So, even though everyone knew a storm was going to strike, they rode out as scheduled. Sure enough, the storm hit them before they could make camp, a miserable experience that at least the king shared with them. “This is what war is like,” he kept saying—which no one could argue with.
In the royal city, as thunder crashed, reverberating through the thick stone, Danet wondered how her boys were doing, floundering around in mud with their wooden swords.
Two Days before Victory Day, on the eve of their expected return, Hliss sent a runner to Danet, who had gone to bed not long before. She dressed and made her way through the dripping world to Hliss’s quarters above the looms, thinking she had plenty of time, but she had scarcely walked in when she heard one of Hliss’s younger runners shout, “Here it comes!”
Within two heartbeats there was a slippery baby, all awkward limbs trying to work back into their familiar ball. The Birth Healer swathed the infant in soft cloth and began to rub gently as Hliss gasped, “Let me see her.”
The Healer said, “Him.”
“What?”
Hliss sounded so aghast that the tired Healer actually opened the swaddling cloth to double-check as Hliss’s runners crowded around.
“He’s a he,” the youngest runner said, looking at her chief with a wide gaze.
Hliss dissolved into breathy laughter, tears leaking out the sides of her eyes as she held out her arms.
With practiced ease the Healer and her assistants supervised restoring mother and infant to clean comfort, then everyone but Danet left.
Candlelight struck Hliss’s hair to gold, restoring her youth again as she smiled pensively down at the babe. He blinked around with the vague gaze of newborns, his fists bumping up against his face.
When he made a little noise, Hliss gave Danet a startled look. “What do I do now?”
“He’ll let you know what he wants,” Danet said, and then added, “Speaking of boys. When you change him, put a cloth over that little dangle, or you will get shot in the eye.”
“Really? On purpose?” Hliss asked, her brow puckered, midway between tears and hilarity.
“With boys, who knows? I can only tell you that Noddy’s first laugh was when he got me right in the neck. I suspect it was my startled expression that made him laugh, but then then, we don’t know when boy humor starts.” Danet thought back to that sweet, husky little sound, and the big infant grin, and chuckled.
Though the storm had washed most of the heat out of the air outside, the small chamber was still warm. Hliss laid the babe on her lap, letting the cloth fall open as she stared down. “Strange, isn’t it, how the sight of that little dangle—or absence of one—somehow lays out an expected life path. Without that one bit, we all look the same.”
“We don’t grow the same,” Danet said, somewhat tartly.
Hliss scarcely heard her. Still staring down at her little son, she said slowly, “Arrow will not make him a prince.”
“What’s your fear here?” Danet asked. “That his being a boy will make him ride to war, even if you raise him exactly as you planned to raise a girl?”
Hliss looked up, the candlelight reflecting in her eyes. “It sounds arrogant, a bit, doesn’t it, when we consider that the most bloodthirsty person in our family connections was Hard Ride.”
“But then there is Olavayir history.” Danet spread her hands, palms up.
“Yes,” Hliss admitted with a sigh, her voice softening to a whisper. “It didn’t seem right, to ask another man to have a child with me, when I’m with Arrow. I keep expecting him to move on to another favorite and stay, but he always comes back.”
Danet looked curiously at her sister. Hliss had appeared to be content, and she was so very good for Arrow. Danet knew she herself was too much like Mother. At best she’d been able to get him to stop yelling, but that was not nearly as effective as Hliss’s ability to actually calm him down.
Danet asked, “Do you love him?”
Hliss looked up, then out the window before saying softly, “How do I answer that? There are so many kinds of love. Do you love him?”
“I do,” Danet said. “It’s the love that comes of being a family. It was never a passion for either of us. Until you came, I didn’t think he could be ‘in love.’ Actually, I didn’t think I could, either.”
“But then you met the commander.” Hliss smiled tiredly.
“And that happened without my being aware. It took six years before I realized that we were mates. Maybe even lifemates. I don’t know. No one is ever going to come to me for wisdom or insight about love.”
