Chapter Five
Amari’s weary heart leapt as Orval pledged himself to Xylara.
She’d loved Queen Kara and been grateful for the offer to be a wet nurse, but she was no warrior. For months now, she’d been surrounded by fierce soldiers, men and women with hard muscles and harder eyes, ready to defend their rights with sword and shield. Even the marcus had carried with him a sense of edgy danger.
But this man was different. Short and stout, wearing a bed-coat of all things, he walked oddly. He…bumped into things. He had plump cheeks and a high hairline under short black curly hair, with skin so pale he must never go out in the sun.
He took Lara into his arms like she was a precious thing he feared to break.
And his face…his face glowed like the sun when he looked up after he spoke the oath. Her heart, weary and tired, drew strength from that calm. He felt…safe, not like a warrior, all sharp of eye and blade. His light blue eyes were warm; they crinkled in the corners when he smiled. One of his front teeth had a slight crook to it, which made him all the more fetching. In the warmth of the kitchen, in the quiet darkness, something eased in her chest.
Then Lara gave a soft cry and all of Amari’s worries came crashing back.
“Is she well?” Orval looked at the babe in his arms with terror.
Amari started to struggle out of her cloak. “She needs to nurse,” she said shortly. Her fear rose again, that the poor, motherless child would not take her nipple, would not suck, would not— “Unwrap her, please. She might needs a change.”
“Oh, uh,” the poor man seemed perplexed by the bundle in his arms.
“Here,” the marcus took pity. “I’ll do it. Take the boy.”
Orval took Dalan in his arms as the marcus unwrapped Lara on the table. The room had warmed considerably once the oven door had been opened. She’d be warm enough.
The marcus moved quickly, unwrapping the swaddling. With the babe exposed, he froze for a moment, staring down.
“Is it bad?” Orval asked, balancing Dalan as he averted his gaze and wrinkled his nose.
Amari stifled her smile at his apprehension.
“No, no,” the marcus said. “She’s good,” He quickly changed the cloths, stuffing the old one away in a pocket.
Lara lay quiet, her lips moving, which was a good sign. To Amari’s relief, the birth cord looked healthy, with no signs of irritation or infection. She bared her breasts.
“Ah,” Orval looked away, his cheeks turning slightly pink. He dug out kitchen rags, handing them to both of them.
Amari took some warm water from the kettle and a cloth and wiped her nipple. The marcus handed her the newborn and Amari offered a soft prayer as she positioned the child at her breast. “Please,” she whispered softly as she tickled Lara’s lower lip with her nipple.
She needn’t have worried. Lara opened her mouth, latched on like a leech, and started to suck greedily. Amari sagged in relief at the strong, healthy tug at her nipple.
Orval still had his eyes averted, but the marcus was staring at Lara. He lifted his eyes and Amari gave him a nod. He returned it.
“Tea,” Orval cleared his throat. “You will want something warm, both of you. There’s pease porridge in there as well, warm and filing, if a bit bland.”
“A bit?” the marcus said with a sly smile, then shook his head. “I can’t stay, Orval. I need to—”.
“I’ve a pot in the hearth,” Orval gave him a glare. “You will eat and—”
“Dalan will need seeing to, then I can feed him as well.” Amari interrupted gently.
“Two at once?” Orval glanced at her and then quickly glanced away. “Oh, well, yes, of course, I—”
“Here,” the marcus reached for Dalan.
“No, no,” Orval said firmly. “Get her tea and put something in your stomach. I can do this; it doesn’t seem so hard.” He placed Dalan on the table and started to unwrap the swaddling.
The marcus shrugged, poured tea, and handed the mug to Amari. She kept it well away from Lara and sipped eagerly. It was dark and bitter on her tongue, but the welcome warmth pooled inside and made her stomach growl.
“Who do we have here?” Orval asked as he pulled back the swaddling cloth.
“Dalan,” Amari said.
Her son was nearly naked on the table. Her eyes filled to see him smile at Orval, healthy and happy as he waved his arms. Orval was peeling back the old nappy hesitantly, as if something was going to jump out and bite him.
“Oh,” Amari said, “you might want to cover—”
A small fountain rose in an arc. The proud baby chortled as he decorated Orval’s robe.
Orval blinked in surprise. Then he laughed, a lovely, warm belly laugh, his eyes sparkling. “Well, aren’t you a little whizzer,” he exclaimed.
Dalan chortled and let loose with another stream.
“Oh no, not again, you little scamp.” Orval threw a clean cloth over Dalan, cutting off the flow. “We’ll get you under wraps right now.”
