Greghar, the two chatting amiably. Nitya was at Greghar’s heels—she followed him everywhere like a little puppy. Many Utreans still saw her as a witch and regarded her sallow skin and foreign looks with suspicion. Greghar was the only one with whom she felt safe.
Resident Rita was expected soon, and they made up the formal reception party unhurriedly but with precise attention to protocol. Lothar’s senior Island Brigade captain now served as his castellan and led his detail out onto the High Terrace to welcome Resident Rita’s airboat. Lothar and his party stood in a receiving line in the High Hall.
Resident Rita arrived in a swirling formal gown of Daksin silk, attended by a squad of huntresses. She was ceremonially received in the High Hall. Pleasantries were exchanged, and toasts were proposed and responded to. Lothar pointed to some special delicacies that had been laid out. They nibbled on the requisite portions, small enough to maintain the mandatory small talk about neutral subjects like the weather, without ever having one’s mouth full.
“So, Your Majesty, what did you want to talk about?” asked Rita, getting to the subject at hand at the appropriate time, as they took their seats at a long table set before the roaring fire.
“Resident Rita,” Lothar said, glancing at his sons. “We have taken stock of the situation here in Nordberg. It has been many years since I have lived here, but I have been pleasantly surprised by how warmly the local residents have welcomed us.”
“I am pleased to hear it, sire,” said Rita dryly. “Though you must bear in mind that you are replacing the reign of terror run by Shobar, Katog, and the Skull Watch. After years of heavy taxes and random violence—husbands and sons killed, wives and daughters kidnapped—you will be popular for a time by just staying in Nordberg Castle and doing nothing.”
“Thank you for the ringing endorsement,” said Lothar sourly. “It is precisely Shobar that we were discussing in our conclave. My barons and I are concerned that he is up north on the loose. We do not have the strength to go up to the Great Ice Range and flush him out of his caves. But you have airboats, airships, magic weapons. It would be in your interests to go in there and bring back his head to mount on a spike at Nordberg Castle. That would make the crown rest easier on my head.”
Rita leaned forward across the conference table, her smooth, dusky skin the color of caramel in the firelight. The diamonds in her necklace sparkled nicely, complementing her priestess’s choker and wrist bracers. Her perfume wafted across the small space between them. Lothar was a hard man, but he was not made of stone. With the Zon, it is always wiles, he thought, steeling himself.
“There is nothing we would like more, sire,” said Rita. “Believe me when I say that if we had the resources, we would be putting ourselves forward, volunteering to undertake this task. But the war has cost us dearly—we just do not have the capacity to do it now. However, let this not be our final answer. I will relay your worries and your request to the Queen Empress. It is possible that her response may be different than mine, though I doubt it.”
“What can you do to help us ward off this threat then?” asked Lothar bluntly.
“We fly a weekly airboat reconnaissance sortie over the warren of caves that Shobar is hiding in,” said Rita smoothly. “And we fly a similar sortie over his capital of Estrans in Swarborg. We have seen no evidence that he is preparing to strike. Finally, sire, I am expecting a task force of a couple of centuries from the Pentheselia Legion very shortly. They will bring a squadron of airboats with them. We will use that strength to install a new Baron of Swarborg in Estrans. You and I must decide on who this is to be.”
“It must be someone whose loyalty is unquestioned,” said Lothar promptly. “Someone tied to me by blood. A warrior strong enough to keep those wild Swards in check.”
Nitya was standing by Greghar’s chair, her hand on his forearm. Her fingers tightened on his arm. She imagined him raised to a barony, lord of a mighty castle, with her as the mistress of his household.
“I propose my younger son, Baron Bradar.”
“An excellent choice,” said Rita, smiling. She raised her glass of Blu-berg wine. “To the new Baron of Swarborg.”
They all echoed her and raised their glasses and drank.
Later, after the formal leave-taking ceremonies, Greghar and Nitya were back in the small room allotted to him, high in the northern corner of the castle, just under the Overhang Galleries. It was a cold and spare room w
ith nothing other than a bed covered with heavy blankets and furs. There was no fireplace.
“You deserved to be named Baron of Swarborg, Greghar,” Nitya said. “Bradar is a nice man, but you are twice the warrior he is and ten times as clever. And your father was the true king, not someone installed by the Zon. Even the Swards would respect that.”
