by Jasmine Walt
Alistair sighed. “You are probably right,” he said. The thought of his father wasting away, a mere shell of himself, filled him with sadness. But perhaps the lords were right. A fully recovered Dragomir, even without the dragon sickness, would only shake things up again. It was better to simply move forward and hope their father would live out the rest of his days in peace and comfort.
9
“My lady,” Soldian said, interrupting Dareena’s reading time. “The midwife and healer are here to see you.”
Dareena looked up from her book at Soldian standing in the doorway of her bedroom. She’d taken to spending her mornings in bed now that the waves of lethargy and queasiness were settling in, but just because she was physically confined did not mean she couldn’t exercise her mind. She’d taken to reading books about history and battle, hoping the texts would give her more insight into what was going on around her. In the afternoons, when she was feeling up to it, she practiced her elven magic. She was getting much better at wielding the whip and had begun to learn how to levitate objects—a useful skill for when she wanted something but didn’t want to leave bed to get it.
“All right,” she said, setting the book aside, “send them in.”
“Yes, my lady.” Soldian dipped her head, then left the room. Dareena forced herself out of bed, then wrapped a dressing gown around her night shift and went into the sitting room to greet her visitors. She hid a grimace at the sight of Lyria and Rantissa standing there—the two bowed as she entered, but there was no hiding the resentment in Lyria’s eyes.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” the midwife said as she entered the suite. She was a kindly, middle-aged woman with silver-threaded brown hair and a plump figure. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired, and a bit sick,” Dareena admitted, placing a hand against her belly. “If not for these symptoms, I might not even know I was pregnant,” she said. “My stomach is as flat as ever.”
“It usually takes twelve to sixteen weeks for first-time mothers to begin showing,” the healer, a tall, blonde woman in a white robe, said. She gave Dareena a gentle smile as she took her by the hand. “Though since you are carrying a dragon, you will probably begin showing at around eight. Please, lie down while I examine you.”
Dareena allowed the woman to lead her over to the couch. As she sat down, she noticed all three of her ladies-in-waiting standing nearby, watching avidly. Her skin seemed to tighten over her bones, and an unexplainable shiver crawled over her.
“Ladies,” she said in a firm voice. “Please wait outside. I will call you once the exam is complete.”
Soldian and Rantissa bowed and moved to the door. But Lyria did not budge. “We were told not to leave your side,” she said stubbornly. “Two of us are supposed to remain with you at all times.”
“Yes, and now I have the midwife and the healer, who have already been cleared by the guards,” Dareena said, just as stubbornly. “There is no need for an audience. Please wait outside.”
Lyria held her gaze for a long moment before she finally followed Soldian and Rantissa. Dareena let out a silent breath of relief she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She had been worried Lyria would refuse, and even though Dareena was the Dragon’s Gift, Drystan and Alistair’s orders superseded hers in this matter. If Lyria had decided to stay, there would have been nothing she could have done.
“Are you all right, my lady?” the healer asked once the door had shut behind her. She pressed down lightly on the inside of Dareena’s wrist. “Your bodily energies seem quite agitated. You are under a lot of stress.”
Dareena sighed. “Lyria is from my hometown,” she explained as she lay flat on the couch. “The steward assigned her to my household without realizing our history, and now I must put up with her until I can replace her. That alone might not be so bad, but I have two other ladies-in-waiting as well, and it seems as though I never have a moment to myself anymore. I am not used to keeping company at all hours of the day,” she explained.
“It is completely understandable to want your alone time,” the midwife said as the healer continued to inspect her, running her hands deftly over Dareena’s body. “I wish that we were not living under such trying circumstances, where you must be accompanied at all times.”
“I would settle for being able to get rid of the queasiness,” Dareena admitted. “I am very tired of being tired and sick in the mornings.”