“Don’t bother swaddling him,” Amari said. “I’ll tuck him under my other arm and give him the breast.”
“Oh,” Orval looked uncomfortable but willing. Amari used her finger to break the suction with Lara, who protested with a small cry as Amari repositioned her under her arm. Thankfully, Lara went right back to sucking fiercely.
Amari took Dalan next, having no fear that her son would have trouble. He too went right for the teat, and she settled with both under her arms as she cradled their heads.
“You need to eat,” Orval said.
“After they do,” she insisted. “I can eat after they finish.” The tugging at her nipples was pleasurable to both her body and her heart as her milk flowed.
“Then you eat,” Orval said to the marcus as he pulled a covered crock from the oven with the sleeve of his robe. He used a rag to remove the top, revealing a thick, yellow paste.
The marcus grimaced but pulled a stool to the table. He took a bowl and spoon from Orval and took a bite. “As good as I remember,” Vren teased, but started shoveling the porridge in quickly.
“Cheap, plentiful and easy,” Orval retorted and poured more tea.
They sat in silence for a moment; the only sound was Dalan snuffling as he nursed. Outside, the bells still rang, muffled and distant. Rain pattered against the window, a steady rhythm. Below them, Amari could hear low talk and that thumping, but the laughter was gone. The tea had given her enough energy to focus. “Where are we?” she asked.
“In Edenrich, in my apartments, over a whorehouse.” Orval answered, pouring his own tea.
Amari’s eyes went wide as the marcus sighed. “Perhaps a little less honesty,” he said to Orval.
“I’m a terrible liar,” Orval said with a smile. “This was a warehouse, long ago, and these were the accounting halls. It’s now a pleasure house, the House of the Weary Traveler, run by Madam Winter. She caters to an older clientele. Not bad neighbors, and these rooms are perfect for an impoverished scholar like myself. All these shelves, you see. Copper lanterns, so no open flames. The ancient pipes still run water, and the privies are water-flushed. Uses the heat from boilers. Really quite ingenious, when you—”
“He’d go on about the history if you let him.” the marcus interrupted. “It’s safe. An older, fairly impoverished neighborhood, and his locks are decent.”
“You’re the only one that picks them,” Orval snorted. “No one else bothers now that they know my treasure is a collection—”
“Hoard,” the marcus interjected.
“Collection,” Orval emphasized. “Of books, papers, scrolls.” He puffed up. “Almost as large as the Royal Library.”
“Almost,” Vren said.
Their expressions told Amari that this was an old game between them. Orval, looking offended, and the glint in the marcus’s eyes. But then the marcus’s face grew serious as he stared at Orval. “I can’t stay,” his eyes dropped to the almost empty bowl. “We were seen, before we left the battlefield.”
“We were?” Amari clutched the babes to her, then willed herself to ease up. They both kept sucking, unconcerned, innocent of the danger.
The marcus nodded. “We lost them in the rain, well before the walls. But they will hunt, and I must lead them off.” He looked at Orval and then nodded to Amari. “And the babes can’t risk going further.”
Orval nodded, and the humor was gone from his eyes. “What do you need?”
“Dalan’s dirty nappy, to go with Lara’s,” the marcus said. “If I can lose them, I will double-back. Then we will need to find a safer place to hide them. No offense.”
“None taken,” Orval said. “How long?”
“A few days,” the marcus scraped his bowl clean with his spoon. His eyes were hooded. “Maybe more. My guess is that it won’t be safe for my charges to move until the Wyverns are occupied with the coronation.”
Orval looked at Amari with worry in his eyes. “This place is not set up for babies,” he said. “I don’t know what they need, or…” his voice trailed off.
“They need warmth,” she reassured him, “dry nappies, and my breasts. That’s all, really.”
“Well, then,” Orval nodded. “We’ll cope, yes? I’ve never entertained such before, but we will find—”
A wooden door creaked open, and a voice called. “Orval! Orval, have you heard?”
The marcus rose, pushed the bowl and spoon in front of Orval, and with a backward step, vanished into the shadows.
“Orval! I know you don’t like me to use the inner door, but—” The door to the kitchen opened and a woman stepped in, dressed in gauzy fabrics of green and gold, with her hair decorated with spangles. Tiny bells rang as she closed the door, focused on Orval. “Have you heard? Queen Kara and Xywellan are killed on the battlefield, and the Wyverns are—”
She stopped dead, staring at Amari. “Who’s this, then?”