Chapter Six
Orval’s heart surged to his throat as he struggled to rise, his leg cramping. “Madam Winter,” he said, then stopped and cleared his throat, trying to stall, to think of what to say.
The older woman had brought a cloud of perfume in with her, as well as her bright silks and the rattle of bracelets and bells. The silence of her abrupt halt was jarring. As was the stunned look on her face.
Echoed by Amari’s expression, equally startled, although her gaze seemed focused on Winter’s wrists.
Orval cleared his throat, resorting to old customs. “May I introduce—”
“Stop.” Madam Winter raised her hand. “I don’t want to know. I have enough drama with my ladies downstairs. I came through the inner door to tell you the gossip and you were at your books. I have seen nothing else.”
“And what is the gossip?” Orval asked carefully.
“The news is flying through the streets. The Airions have fallen in battle. The Wyverns are securing the city with an advance force and proclaiming their victory.” She sniffed. “There’s to be a triumphant procession in the morning, with Xyrath and his Queen Satia entering the city in all their glory. They’ve declared a holiday for all. What comes after is anyone’s guess.” Winter’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Amari.
Orval glanced over. Lara yawned, releasing Amari’s nipple. He took the babe, leaving Amari a free hand to deal with her son. He turned back, the naked infant in his hands.
Winter stared.
Nervously he placed the little one back on the table, intending to wrap her, fumbling to find a cloth big enough.
The silence grew.
“My thanks for the news,” Orval said, desperate to fill the void. “I don’t—”
“No, you don’t, do you?” Winter demanded. She stepped over, pushed him aside, and with a deft hand swaddled the babe. “Cover your shoulder,” she said. “This one needs burping.”
“Oh, er,” Orval lifted the little bundle to his shoulder and gingerly started to tap her back. “Of course she does.”
“Of course,” Winter snorted, and stared at Amari. Dalan had finished nursing and was now in her arms.
Amari lifted her chin. “We can see to the care of my twins,” she said, her voice trembling.
Winter lifted an eyebrow and then swept past him, to the inner door. “Orval, I don’t know what trouble you are bringing into your home, but leave me and mine out of it. I will go the way I came. Be sure to bolt that door after me and keep it locked. Trust that I will bolt my side.” She paused at the door jamb. “Two things.”
“Yes?” Orval asked.
“Your sister’s clothes would fit her,” Winter nodded toward Amari.
Orval’s stomach knotted. “And?” he snapped spitefully.
“If you are trying to pass those children off as twins, don’t let anyone see that birth cord.” Winter snorted. “At least, no woman. And for the love of all that is holy, don’t feed them that crappy pease porridge you live on.”
She closed the door behind her with a quiet thud.
“That was three things,” Orval grumbled as he glared at the door.
Vren emerged from the shadows. “What do you think she knows?” He asked, a blade in his hand and his quiet voice suddenly filled with menace.
“Madam Winter has thrived in this city a long time. She has a strong sense of survival coupled with an edge of paranoia. She is a friend,” Orval said firmly, his heart still racing. “A passage runs from her inner chambers to my storage room. Go and bolt that door.”
Vren paused in the doorway to look at him. Orval shut his eyes against the pain that welled up and nodded in answer to the unasked question. “My sister’s trunks are in there. Shift them to my bedroom, if you would.”
Vren nodded and left.
Amari had sat in silence all this time. She looked sad and defeated. “I should have thought,” she whispered. “About the cord. I didn’t think—”
“It’s no matter,” Orval assured her, taking a breath, trying to calm himself. “Winter said she saw nothing, and she means it.”
Amari nodded, patting her boy’s back with hard firm pats. Orval frowned and tried to copy her method with Lara. The babe was a warm burden on his shoulder, her tiny face close to his.
“Your sister?” Amari asked, her eyes averted.
It was hard to try to talk past the lump in his throat. “My sister and her husband died two years ago, of the Sweat. She was expecting—” he couldn’t find the words.
“I’m so sorry,” Amari whispered. “I don’t really need—”
“No,” Orval managed. “Those things have been sitting in storage for long enough. Use what you need. She would have liked that.”
Lara sneezed in his ear.
Orval started. “Was that a burp?” he asked.
Amari smiled and nodded.