“I can have Martia mix you up a draught for morning sickness,” the midwife said, referring to the healer. “The tiredness, I’m afraid, will come and go throughout your pregnancy. You will have moments of great energy, and moments where you can barely drag yourself out of bed, especially in the final weeks. Growing a babe, especially a dragon babe, is taxing on the body.”
“I suppose it would be,” Dareena said ruefully, placing her hand on her belly again. “I just hope all this bed rest and food won’t make me grow fat.”
“I suggest that you remain active during the early stages of your pregnancy,” the midwife advised. “Don’t overdo it, of course, but regular walks and stretching will help. The stronger you are, the easier delivery will be when the time comes.”
“I will do my best,” Dareena said, though she wasn’t certain how she could get in walks when she wasn’t even allowed outside. She supposed she could walk around the castle, though that would be rather boring.
There is always bed sport, a sly voice in her head reminded her. Drystan and Alistair might not want her running about, but they were highly unlikely to forbid her from that. A flash of heat went through her as she remembered the last time she’d made love with Lucyan. A pang of longing hit her as she remembered he was gone—she hoped he would hurry back soon. Having Drystan and Alistair to cuddle her at night helped, but she felt incomplete without having all three, and longed for the days when they spent time together as one.
“When is the wedding and coronation scheduled?” the healer asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Since you will be showing sooner than most pregnant women, I would advise not waiting too long.”
“You certainly don’t want to wait until after the birth, since the babe is the royal heir,” the midwife added. “Some will consider his birth to be illegitimate, though of course it’s a foolish notion.”
“We haven’t decided on a date yet,” Dareena said, “but I will discuss it with my mates when I see them next.” With the war and all their other problems going on, they had not had time to think about it. But of course they needed to address the problem…and come up with a proper ceremony. She was certain there was no marriage ceremony written that accommodated three grooms and one bride, nor any laws to govern such a strange arrangement. But the dragon god wanted it done this way, and so did the four of them. They would figure it out, one way or the other.
After the midwife and healer finished poking and prodding at her, Dareena brought her ladies-in-waiting back in. “I am famished,” she announced.
“I’ll have the servants bring you some food,” Rantissa said quickly. She moved toward the bell pull, but Dareena held up a hand.
“I think not,” she said, getting to her feet. “The midwife has told me I need to get more exercise, and I do not want to wait so long for the food anyway. Let’s go straight to the kitchens.”
“You cannot be serious,” Lyria protested as Dareena headed for the door.
“I believe she is,” Rantissa muttered.
Dareena ignored them, and the ladies were forced to hurry after her lest they lose her. “My lady,” Soldian protested as they walked, “while none of us mind accompanying you anywhere you wish to go, going to the kitchens directly for some food is beneath our station.”
“If you are worried about getting flour on your skirts,” Dareena said airily, “then feel free to wait outside.”
Lyria snorted. “Nice try, but you won’t be getting rid of us that easily.”
Dareena frowned. Why was Lyria so determined to stick closely to her? It was obvious there was no
love lost between them, and yet she stayed by Dareena’s side even when it wasn’t necessary. Did Lyria have an ulterior motive? Or was she just trying to do her job?
“Good morning,” Dareena said cheerfully as she sailed into the kitchen. The cooking staff froze, clearly caught off guard at having the Dragon’s Gift in their midst. “Do you have any fresh bread and juice?”
“Of course, my lady,” the cook said, breaking out of her shock first. She snapped her fingers at her undercook, who immediately sprang into action. “But you didn’t need to come down here. We would have sent the food to your room.”
“I know, but I wanted a change of scenery.” Dareena glanced to the row of stools set up on the other side of the counter. “Might I sit here?”
“You are welcome to sit anywhere,” the cook said, “but we do have a table that would be more suitable.” She gestured to a table behind them and off to the side, big enough to seat four people. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Dareena hesitated. Part of her wanted to sit on the stool so she could watch the chef work, but the more rational part of her knew that she was making the kitchen staff uncomfortable as it was and that she needed to start acting more queenlike. Her ladies followed her to the table, where they were served juice and fresh bread while the undercooks prepared a proper meal for them.