Hliss chuckled under her breath, then thumbed her eyes with her free hand, holding the wriggling baby close with the other. “I do love Arrow, but like you, I’m not certain what being in love means,” Hliss went on in that low, almost dreamy voice, “I don’t know that Arrow does either. I did tell you, if I reached thirty, I wanted a daughter to hand on our secrets to. And Arrow loved the idea of my having a child....” She sighed. “What’s the use of talk? I now have a son. He can be a weaver. But he’s not going to be a prince.”
Danet bent to look into her sister’s face. “You’ve said that three times, now. Is that aimed at Arrow and me? Do you think we’re raising the boys wrong?”
Hliss blinked at her, as if trying to bring her into focus. Then she said, “No. That is, I don’t know how princes should be raised. But I do think that two princes are enough.” Her voice broke. “I was going to name her Danet.”
Danet bent down, hugged Hliss, kissed the baby, then stepped back, saying, “You’re tired, and it’s nearing dawn. Were you up the entire night?”
“I couldn’t sleep. But I didn’t think it was time. It was only mild discomfort, until suddenly it wasn’t.”
The baby began to fret, and Hliss looked panicked, but Danet talked her through the first awkward attempt at feeding, insisted it was all right for him to yell a little, and promised her she would easily learn to differentiate his cries. It seemed no sooner had he figured out feeding at his end than his eyes shuttered and his breathing deepened.
“He’s dozed off. That’s your time to get some rest.”
Hliss lay back down again, the babe held in the circle of her arms, but she gave Danet a considering glance and asked, “Did you write to Calamity?”
“No,” Danet said, and at her sister’s strained expression, she added, “I was going to, but I was too angry. It can wait. It has for twelve years.”
Hliss’s gaze dropped. “I feel terrible.”
“How did you find out? You may as well tell me. I’ll find out one way or another.”
Hliss sighed. “One of my weavers, Lnar. Her brother married into one of their Rider families. I sent her to get North Valley sky berries for your royal blue. Bad weather drove her into Senelaec, and she found out, and told me.”
“When was that?”
“I don’t remember. A few years ago. Ranet was a toddler. He—she—everyone called Ranet she, even though he ran out of the bath naked, and almost tripped Lnar. Pandet came running after and grabbed the child into a towel. Pandet swore her to secrecy. She told only me.”
“Did she find out if there are any others?”
Hliss lifted a shoulder. “No notion. It wasn’t as if we talked about it much after she got back. She said it was a secret, and I thought that that was why you hadn’t told me. I don’t really know the Senelaecs—we only stayed the night when I came down from Farendavan to the royal city—so I forgot about it, until we were talking. I don’t even know why it popped into my mind.”
Danet said, “Get some rest. No. First, do you want me to arrange the Name Day party?”
“It’ll just be you, me, Bun, and both my runners if Arrow isn’t back by tonight. I can send Liet to get some wine and any tarts left over. That’s good enough.”
“Tomorrow is Victory Day,” Danet reminded Hliss. Arrow and the boys should be back by noon. Would you like it here or up in the Residence?”
“He
re.” Hliss’s eyes drifted shut.
“I’ll put it all together. Sleep.”
Danet walked out, her mood a weird mixture of laughter and grim.
The worst of it was, this new knowledge about the boy-Ranet placed her squarely between these bonehead Senelaecs—what were they thinking would happen?—and Arrow. Unless she could figure a way around it.
She retreated to her suite and tried to return to sleep, but her mind would not quiet. So she bathed and got to work, intermittently mulling the problem until noon, when, as she had predicted, Arrow arrived with his usual great clatter.
She had stationed the youngest runner to report when he appeared. Danet left her desk, and walked out in time to meet Arrow coming down the long hall, three runners following, each taking turns to report.
At the sight of Danet everyone stopped, and the runners slapped hands to chests.
“You have a son,” Danet said to Arrow. “Are the boys back?”
Arrow’s eyelids flashed up. “At the academy.” His voice was husky.
“Send someone to fetch them. I gave orders for a Name Day celebration tonight, at Hliss's rooms. Bun is down in the kitchen, making certain they have enough tarts.”