Greghar leaned over and ruffled her hair.
“My, my, what a strategic mind you have, Mistress Nitya,” teased Greghar. “Come, cuddle in the furs before you get cold.”
“Don’t make fun of me!” she said indignantly. “All that I said is true!”
“Yes, and it is precisely because of who my father was that Lothar will not put me in a position of power,” said Greghar, growing serious. “I am afraid that he will soon send me away to some remote spot where I will be even less of a risk.”
“Wherever you go, I will follow,” said Nitya, suddenly afraid. “I will not be parted from you.”
“I hope you have that choice, little one,” said Greghar, taking her into his arms and giving her a hug. She nestled in his powerful arms, confident that as long as she was with him, she was safe.
THE ENORMOUS IMPORTANCE of pregnancy for the Zon state had significant cultural effects as well as policy implications. Culturally, there were ceremonies associated with every aspect of pregnancy and childbearing, both religious as well as secular. It was all designed to felicitate the pregnant sister and venerate her impending status as an incarnation of Ma, the divine mother.
From a practical policy standpoint, colossal sums had been invested in research into the topic over the centuries. This consumed as much of the government budget as defense research. The Zon had initially worked on perfecting childbirth in terms of risk. The process of childbearing had been perfected centuries earlier, so that birth defects as well as negative effects on the health of the mother were virtually unheard of.
Having achieved the most important goals, the Zon began working on issues of convenience and comfort. One of these aims had been to reduce the duration of pregnancy to decrease the period over which the mother was unable to carry out normal athletic and leisure activities. A second aim had been to minimize the pain associated with pregnancy. However, nature was a difficult mistress, and thus far research had been unable to achieve these two objectives simultaneously. While Zon research had succeeded in perfecting a number of pregnancy durations, the shorter the duration, the greater the associated pain and discomfort.
Andromache conducted Caitlin’s Pregnancy Initiation Rite at the Great Temple of Ma as soon as her impregnation was confirmed. She held it in a small private chapel off the main nave. Even this small chamber seemed too large, since the only attendees were Andromache’s personal handmaidens. Caitlin had decided on the shortest possible pregnancy duration. This had no effect on the normal development of her daughter. However, it meant that she was in continuous, severe pain and sick almost constantly. Very few at Repro would treat her. She spent much of her time at the d’Orr palace, so wracked with pain and continual retching that she thought, Nestar Crogus has been good for me after all! His torture has made me strong enough to bear this.
Caitlin was not particularly religious, but she felt she should be observant for the sake of her unborn daughter. She went to the Great Temple and performed the rest of the pregnancy rites on her own, stumbling through the unfamiliar motions through her sickness and pain. The great longevity of the Zon meant that there were rituals reserved for the prospective grandmother as well as for the prospective great-grandmother. Caitlin spoke the words for her dead mother as well as for the grandmother she had never known. My child, I wish you could have known my mother, Caitlin thought as she slowly hobbled out of the Great Temple after performing the Grandmother’s Sacrament. I am sure that the two of you would have bonded immediately.
She had no one to host the traditional whirl of secular parties and showers for the various milestones that were designed to make Zon pregnancy such a joyous affair. However, she made sure to observe each significant milestone with a small ceremony, alone with her growing belly. She lit the requisite candles and tried to eat and hold down the appropriate sweets. She spoke incessantly to her unborn daughter, so much that she began to fear she was losing her mind. She told her all about her hopes and fears and unfulfilled dreams. You will revive the fortunes of the House of d’Orr, she repeatedly told her daughter. You will succeed where I have failed.
Toward the end, she lost track of time and was doubled up with agony in her bed. Her bedclothes and sheets were soaked through with sweat as she sank into delirium. She saw Greghar at the foot of her bed, smiling.
“You will love your daughter,” she gasped through her convulsions. “She will have your eyes and ringlets.
“Why won’t you speak to me, Greghar?” she asked when he did not respond. “I know I should have asked your permission before starting this pregnancy. But you weren’t here. I am so alone! I miss you!”
As she continued to entreat him, he faded away.
“Don’t go!” she called after him. “Don’t go!”
Then her mother was by her bed, her soothing, cool hands on her forehead.
