Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt

by Heart of Fire. txt (lit)

  Long ago, he had decided to keep secret his vulnerability—

  the illness and his regimen for fighting it. His decision had led

  to a distance, it seemed, between himself and his own people.

  Had Sera, within a few hours, brought his people back to him?

  “They’re fools to trust me,” he said aloud on a laugh that

  was a groan. He dropped his eyes to their entwined hands, afraid

  to let her see the emptiness that must show on his face.

  “You have to eat,” she said finally. There. She had dismissed

  him. He slipped his hand from hers, and she poured a glass of

  red wine and gave it to him. “It is not very elegant, but the

  soldiers all say it is good.”

  He took a sip and very carefully placed the silver cup on

  the table before him. “It’s good,” he managed.

  She came back to sit beside him, he noticed with relief.

  Lord, she’d been cold and stony this morning. Until he had told

  her about Selonia. Then this wellspring of compassion had

  broken through and changed her, utterly.

  As if she had been following his thoughts, Sera touched his

  arm shyly. “The children, Nicholas. They need…oh, everything.

  I put them in one of the buildings that escaped most of the fire—

  St. Andrew’s chapter house. No one has used it for several years,

  and there were still feather beds we could spread on the floor

  for the little ones. I asked the quartermaster for food.”

  “Briggs?” Nicholas was surprised into a laugh. “He’s a

  stingy fellow. How did you ever manage?”

  Sera blushed. “ I promised him you would make sure the

  supplies were replaced.”

  Was she afraid he’d find her impertinent? She had such a

  pretty blush—pink and rosy from her down-turned lashes to

  her rounded chin.

  “I would have told him the same thing,” he said.

  “I have hope that some of the parents are still alive. Do you

  know those animals went house to house and murdered the

  people in their beds? They always seem to leave the children

  alone, don’t they? As though they expect them to die of want

  and misery.

  “Do you know what it is like, to see your father and mother

  stabbed repeatedly by these vile demons?” she continued. “To

  hear their screams, to see the blood, everywhere. And then, when

  they’re too weak to scream any longer, they just whimper, but

  you know they’re still screaming inside. Oh, God! It is not

  human, what they have done to the children.”

  Sera clutched his forearm. Her face was white as a new

  fallen snow, and her eyes unseeing. She was telling him more

  than what had happened to these children, he knew. She was

  telling him something that had happened to her. Of a sudden,

  his own struggles faded in the light of Sera’s pain.

  He pried her hand off his arm, then grasped her elbows.

  “Tell me, Sera. Tell me what they did to you.”

  She gasped, struggled against him hard enough to push

  away. He saw her eyes before she turned her face from him.

  They were focused again and fearful. “I don’t know what you

  are talking about,” she said, jumping up and fiddling with the

  plates on the tray. “We are discussing the children, that is all.”

  “Yes,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral. “The

  children.” She had shut the door, and he couldn’t open it now

  with more questions. He could wait until she told him of her

  own free will.

  When hell froze over.

  Or he could find out through his own sources.

  “I only meant, we cannot leave them to die. We have to

  help them all.”

  This at least, he could do. He nodded, stretching his legs in

  front of him in a deliberate pose of relaxation. “Every one of

  them, Sera. Just tell me what they need.”

  She recovered herself, writing out a list of supplies for the

  abbey, and she slowly became easy with him again. Later, she

  called for hot water so he could bathe.

  The young ensigns who arrived with the hip bath bowed to

  him, and then Sera before they set it down according to her

  instructions.

  “Very good, Mr. Evans. Thank you, Mr. Carlsohnn.” Good

  Lord, she knew them by name already. The men tugged at their

  caps like besotted schoolboys and bowed their way out of the

  tent.

  “Is there anything else you would like tonight, Nicholas?”

  she asked, foolish woman.

  He smiled, keeping his lascivious thoughts to himself.

  “Thank you, no, Lady Sera.”

  She gave him a look of surprise from beneath her lashes.

  “Why call me that?”

  “Because that’s what you are. I’m not the only one to name

  you thus. All the men are speaking of Lady Sera. Should I be

  the only one not to recognize the obvious?”

  “I am just a Hill woman and a slave.” She gave him a wary

  look.

  His fingers touched her cheek, then fell to his side. “You

  are not just anything. And I meant it. Thank you.”

  Sera nodded, a little uncertain motion, and swept out into

  the night.

  She could be incredibly sweet when she wanted to be. He

  would assign Oblomov to her, for the streets weren’t safe for a

  woman alone in times like these, and he knew instinctively Sera

  would go wherever someone needed her help.

  He wished that she could stay with him. Would she have

  nightmares tonight? He wanted to be there to wake her and

  reassure her. He wanted to hold her in his arms again as he had

  last night, to keep her warm and safe.