Orval managed a smile back. “Then let me hold these two while you eat a bowl of porridge. I know it’s not much and rather bland, but it’s warm and filling.” He heard himself babble on, about porridge and tea. He must certainly sound like a complete fool, but that glazed look in Amari’s eyes told him that the words didn’t matter.
She sank to the stool and reached for the pot to serve herself. He saw that her hands trembled; he suspected she was exhausted. He wanted her to feel safe and distracted long enough to get her into his bed—
No, no, that wasn’t what he meant. Into a warm bed, that was all, and he blushed hot at the very idea and sputtered to a stop, praying he hadn’t said it out loud.
He must not have, praise the elements. The poor woman seemed to sink into herself as she ate, clearly worn and tired.
Vren slipped silently back into the kitchen. “It’s done,” he said. A flicker of a grin flashed over his face. “I didn’t even knock over any books.”
Orval rolled his eyes, grateful for the distraction.
“Could you spare a few pounds of dried pease?” Vren asked. “And a sack or two to carry them?”
“Of course,” Orval said. “I’ve a few dried apples as well, and some bread. Some dried beef for Dust.” He gestured to the shelves.
With a few swift steps, the marcus gathered up the swaddling clothes and Dalan’s dirty nappy as well as supplies for himself and Dust. Then he went to Amari’s side and knelt. “I must go,” he said.
Amari nodded wearily. “My thanks to you, marcus. You saved—”
“Lady, you saved us both. I’ve little knowledge of babes and your courage allowed me to save us all. The Airion House of Xy owes you a great debt.” The marcus reached within his cloak and produced a small carving of a panther. “Take this,” he said, pressing on the figure so it came apart in two halves and handing one half to her.
“This is a token of the marcusi, we who are sworn to the protection of the Blood. If one comes in my name, he or she will bear the other half. And if you have a dire need, hold your half tight, think on aid, and aid will come, as quickly as it can.” The marcus rose to his feet and swung on his pack and cloak.
“I do not even know your name, to ask the Hearth to bless you.” Amari said.
Vren flashed that grin of his and glanced at Orval. “And you can see why I trust this man, who has not once used my name in front of you. But I am Vren of the Marcusi, and all your blessings are welcome.”
“You have them,” Amari’s voice trembled with tears.
“I’ll keep them hidden,” Orval assured them both, wishing he felt a bit more confident.
“I’ll be as quick as I can.” Vren hesitated. “I have her blood memories,” he held out the vial, holding bright red liquid. “Should it stay with—” he nodded toward Lara.
“No,” Orval said, handing him the supplies. “It’s useless without a mage, and Kara gave the permissions to you. Besides, if aught happens, others will need to know. Take it with you.”
“I’ll go,” Vren said. “I’ll let myself out a window and go over the roofs. Best you don’t see me leave.”
“The skies be with you,” Orval said. “And the stars light the way.”
Amari was so tired she didn’t even realize the marcus had left until the door closed softly behind him. It was an effort to drag the spoon through the porridge, and bring it to her mouth, but she forced herself to focus, to chew and swallow. It was bland and rather chewy, but it was warm and filled the empty spaces in her stomach. She needed to eat and drink, needed her strength to feed both her babes.
Blinking, she suddenly found the bowl empty, her spoon scraping the sides.
Numbness crept over her and everything seemed distant. Her tiredness went to the bone.
“Up,” Orval urged, and she obeyed. He held both babes, one in each arm, and nodded to the door. She opened it, grateful that it moved smoothly, and trailed after him, putting one foot in front of the other, reaching out to the walls for support.
Another door, this one to a bedchamber. There sat a large four poster bed surrounded by thin curtains of various colors, faded and worn. A small mountain of brocade pillows at the head, the blankets tossed back. The walls were covered in faded tapestries of landscapes and airions dancing in the clouds. Every surface was covered with books and papers and pens and bottles of ink. The smell of old paper and dust filled the air.
Here and there hung tiny copper lanterns, flames dancing within. It felt safe and warm and…she almost sobbed with relief.
“Here now,” Orval set the babes in the middle of the bed. “They can sleep here this night, close to you. I’ll make a wall of pillows, so they don’t fall.”
“They won’t roll,” Amari said.