“Mmm,” Dareena said around a mouthful of hot, buttered sourdough. “This is wonderful.”
“Thank you.” The cook beamed. “This is a new recipe I’m trying, so I am very happy you like it.”
“I would ask you to teach me how to make some,” Dareena said with a smile, “but I think Drystan would have an apoplexy if he saw me in the kitchens, and my ladies would probably quit.” She winked at them, and they had the decency to look a little sheepish, though they did not deny it.
The cook laughed. “I wouldn’t be averse to letting you come down here and bake every once in a while,” she said. “Your predecessor was also a commoner, and she loved to sneak into the kitchens late at night and whip up a batch of cookies when she had trouble sleeping. She claimed it helped her relax.”
“Really?” Dareena blinked. This was the first time anyone had spoken about King Dragomir’s wife; the brothers barely mentioned her, though it was clear they had loved her deeply. She wondered if speaking about her was simply too painful.
“Yes, Lady Galica was quite different from the noblewomen who frequent the court around here,” the cook said fondly. Sadness entered her eyes as she spoke. “It’s a shame she died so young. I wonder if the king would have gone off the deep end if the warlocks had not killed her.”
“I think the dragon sickness was already taking him,” Dareena said softly, unsurprised that word had already spread about the warlocks’ involvement. Now that the nobles had been informed, that information would start spreading like wildfire throughout the kingdom. “But her death accelerated the process.” She would have liked to meet the former Dragon’s Gift, she thought. She was certain her mates’ mother would have all sorts of advice for her, though Dareena did wonder what she would think of all three of her sons marrying the same woman.
“A crying shame.” The cook shook her head in disgust. “I hope that imposter oracle is drawn and quartered once he’s caught.”
Dareena nodded in agreement as she reached for her juice to wash the bread down. As she lifted the cup to her lips, a strange, sour scent wafted from the cup and turned her stomach.
Strange.
“Do you think you could pour me a fresh cup?” Dareena asked, setting the mug down. “Something smells a bit off.”
“Certainly.” The cook frowned, taking the glass. “Nari, can you fetch the lady a new mug?”
“A new mug?” The undercook hurried over. She frowned as she took the mug and peered into it. “I don’t smell anything wrong with this,” she said, taking a deep whiff.
“Nari!” the cook exclaimed, sounding scandalized. “You would dare contradict the Dragon’s Gift? I ought to dock your wages!”
“I don’t mean to offend,” Dareena said gently. She had a feeling that the undercook had brewed the juice herself. “My sense of smell has changed significantly since being pregnant. You may not be able to tell anything is amiss, but there is definitely something wrong. Perhaps the cup has merely not been washed properly?”
“I am more than happy to get you a new mug, my lady,” the undercook said, bowing her head. “It merely seems like a waste to throw this away, but then again, I can just drink it myself.” She brought the cup to her lips and drained the mug in one go.
“Insolent fool,” Lyria muttered as the undercook walked away. Her eyes were narrowed in displeasure. “You should not allow her to talk to you like that, Dareena. It makes you look weak.”
“You will address me as ‘my lady,’” Dareena said, a little snippily, growing weary of Lyria’s insolence. “And given that I know exactly how you like to deal with people, and the affects you created by doing so, you’ll excuse me if I don’t take your advice.”
Lyria’s cheeks flamed red. “I think it is good for a ruler to be merciful,” Soldian said with an encouraging smile. “My grandmother always said that anger cannot flourish in the presence of kindness.”
“Your grandmother was a wise woman,” the cook said, and Dareena agreed. She’d only been with her ladies for a few days, but already, Soldian was proving to be her favorite. She seemed to know exactly what to do or say under any given circumstance, no matter what mood Dareena was in.
A metal pan hit the floor behind them with a loud bang, startling Dareena.