  He cursed softly. Andre had moved up the date for a meeting

  with Galerien, regent of Beaureve. Within a month, he would

  probably be wed to the blasted Beaurevian princess, the key to

  the alliance with Beaureve, which must be kept at all costs.

  This time was all he could ever have with Sera. He had to

  fight the lust, and even more seductive, the need for her. Just to

  hold her through the night and cover her small, warm body with

  his. So he could sleep, and keep the nightmares at bay.

  Six

  The chapter house was in chaos. Children who had scarcely

  noticed their surroundings suddenly became hot tempered little

  savages, screaming at anyone who tried to discipline them into

  some kind of order.

  Nurses and priests ran to Sera as soon as she walked through

  the door. If it were possible for the room to become any noisier,

  it did then.

  “What are we going to do, Lady Sera?”

  “We have no clean linens for the nursery.”

  “Those boys—they’re running wild!”

  She narrowed her eyes at the confusion of arms and legs in

  the center of the room—a group of boys pummeled each other

  over imagined insults. Well, if nobody else was offering

  solutions, she might as well come up with a few, herself.

  Grabbing up a bucket of cold water in her hands, Sera

  charged into the melee. She dumped the water over the heads

  of the biggest four and watched them sputter and jump apart

  like dogs disturbed in the mids
t of a fight.

  “I need you,” she barked, while twelve and thirteen-year-

  olds rubbed their faces and pulled soaking hair out of their eyes.

  “Who knows the streets of Selonia the best?”

  “I do,” said the tallest boy.

  “No, I do,” yelled another, an urchin with bright red hair

  and an impish look.

  “Fine,” said Sera. “You can both prove your claim. You.”

  She pointed to the older boy. “Take these three, and take the

  eastern half of the city. You are looking for any and all children

  who have nowhere to go.”

  “You.” She pointed to the second boy. “Do the same with

  these three on the western side. I want you back by noon. I

  want your names and your parent’s names before you go out, in

  case somebody comes looking for you. And I want your report

  before you go to the refectory to eat lunch.”

  The redhead rubbed his nose, over which were scattered a

  very nice sprinkling of freckles. The boy had a lean, hungry

  look to him, but his blue eyes were sharp and clear. “Nobody’s

  looking for me,” he said. “My mother’s been dead for two years

  now.” He paused, then raised his chin and looked her straight

  in the eye. “Never knew my father.”

  “All the same, I want your name and that of your family.”

  “Ivan,” said the boy, patting his split lip with his fingertips.

  “Ivan Drominsky. S’pose now you don’t want me to look for

  the others.”

  Sera raised her brows and fingered her own lip, still swollen

  from the backhanding Dawson had given her two nights before.

  “Do you know the city better than the others?”

  “Hell—beg pardon, my lady. Aye. I know it.”

  “Kindly bring your boys forward to give their names and

  then take them out. Remember, return to the chapter house by

  the time the town clock strikes twelve.”

  “I’ll do that, my lady.”

  Sera found herself grinning as she watched him leave. She

  liked that scamp, Ivan. Liked his courage in giving her the truth

  of his parentage. Liked the clear, intelligent look he’d given her

  as he spoke.

  She took a deep breath and walked on to the nursery. More

  chaos there, it seemed. Babies who had listlessly sucked warmed

  goat’s milk yesterday were fussing on the harried priests’ laps

  for their mother’s breasts today. Frazzled priests and a few of

  the ladies, who had come to the shelter with vague pretensions

  to philanthropy, looked ready to throttle the infants.

  Sera sighed with relief as one of the priests, a portly, balding

  man holding a baby in one arm, unpacked cloths to use for

  diapers with the other hand. The baby was blessedly quiet, and

  the priest seemed the only adult in the room with any sense.

  Sera reached for the infant and cuddled it close.

  The priest turned to her and shouted over the cries of the

  other infants. “I’m Father Anselm, my dear. I take it you are the

  Lady Sera who put this place together yesterday.”

  “I am,” she said, with a glance at babies. “They don’t sound

  happy.”

  “They’re having a hard time, but at least they’re getting

  some nourishment.”

  “Why not send for wet nurses? Or better still, why not send

  for mothers who lost their babies in the raid?”

  Father Anselm gave her a long, considering look and nodded

  slowly.

  Sera pondered that look, for she thought her suggestion

  perfectly logical. Perhaps the holy men of this country didn’t

  want to hear about the earthier aspects of a woman’s existence.

  But all he said was, “Excellent idea. I’ll see to it

  immediately.” He left her holding the baby.

  Father Anselm returned later with about twenty women, all

  hollow-eyed and expressionless. They entered the chapter house

  as though they didn’t know where they were, or why they were

  there. It hurt to see them so lost.

  “Come with me,” Sera said. The women followed, looking

  neither right nor left. She didn’t waste time explaining, but led

  them into the makeshift nursery. The women stood like statues,

  staring at the red-faced, writhing little bodies in the cribs.