“Mother, I am so glad you have come,” Caitlin panted. “I am in such pain! I must have caused you pain like this when I was born. I am so sorry, Mother!”
But Deirdre faded away too.
“Mother!” she screamed. “Mother! Don’t leave me!”
But it was no use. Deirdre did not come back.
“Ma, I know I have sinned,” she cried in panic. “I feel unholy carnal desires for a male. I know it is wrong, but I cannot stop these sinful desires. I am weak, and I beg your forgiveness! But visit punishment on me, I beseech you; smile on my innocent daughter!”
Then Gisfin swam into her field of vision.
“Goddess Ma!” Gisfin exclaimed. “How long have you been like this?”
“I know you will fade away,” Caitlin mumbled. “They all go away…”
Gisfin tapped her wrist bracer and opened a comm channel to emergency at Repro. She spoke rapidly. Caitlin’s brain was not processing very well, and she could not make out what Gisfin was saying. However, after a few moments, Gisfin’s voice rose, and Caitlin was able to follow her.
“I don’t care what you think, medica! You have taken the oath before Ma to save life. If you are not at the Palace d’Orr with an emergency team within five minutes, I will report you to Princess Andromache. She will have you expelled from the Temples!”
Half an hour later, Caitlin was in an intensive care unit in Repro, and an hour later, her daughter was born. Then she slept.
When she awoke, sunlight was streaming through a viewport. There was a crib by her bed, covered with a pink hood. Her Order of Motherhood was pinned to her pillow, the red ribbons trailing off the side of the bed. She felt a bit groggy, but the pain and sickness were gone. She found she was ravenously hungry.
Gisfin came in moments later, looking tired.
“You gave us quite a fright, Princess Caitlin,” she said, her cheerful voice immediately lifting Caitlin’s spirits. “Fortunately, you have a naturally strong constitution, one of the strongest I have seen. So you will be fine in a day or two. But what possessed you to stay home when the pains grew so bad?”
“Most people at Repro observe my silencis, Medica Gisfin,” Caitlin said in a small voice. “I didn’t think anyone would treat me.”
“You should have opened a comm channel to me. I have always been available to you.”
“You have been so good to me,” said Caitlin. “But I was afraid to risk dragging you into silencis by initiating contact with you. You see, my best friend, Megara…” Her voice trailed off.
Gisfin’s normally merry expression faded, and she grew grim.
“I know what they did in the café, I saw the comm edge,” she said in a hard voice. She softened as she continued. “Princess Caitlin, my mother was Aliuta Ednina. She was one of your caregivers when you were
a child.”
Caitlin’s mouth dropped open, and she covered it with her hand.
“I was the cause of her death in Ostracis,” she said in dismay. “How can you still be so kind to me? I am so sorry…”
Gisfin sat on the bed, took Caitlin’s hand, and squeezed it.
“She managed to send me some comm edges before she died,” she said, tenderness in her eyes and voice. “You were her sole source of comfort and protection in her last days.” She raised her hand as Caitlin attempted to speak. “To shield her from torment, you faced down a whole troop of barbarian men-at-arms with your bare hands. In a formal gown and spike heels! Then you gave your precious lips to that repulsive, despicable Nestar Crogus to save her life. For most of us, the catechism ‘we protect our sisters’ is just words, but, Princess Caitlin, you live them. I would risk anything for you.”
She paused to take a breath and smiled.
“Not that I am risking that much,” she continued, returning to her normal cheerful tone. “I am one of the best obstetrics medicae in Repro, and they need me too much to send me to silencis. But let us concentrate on the positive. I am just glad everything turned out okay with your pregnancy. And your daughter is beautiful! Here, let me give her to you. You must bond with her.”
She lifted the baby out of the crib and put her on Caitlin’s breast. She had Greghar’s gray-blue eyes, and her tiny ash-blonde ringlets were his. As Caitlin gazed at her adoringly, she yawned. Caitlin could not remember ever being so happy.
“She is the most beautiful baby in the world,” she said.
“With you as her mother, how could she not be?” asked Gisfin mischievously. “But I know you must be hungry. I have ordered you breakfast.”
Almost on cue, a medical attendant came in, pushing a trolley. The smell of the breakfast made Caitlin’s mouth water.
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