Arrow chuckled, flushing with pleasure. “If he’d waited a day he could have had Victory Day as his Name Day.” He started away, then halted mid-step. “Is she awake?”
“By now she must be.”
Arrow rubbed his hands. “Shall we name him after my father? Another Inda?”
“I expect Hliss has names picked out,” Danet said.
He raced off as fast as one of the boys, and Danet returned to her desk, wondering if he would have been that excited at the birth of another daughter. No. That was exactly the kind of question that got one angry, and confused the other party who had no idea what one was thinking. If she wanted to know, she should ask him—and there was no use in asking, because of course he would say he’d feel exactly the same, and then she’d have to determine whether or not she believed him.
She’d let him answer through his future actions.
She pulled forward a newly delivered report on early harvests, forcing herself to concentrate on the list of jarlates and their numbers. As always, the columns of numbers steadied her as they built a mental map, and she worked until the bell rang.
On the last reverberating tang, Arrow burst in, wearing his House tunic. “Come, Danet, get a leg over the saddle pad. I got the boys ready.”
“Send them on down,” Danet said as she neatly stacked her papers before handing the results to the waiting scribe to take and make copies.
“Down?” Arrow repeated, surprised.
“I know I told you. She wants the celebration in her quarters.”
“I thought she’d want to come up here,” he said. “More room. I’ll tell Bun and the boys. Meet you there.”
Danet bathed quickly and changed. As she crossed the castle to the east side, here and there she heard shouts of jollity. The import struck her: Arrow had given the entire castle Name Day liberty.
When she reached the looms, sure enough, Arrow presided proudly as the entire textiles staff gathered, tightly packed, against the wall. Hliss’s ancillary chiefs stood like sentinels on either side of Hliss, all wearing formal garb.
This was a Name Day for a royal prince, in every way except the ringing of the bells and a royal fanfare salute from the towers.
Danet’s attention went to Hliss, who smiled happily as she walked around, showing everyone the infant. She stopped in the center of the room and said gently, “I’ll lead the toast.”
Arrow looked surprised, but smiled and stepped back.
“Today is my son’s Name Day. Andas Farendavan, welcome to the world,” Hliss said, lifting the infant.
Everyone cheered, and drank.
Danet noticed a couple of covert looks as people repeated “Farendavan.” Then newly-born Andas wailed, startled by the cheers. The circle dissolved into knots of conviviality as people helped themselves to food and drink, the youngsters going for the tarts, as usual.
When the food had been demolished and most of the wine drunk, Hliss’s staff took their leave. As the boys and Bun foraged for crumbs on the tart trays, Arrow said low-voiced to Danet, “Why not any of the family names?”
“Andas is a family name,” Danet said. “Our great-great grandfather, famous for making our linens what they are today.”
Connar’s boyish treble rose, “Is he going to the academy?”
Danet turned to see him standing next to Hliss.
Arrow opened his mouth, but Hliss said, “No, he is not. He’s going to be the future Chief Weaver. He’ll make all your banners just the way you like them.”
Connar grinned. “I want my own banner!”
“You’ll have one as Commander of the King’s Riders,” Arrow promised, grinning as he flipped Connar’s glossy horsetail. “Actually, you’ll have two: your own, and the kingdom’s, whenever you ride out on royal orders.”
Connar’s dark-fringed blue eyes rounded with excitement, and Arrow laughed indulgently.
Danet said, “Andas is beginning to fret. Let’s leave so he can be put down to sleep.”
“You boys have to be up early,” Arrow reminded them. “Victory Day competitions tomorrow!”
The boys shouted, Andas wailed, and Danet shot an apologetic look at her sister as she herded them all out.
They started back to the Residence, Danet watching the boys gambol ahead, Bun, as always, their shadow. Laughter rose suddenly, Noddy’s voice, never lovely, beginning to drop into the nasal bark of an adolescent. Connar’s voice was exactly as clear and pure as it always had been. High above them, Bun’s bubbling laugh, and below Arrow’s guffaw. Had to be a fart joke. She rolled her eyes. Arrow’s sense of humor had never grown up, to the boys’ delight.