“Still,” Orval looked up. “I will feel safer.” He gestured to the open side. “For you. You’ll probably find something to wear in those trunks and the privy is through that door.” Eyes averted, he was busy arranging pillows that weren’t needed.
Amari opened a trunk to find women’s clothing, bundled haphazardly. She didn’t have to dig deep to find a bedgown, smelling faintly of lavender. She pulled it out and retreated to the privy.
She returned to find Orval waiting, all the lanterns out but one. He gestured her to the bed.
“What of you?” she asked as she climbed in and pulled up the covers.
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” he said. “I fall asleep at my desk regularly.”
“But your leg,” she said, blinking.
“I’ve lived with it a long time, lady,” Orval said softly. “Now sleep.”
“I don’t think I can.” Amari leaned back against the softness, looking at the babes beside her, surrounded by a fortress of pillows. So many cushions, oddly placed. Was that for his comfort, with his leg? He’d been so kind. Such warm blue eyes…another wave of tiredness crashed over her and she fought a yawn.
Dalan yawned as well, smacking his lips in his sleep. Her son, her boy, safe and warm and beside her. She was still in disbelief. But the pillows behind her were soft and supportive and the blankets were thick. She lay back, eyes wide. “So much has happened, I don’t—” she yawned. She was exhausted, but her mind was racing. She had to sleep; the babes would need feeding again in another few hours.
“I have the perfect remedy,” Orval said. He cleared a chair of a stack of books, then went to one of the shelves. In the light of the lantern, his pale skin glowed; he seemed very pleased with himself. “It’s the Epic of Xyson . This is Botswell’s interpretation. Not that I agree with all of his ideas, mind, but it’s a fair enough representation.”
Amari blinked at him. “I don’t know that book,” she said, and curled on one side, facing him. The bedding started to warm around her body.
“Oh, it’s a classic piece of Xyian literature, although its historical accuracy is challenged regularly. Let me read to you.” Orval settled in the chair, opened the slim volume, and started to read. “Consider the tactics necessary against horse archers.”
The words meant little to her, but his voice was warm and steady, droning on, drowning out her racing thoughts. She took a breath, and then another, and then…
Never failed. Orval watched Amari, waiting a moment to make sure she was really asleep, before he rose and left the room. The Epic of Xyson was old and ancient and fascinating to him, but well, even he had to acknowledge it had its dry parts. It had never failed to lull his sister to sleep when she’d…
He’d caught the whiff of lavender from the chests. Lara’s favorite. Grief rose up in his heart. His sister Lara had been lovely and loving, and…
And she’d have scolded him about the dishes in the kitchen, embarrassed to see it in such
a state.
Orval smiled at the memory, rose, and quietly left the room. They’d be safe enough with that copper lantern. He didn’t want to leave them in a strange place, in the dark. With the door open, he’d hear if they roused. He wouldn’t be able to sleep himself; his blood still raced with the start Madam Winter had given him.
And there were dishes to be done.
He’d set another pot of pease porridge going, then close the oven for the night. The morning would bring more worries, and the elements knew he had questions. Amari had a faint accent, and she didn’t know the Epic , so she was certainly from a distant land. How had she come to be wet nurse to Kara?
Thunder rolled overhead as he set to work. Vren would be out in the wet and cold, but Orval knew that he’d the skills to move quick and unseen. Safe.
The marcusi, secretive and secret, were sworn to the Blood. He’d take word to his superiors and they’d find a place of safety for Amari and the babes. Someplace better than a crippled scholar’s quarters. Which reminded him…he took down the butter crock, where he stored his extra coin. No books this month; that was certain. He’d need the funds to buy better food. He’d been saving for that original volume of Ancient Tribes of the Plains , but he set that aside with only a twinge of regret. Amari deserved better than pease porridge, that was certain.
Of course, that was assuming that he’d still receive a Crown stipend under the new King. But worrying wouldn’t bring answers and his own exhaustion was creeping in.
Orval put the crock back and returned to his tasks, working until the dirty dishes were cleared, more water and porridge placed in the oven, and clean mugs set out for tea in the morning. It had taken longer than he’d thought; light was starting to spill through the small windows. Orval yawned, taking up the copper lantern. He’d nod off at his desk and—
Pounding at the kitchen door, startled him wide awake, his heart once again racing in his chest.
“Open! Open, in the name of the King!”