by Brenna Lyons
“Assuredly.” She strode from the room with the men at her heels. Deliya chewed at her lip, knowing that Benel would balk what might have to be done to save his bride. “Send for a kettle of boiling water and bring it to me when it is hot,” she ordered the young man, as they reached the stairs. “I will have to make teas to aid me in the procedure.”
Benel stilled, paling. “But, Juria—”
“Benel,” Ro barked. “Go now. Juria needs you.”
Deliya nodded, thankful for Ro’s intercession. “You can best serve this way for now. Juria will need you in the days to come.”
Benel shook his head, but he ran for the kitchen.
Ro wrapped his hand around her hip. “If this goes badly, Benel will hold it against us both.”
“If it goes badly, I will at least have tried to save them both. It is unlikely that I will lose one of them and nearly impossible that I will lose both,” she informed him.
He nodded, pushing the door to Juria’s room open without warning.
Deliya pulled her packs from Ro’s shoulders, opening the crock of Auguren and Felgren paste she kept for emergencies like this. She scrubbed it into her hands with a clean cloth. “What have you found, woman healer?” she asked.
Deliya moved to the foot of the bed where Juria lay, panting and bathed in sweat. The young princess grimaced, pleading silently for her help. Deliya nodded and pulled the quilts back as the woman healer began to speak.
“The babe is too large to pass. I would either have to break many of the princess’ bones or most of the babe’s to force him to pass. One of them will not survive what I must do.”
Deliya snorted in disgust at that comment and eased her hand into Juria to check on the babe.
“Majesty, the risk of infection,” the healer protested.
“Quiet,” she growled. “I have used a paste to prevent that.” Deliya closed her eyes and let her hand tell her all she needed to know. “The shoulders are too wide,” she confirmed, “and the head is nearly so.”
Juria sobbed. “Please, Deliya.”
Deliya opened her eyes and removed her hand slowly, meeting her hopeful gaze. “I can save you both, but there is a price.”
“Anything.”
“I can take the babe surgically.”
“The surgeon is too far,” the healer informed her coldly. “They will both be dead by the time he arrives to care for them.”
Deliya shot her a stern look. “Fion’s priestesses do not depend on Magden surgeons to do their work. I am capable of doing this without him. I learned the technique when I was a novice.”
The healer paled. “At what cost?”
Deliya met Juria’s eyes again. This would be hard for her to hear. It was always a difficult decision for a mother to make. “If I do this, you will have no more children. The cut is the same as the one that ends fertility, and while I could repair that damage, it is better that I not. The incision will weaken your womb. Another child would surely kill you. The choice is yours Juria. I can save you both, if I act quickly.”
Juria looked toward Ro. He kept his face studiously neutral.
“Benel?” she gasped.
“The choice is yours,” Deliya repeated. “You can let me do this, or you can die for your child. Either way, Benel will only have one child of you. If the woman healer kills the babe— I am sorry. I cannot take part in that. It is not Fion’s way.”
“If the babe is female,” she panted.
“She will not fight wars,” Deliya interrupted her. “I would train her as a priestess, if you both wished it.”
Juria looked to Ro again then back to Deliya. “Do it. Take the babe surgically.”
Deliya nodded. “Ro, you will have to keep Benel away. Healer, collect the kettle from Benel and find some errand for him while you come back to assist me.”
The healer paled but nodded. She slipped into the corridor.
Ro’s hands closed on her shoulders. “Is this the only way?” he whispered.
Deliya nodded. “I wish it were not, but it is.”
“Then stand and don your robes, while I move the bed. You will need a healing circle.”
She looked at her husband, tears misting her eyes. Ro was an understanding man, respectful of her of her beliefs. Deliya took his hand and stood. “Yes. Yes, I will.” She rushed to mix the herbs she would need.
*
It took two mugs of lizor stem and olum tea to send Juria into the deep sleep Deliya needed from her.
Deliya took a calming breath and looked to the healer. “Coat your hands in that mixture — and your blade,” Deliya instructed, rubbing a new coating on herself and her abinatine.
She said prayers to Fion under her breath. She bared Juria’s abdomen and used the mixture over the site she would use. “We must work quickly. Juria is growing weak. When I free the babe, you must sever the cord and clean her mouth of blood and fluids immediately.”
“Yes, Mother Deliya.”
Deliya nodded and made the first incision, trying to ignore the muted voices from the corridor. Benel’s errand had not taken as long as Deliya would have hoped. She made the second incision, cringing at the scream of pure fury from the corridor.
“Lord Benel,” the healer gasped, as a crash sounded from the corridor.
“No,” Benel thundered. More sounds of a struggle filtered through the door. “You cannot allow her to do this.”
Deliya grasped the babe and eased it back from the gates of the womb slowly so as not to damage either mother or child.
The healer said a prayer to Mag in a stunned voice.
“Ro will handle him. Our duty is to Juria and her child,” she snapped.
“Yes, Mother Deliya.”
“It is the only way,” Ro replied in a lull in the struggle. His voice was calm and soothing. “If you do not wish to lose Juria or your child, there is no other choice.”