Too soon that they would be braying teens, scorning apple tarts as a reward, and Da’s old jokes….
A solution struck her then. It was so neat, perhaps too neat—too much a back of the hand gesture to the Senelaecs, so she had better think it out.
She kept silent until everyone had withdrawn to their chambers, then sent her youngest runner with a message to Mnar with their agreed-on code for discussion with kingdom-wide ramifications.
When the girl returned, it was to say, “If you can wait one hour, Danet-Gunvaer?”
Danet suppressed impatience. Mnar was as busy as Danet herself was. Danet almost sent the girl back to say never mind, but restrained herself. The royal runners had been too consistently good with their advice, when asked. Even Arrow agreed on that. So she turned over an hour glass, then saw to a stream of minor tasks, including inspecting Bun’s House tunic to see if it was too small. It wasn’t. The palace runners had not been neglecting the royal children, though those ungrateful scamps might wish differently.
When the glass was empty, she went upstairs, where to her surprise she not only found Mnar waiting, but Shendan, looking older and more frail than the previous time Danet had seen her.
“I did not know you were here on visit, Shendan-Jarlan,” she exclaimed.
Shendan touched fingers to chest as she said, “It’s much easier for everyone if I come and go with the runners. And you have all been so very busy.”
Mnar watched Danet accept this evasion, aware that Shendan would not want the gunvaer finding out about magic transfer or its terrible cost. I shall officially retire when I cannot transfer anymore, Shendan had said.
Danet sat down on the waiting mat, and—having thought out what she would say and what she wouldn’t—stated flatly, “I discovered that the Senelaecs lied about Ranet, rather than send her, that is, him, to the academy. There is no law preventing it.”
The only one who betrayed relief at that secret being popped was Camerend, listening from the inner room. He’d dreaded what might happen when it was discovered.
“There is no law, but I know that Arrow will take it as a personal slight,” Danet went on, and ex
plained her idea—to invite jarls’ and Rider captains’ girls to compete in the Victory Day competition.
The two women before her listened all the way through in their usual manner, and then, without once looking at each other, said, “Excellent notion.”
Mnar added, “That will give the Senelaecs plenty of time to provide a suitable wife for Connar-Laef.”
Danet was pleased, relieved, and also tired, for she had been awake since that midnight call. She looked at old Shendan, who was so wise and sensible, and though she hadn’t meant to, poured out a disjointed tale of Andas’s birth and what she’d seen in Arrow. “No one is wrong here,” she said hastily. “I’m not saying that. Not at all. It’s just that my sister kept repeating that Andas will not be treated like a prince, and I feel in part that that’s aimed at me.”
Mnar kept her lips closed. She’d thought Hliss was walking blindly into danger to risk having a child by a king, in case it turned out to be a boy, but no one had asked her opinion. She wasn’t about to deliver it now.
Shendan said slowly, “I understand the Chief Weaver’s concern, and though I did not hear her say it, I don’t believe she had you in mind at all. Her worry would be the same whoever the royal family was. The fact is, though our history offers enough examples of princes, or cousins of princes, or jarls related distantly to princes, leading a war party in order to make themselves kings, so far no woman, much less a princess, has led a war to become gunvaer.”
“Well, one did. I’m related to her.”
Shendan looked down at her hands. “True. She was raised to be a warrior. But I believe most of us are killers only when we are very angry, or very afraid.”
Danet said, “That’s true.”
Shendan sighed, easing herself on her cushion. The ache from magic transfer still throbbed in her bones, but Camerend’s instincts were far too good when he sensed trouble. She’d had to come, then pretend it was a regular visit.
She said, “In Colend and other places, apparently that instinct to violence has been mitigated by custom. The first king of Colend once said that their royal policy is like their winding canals along handsome countryside, which curve and meander pleasingly, and at the same time lessen the river’s terrible strength. In Colend, though politeness is tied in with their notion of honor, they are still human. But their custom, like the canals, tends to force their conflicts into expression through words and manner. Their duels with fans and fashion, from what I hear, can be just as vicious as our duels with steel, but at least everyone walks away alive.”
Time of Daughters I Page 34