“Nari!” the cook cried, rushing over. Dareena twisted around to see the undercook collapse to her knees with a groan, clutching her stomach. “What’s wrong?” the cook asked, placing her hand on her shoulder.
“S-stomach cramps,” she managed through gritted teeth, her face pale. “I-I think it was…the juice…”
“Out of my way,” Dareena ordered, pushing the head cook aside. She raced over to the woman and turned her onto her back. “Call a healer!” she ordered Soldian and Rantissa as she placed her hands on the undercook’s convulsing abdomen. Sucking in a breath, she drew magic from the air and pushed it into the woman, trying to ease her pain. Lyria appeared at her side instantly, using her superior strength to hold the woman’s thrashing legs down, while the cook held down her shoulders. Long seconds passed as Dareena pushed more magic into her, and though the tremors eased, they did not go away completely.
Footsteps sounded outside the hall, and the kitchen door crashed open. “What is happening?” Drystan demanded, and Dareena looked up to see him enter right behind the healer and Soldian, along with several guards.
“Someone tried to poison her,” Rantissa said, her voice trembling as she stared down at the undercook. She and Soldian both looked pale and shaken. “Dareena said she smelled something strange in her juice, and the undercook drank it to try and prove her wrong.”
“I told you that woman was a fool,” Lyria growled.
“Move aside,” the healer ordered, clearing a space around the woman. “Where is the mug she drank from?” she asked as she knelt beside Nari.
“Here.” The cook quickly fetched it from where it sat on the counter and handed it to her.
The healer sniffed, then scowled. “This is tansica,” she snapped. “An herb commonly prescribed to women who wish to terminate their pregnancies. In a woman who is not pregnant, it induces strong convulsions and abdominal pain, but in someone like Dareena…” She looked up at Dareena, her eyes glittering with anger. “This would have killed your unborn child.”
Drystan swore loudly. “Who is responsible for this?” he demanded, whirling on the cook. “Was it one of your staff?”
“N-never!” the cook stammered, her eyes wide with fear. “Nari would never do such a thing!”
“Drystan.” Dareena put a hand on his arm, noting he was coming perilously close to losing his temper. “Nari would not drink the juice if she w
as the one who poisoned it. Our first priority is to help her, and then we can worry about who is responsible.”
“Very well,” Drystan said through clenched teeth. “But you will not be staying here for one more moment.”
Dareena swallowed back a protest as Drystan scooped her up in his arms and carried her from the room. He barked orders to the guards to help the healer move Nari to a better location, then swiftly walked back to their quarters. Given the way his jaw clenched and his temple pulsed, Dareena decided not to point out that she was perfectly capable of walking on her own. She knew Drystan would not hurt her, but it was clear he needed to feel in control right now, and if carrying her was his way of doing that, then so be it.
“Drystan,” she said once he’d kicked the door of their suite shut behind him. She cupped his face gently, coaxing him to look down at her. “I’m all right.”
“I know, but I am not.” He sat down heavily on the couch, then buried his face in her neck and cradled her. Sighing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him as he took in slow, deep breaths to calm himself. She knew her touch and scent soothed him, and he had the same effect on her. Tension she didn’t realize she held bled out of her as she rubbed her cheek against his, enjoying the scratch of his whiskers against her skin.
They stayed like that for a long while before Drystan finally lifted his head. The pain in his eyes made her heart ache. “I don’t know what I would have done if it had been you who drank the juice instead of the undercook,” he said. “I fear I might have burned down the entire castle in my rage.” He shook his head, his features twisted in an expression of disgust. “Lately, it seems that I can only react with anger. I fear I may be treading along the same path as my father.”
“You could never become Dragomir,” Dareena said, cupping his face with both of her hands. She traced the high ridge of his cheekbone with her thumb. “Your father was paranoid and ruled by greed. You are merely angry for having to pick up the pieces your father left behind, and you are also a dragon. Dragons are naturally hot-tempered.”