“No,” he shouted again. The sounds of their struggle receded. No doubt Ro was dragging Benel away from the room as gently as he could. “Ro, you cannot allow this.”
Deliya breathed a sigh of relief as the child slid free. “Take the babe quickly,” she ordered.
The healer reached around her and took the blood-streaked child. Deliya noted grimly that the babe was male. At one time, she would have grieved for the young mother with only a son and no prospect of another child, but Juria and Benel were Magden. This was good news for them. Benel would accept this only for his son — if he accepted it at all. If the child were female, he would curse them all for this choice.
Deliya stitched the incisions inside and out, taking special care to seal the egg tubes as she worked. She waved the healer over and helped the woman change the bloodied linens.
Juria was dressed in a nursing gown by the time she woke. She moved sluggishly, groaning at the pain.
Deliya nodded grimly. “The incisions are more than the healing magic can repair,” she apologized. “You will have to remain here for a full month. The healer has gone to collect healing foods. You will only have lover’s repast, broth and healing teas for two days. Then you will have meat and fruits to build your milk.”
Juria nodded weakly. “My babe?” she whispered.
Deliya motioned to the cradle she’d requested from the royal nursery. “Your son is well, Juria. He will wake soon for a meal.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Deliya wiped them away with a smile. “Benel will be allowed in once you have eaten. You will have to name the babe soon.”
Juria shook her head and grasped Deliya’s hand. “I would have been proud to gift you with a young priestess. What would you have me name my son?”
Celdin’s face swam in her mind, but Deliya shook away the image of a dead race. “Give him a strong Magden name, Juria. Raise him to be a good man as befits his mother.”
*
Ro looked up as Deliya cleared her throat. He intercepted Benel, as the younger man launched at her with murder in his eyes. Keeping Ben
el cornered in the lounge for the last two hours had been nerve wracking, but Ro had managed not to involve guards in the situation — so far.
“Tell me,” Benel growled.
“They are both well,” Deliya assured him. “Juria wishes to see you.” She turned away and headed for the stairs, speaking quickly, as she always did after a difficult healing. “Juria will be unable to travel for a month, and her mother’s fast will be doubled, but she will still feel completion.”
Ro tightened his grip on Benel and added a look of warning. No matter how shattering this moment was for Benel, Ro would not allow him to harm Deliya in his grief.
“There will be teas to help her heal and control her pain,” Deliya continued, oblivious to the threat Benel posed or perhaps trusting Ro enough to make sure she was not harmed. “Juria will be incapable of moving about for a week and then only with your help.”
Benel growled a harsh curse.
Deliya shot him a hard look. “Your bride and child both live. You should thank Fion for your blessings, Benel. It took a lot of courage for Juria to choose to live for you. She could have chosen to leave you just as easily — or to take your child from you.” She quickened her step and pushed through the door into Juria’s rooms ahead of them.
Benel scanned his eyes over Juria and swallowed hard, stumbling to the bed and sinking gingerly to her side. He laid a kiss on her pale cheek and ran his fingers through the babe’s black curls, examining the steady motion of sucking as the child ate its first meal.
“You are well?” he choked out.
Juria nodded and touched his cheek. Benel kissed her palm, meeting her eyes.
Ro nodded in understanding. He is afraid to ask. “What is your child’s name, Juria?” Ro asked calmly, tensing to stop Benel if he turned on either of the women in the room.
She smiled at Benel. “This is your son. I named him Benir.”
Benel sobbed. He met Juria’s mouth tenderly. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
“For giving you a son?” she asked sadly.
He shook his head slowly. “For having the courage to give me both of you.”
Deliya came to Ro and guided him toward the door. “They have much to discuss,” she noted quietly. “We should go.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Zor 7th, Ti 10-460
Deliya scowled at Captain Grel then turned her eyes back to the three woman healers gathered before her. It did no good to complain about the bored man’s presence. Donic had decreed that her sessions were to be monitored, that Deliya might teach the women something against Magden law. Ro had ruled for Donic, though he assured Deliya that he was simply humoring the general to keep peace in the household. In four months, Grel had never been forced to intervene in her lessons, but still the man remained.
She held up a gola sprig with a handful of the pink berries attached. “I am sure you all recognize this plant,” she stated confidently.
The Magden had been warned to avoid the berries and report to the central clinics where the distilled tea, which the doctors named Triclum, was available in case of accidental ingestion. As Deliya expected, all three of the women nodded.
“Gola,” Biria groaned.
Deliya chuckled. “Yes. Today, I will teach you to use gola berry.”
Surilia furrowed her brow. “Use it?”
“Yes.” Deliya placed the gola sprig on the table and settled into the plush chair Ro ordered into the conference room for her use. She caressed the squirming babe within her, smiling at how active Ro’s daughter was.
Jedrel, the oldest of her students, looked at her in dismay. “We are healers, Mother Deliya,” she protested. “We are not assassins.”
“Neither were Fion’s Daughters. Gola has medicinal properties.”
“A poison?” Jedrel commented dubiously.
“A poison,” she agreed.
Grel showed a sudden spark of interest in the conversation.
“I trust you have been trained to recognize mother’s sickness?” Deliya asked.