  “Oh, God in Heaven!” cried one of them. Tears streamed

  down her face as she ran to a crib and, with careful, practiced

  hands, lifted the little burden. The baby’s legs pumped in a

  paroxysm of hungry rage, and his back arched against the

  woman’s hands, but she held him safe, settled on a window

  seat and gathered him against her. The baby snuffled blindly

  and found what he needed.

  Another woman went to a cradle, and another, and another.

  The room, as if by miracle, quieted. Nothing could be heard but

  the contented, soft sound of babies at the breast and a woman’s

  occasional, fierce sob.

  Father Anselm stood quietly beside Sera. “Our king may

  believe that he brought you to our country, but I know better,

  my dear. When there is great suffering, God sends his angels.”

  Sera shook her head, red with embarrassment. “I am no

  angel,” she said.

  Father Anselm’s mouth curved in a kindly smile. “Not for

  many years yet, I hope. But when there is need in Laurentia,

  you will fill it.”

  ***

  Two days later, Sera sat in the cloister of the chapter house

  awaiting her chance to slip away. Almost everyone but the

  smallest children helped at this early morning hour with the

  rebuilding efforts in the city. Thanks to young Ivan Drominsky,

  she had a list of Selonia’s inns.

  Until yesterday, Lieutenant Oblomov’s careful attentiveness

  had made it impossible for her to search for the thief. Everywhere

  she walked, he followed. When she tried to evade him, he simply

  smiled and said, “I’m under orders to keep you safe, m’lady.”

  To keep me from escaping, she thought glumly.

  So yesterday morning, she had asked Father Anselm to walk

  her back to camp every night. Then, she told young Oblomov

  that he could leave her each morning after depositing her in the

  orphanage. Of course, he didn’t need to know that she would

  leave the orphanage at noon in search of the thief.

  Sera rose and headed for the cloister gate. With her hand

  on the latch, she heard Father Anselm calling out behind her.

  “Sera, come quickly!” The priest sounded winded and

  frightened.

  The expression on his drawn face made Sera hurry to him.

  “What’s happened?” she asked him, matching his running steps

  as they passed through the archways to the kitchen.

  “Ivan’s hurt,” he said, mopping his brow as they entered.

  Ivan lay whimpering on the long wooden table in the center of

  the kitchen. Blood ran down his leg like a stream in flood. A

  pile of bandages and a bowl of clean water lay on a small table

  beside him.

  “He fell on a broken windowpane. I told him not to forage

  through the ruins, but would he listen? Heavens, the doctor’s

  on the western side of the city, and I must fetch him mysel
f.

  Will you stay with him until I return with the doctor? He’s

  bleeding heavily. I don’t know, Sera,” Father Anselm said in a

  low voice. “It looks very bad. Perhaps there’s something you

  can do for him.”

  Fear gripped her—that she was unequal to the task, and

  that Ivan would suffer for it. “I’ve only worked with horses,

  Father. Do not expect much. But I’ll try,” Sera said.

  “Do your best to stanch the blood flow,” said Father Anselm.

  He ran off to find the doctor.

  Ivan’s freckles stood out on a thin little face that was as

  white as the bandages, and his eyes were wild with pain. “Didn’t

  mean to, milady,” he said in a reedy voice. “But it hurts

  something fierce, it does.” He grabbed Sera’s wrist.

  “You helped the babies. Help me, please.” Sera felt sick

  with apprehension. From the looks of it, the boy didn’t have

  long. And the doctor was very far away.

  Oh, gods! If only the gift flowed through her in full strength!

  All of her pity surged toward Ivan. He grew more waxen by the

  minute. She had to try. Tying a bandage around Ivan’s leg just

  above the wound, Sera let the limited power she had rise within

  her.

  “Sleep,” she wished him.

  Ivan’s eyes blinked once, twice, and closed. His face

  smoothed of pain.

  Sera examined the leg. The glass was still embedded, a long,

  wicked shard plunged into the skin. Ivan’s pulse was weak and

  thready. She shut her eyes and thought clarity, thought peace,

  thought strength.

  The light flooded her. Her heart pounded in a rhythm deep

  and steady, like the tolling of a bell, like the sighing of waves

  against the shore.

  She bent to the work before her, washing the boy’s leg and

  grasping the glass between steady fingers. She tugged, one pull,

  and the glass slid out, leaving a deep gash. She put her hands

  on the gash, delving into that place of calm, directing it outward

  and into the wound, as she did with the horses. The wound grew

  warm beneath her hands. The very air about them both vibrated,

  and she felt the surge of her own blood, her own life, rise through

  her and into Ivan from the tips of her fingers. And there was

  stillness to the room, as though time had stopped in its tracks,

  as though all life paused to listen. A pulsing peace encircled her