Surilia nodded emphatically, a sure sign of someone who has had to deal with it. “Pain and swelling of the torso and extremities followed by the throat, cutting off breathing. Uncontrolled buildup of toxins and death,” she stated with a note of distaste, another sure sign that she had been called to a woman who needed help.
“And the treatment?”
The three woman healers shot each other uneasy looks.
Biria cleared her throat. “All attempts to end an affected pregnancy come too late. By the time the signs show, nothing can be done to save mother or child.”
Deliya nodded. “Brew a tea. Use two mugs of water and six berries. Brew until the tea turns dark pink. Add five sand of olum while the tea still simmers. The olum will have a bite in that dosage. A spoon of Eir sap will cut the bitterness.”
The healers barely breathed. Grel leaned forward, taking in every word.
Deliya took a deep breath. “The results are not pretty. The woman will vomit, despite the olum suppressing the urge. The cap will pass and then the babe. If the gola is not treated at this point, the woman will hemorrhage, seize and die.”
Biria took a shuddering breath. “I cannot,” she gasped.
Deliya shook her head. “If you do not, the woman will die. This way, she lives.”
Jedrel motioned for her attention. “Why can the doctors not do this?”
“How much time do you have after the signs set in? How long until death? And what happens if you attempt to move the mother once the toxins reach debilitating levels?” she asked pointedly, letting them answer their own questions.
Surilia grimaced. “In outlying areas, there is not enough time to reach a doctor, and if one tries, the woman will die in transit.”
Deliya nodded. “You must be prepared to make a gola tea and to treat the results.”
Grel’s eyes widened.
“Take six mugs of water. Brew in a hand of Zuragol. Add two spoons—”
“Majesty,” Grel barked, his jaw tight in fury.
Deliya startled, meeting his wild eyes in confusion.
“You are not permitted to teach the healers how to make Triclum,” he informed her, puffing up as if he was of importance to her.
“I am permitted to teach anything which does not violate Magden law. Surely, saving a woman’s life does not—”
“Teaching anyone but the trusted doctors to make Triclum is against Magden law.”
Deliya came to her feet, planting her hands on the table between them. “That was never part of the agreement when I taught your doctors,” she stormed.
Grel stared her down. “Leave us,” he ordered the woman healers. “This lesson is ended.”
“How dare you,” Deliya demanded.
The healers scattered, though whether they feared Grel or Deliya more was unclear.
“By order of General Donic and his Majesty, I cannot allow your lessons to continue,” he growled.
“Then I will take this up with Ro,” she promised.
Grel smiled a condescending smile. “I assure you it is a waste of your time, but do as you will.”
Deliya strode to the door, growling out promises of the pain Ro would rain down on Captain Grel.
Ro’s welcoming smile disappeared, as she stormed into his office without knocking. “Della?” he asked, using the pet name he’d coined for her sometime in their second month of marriage.
“Do not use that name with me,” she spat.
Donic looked from Ro to Deliya warily.
“Out,” she ordered him, motioning to the door.
Donic raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Ro?” he asked cautiously.
“Out,” Deliya shouted. “Or do you wish to become a worthy opponent, Donic? Some things are between my husband and myself. Leave us. Now.”
“Leave us, Donic,” Ro said calmly.
Donic shot him a look that proclaimed Ro mad and panned his eyes over her abinatine.
&n
bsp; “That will not be necessary,” Ro assured him. “Just leave us.”
He nodded and edged past Deliya, shutting the door behind him.
Ro put up a hand to still her building outburst and crossed the room. He guided Deliya to his chair and settled her in it. “Now,” he decided. “Tell me what is wrong slowly and sedately. Being this upset is not good for you or our child.”
“I know,” she snapped. “I am a trained healer, Ro.”
“Shhh,” he whispered. Ro crossed behind her and started rubbing the knots from Deliya’s shoulders.
She groaned in the release of tension. “Ro, this is important,” she pleaded.
“It must be. Be calm and tell me.”
“I trusted you,” she commented miserably.
Ro’s hands paused then continued their ministrations. “You say that as if you should not trust me,” he noted. “I am definitely not comfortable with that concept.”
“I should not trust you,” she informed him.
“Would you care to tell me why?” he prodded.
“Donic’s young acolyte disbanded my lesson today. Any healing, Ro. I was given your vow,” she reminded him.
“Why? What did Grel feel was worthy of that?”
“Your precious Triclum.”
His hands stilled, and his breathing was heavy.
“This was not part of our agreement, Ro. When I gave your doctors the secret of treating gola poison, I did not expect it to be taken from me this way.” She glanced at the stricken look on his face. “And, you knew.” She didn’t question it. His expression left no doubt that it was true.
“I never thought,” he stammered. “It is not necessary for the healers to treat the poison. The clinics—”
“Are of no use to a woman suffering mother’s sickness,” she snapped. “A woman cannot be moved to a clinic in either the throes of the sickness or the cure. If the healers cannot administer both the gola and the healing tea, they are lost, Ro.” She swallowed a sob. “As they have always been lost to you. What is the point of teaching these healers, if I cannot better the lives of the women they serve?”