Chapter Ten
“Winter?” Orval ducked under the tapestry, pulled the bolt back, and desperately scratched at the passage door, clutching a whimpering babe in the other arm. “Winter, please be there. Please help me,” he begged softly, fear catching in his throat. He scratched again, sweat dripping off his face and under his tunic.
“Orval?” Winter’s muffled voice was followed by the sound of the bolt being thrown back on her side. “Orval, what’s wrong?” Winter’s worried face appeared; her eyes widened as she took him in. He knew he was a mess, tears streaking down his face, his tunic stained.
“Winter, please, Dalan won’t stop crying,” Orval choked on the words, knowing, just knowing he’d done something wrong, something awful. “He cries and cries, and he’s going to wake Amari and she’s exhausted, and but I don’t know what I did or—”
Winter took the child he desperately thrust into her arms. “Hush,” she said. “He seems fine, just miserable.” She stepped into the storeroom and pulled the door closed behind her. “Let’s take him into the kitchen and see what we see.”
Orval nodded, feeling weak and shaky. It would be all right, Winter knew what she was doing. As they walked past the bedroom, Orval glanced in to see poor Amari had fallen back asleep, with Lara in her basket by the bed. Thank the skies they had not woken.
Winter opened the door to the kitchen, and stopped dead, looking around.
Orval sidled around her, shame-faced. “I’ve tried to keep up,” he said, quickly limping forward to clear a place on the table. “But it’s hard. Babies are…” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Terrifying,” he whispered. He’d failed miserably, not just at taking care of Amari and the babes, but by letting everything fall apart.
Winter put Dalan down on the table and unwrapped the swaddling. Not that it took much effort, since he apparently couldn’t swaddle a baby to save his soul. It was always too loose, too—
“He’s fine,” Winter said, checking the little boy’s nappy. “He’s clean and dry and there’s no rash. Did he nurse?”
“Just a bit ago,” Orval said. “Lara went to sleep but even after I burped him, he fussed, and now he won’t stop crying.”
“Orval, sometimes babies just cry.” Winter stroked Dalan’s tummy. The babe squirmed, his face puckering up. “You burped him?”
“I did,” Orval insisted, heart sinking as Dalan sucked in a breath and wailed like he was dying.
“Well, then,” Winter said. “We’ll see about the other end, then, shall we?” She took one of Dalan’s small, perfect feet in each hand and started to pump his little legs back and forth, crooning to the little one. “Poor, poor lamb.”
Dalan sniffed, his eyes wide as he stared at Winter.
“What are you doing?” Orval looked at her in horror. “He’s sick, he needs—
“No, no,” Winter chuckled, keeping a gentle rhythm, gently churning the chubby legs. “Sometimes, just like with adults, things get sort of plugged—”
Dalan’s eyes got wider, his face screwed up, and—
pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, ppppppop.
“Gas?” Orval gasped, sagging against the table with relief.
“Gas,” Winter confirmed. “And, oh dear,” she said, looking down, “slightly more than gas.”
“There should be a book,” Orval sighed, swaying as exhaustion replaced relief that replaced horror at yet another change. “Something that explains all this. I’ll get a cloth.”
“With babies, experience is the true teacher. Hand me the cloth, I’ll do it.” Winter said. “Go wash yourself and change while you have a chance. Get into a clean night robe.”
“Not sure there’s any clean,” Orval staggered as his leg started to give way. He caught himself on the edge of the table as the room spun. “I thought he was dying, Winter.”
“I know,” she looked at him with sympathy. “You are learning what every parent learns, Orval. Babies are wonderful miracles of love, joy, and chaos embodied. Noisy, messy, stinky blobs of demanding bedlam,” she cooed at Dalan, who yawned in reply.
Orval frowned. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.” He lurched away from the table, heading for the door. “Dalan might hear you.”
“It’s the truth,” Winter said. “Besides, it will be a while before he understands.”
“Lara smiled at me the other day,” Orval smiled himself at the memory of those tiny lips curling up. He fumbled for the doorknob. It seemed to be moving away from his hand.
“Babies don’t—” Winter sighed. “Never mind. See to yourself, Orval.”
Orval staggered down the hall, using the wall to brace himself. It wouldn’t be long before the babies woke again, hungry. He’d need to get Amari something to eat, poor thing, and then—
He blinked, trying to remember why he was in the privy.
After he figured that out, he washed and shaved and changed into slightly cleaner trous. He staggered back out, blinking at the sight of Winter standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “Thank you,” he whispered in a daze, looking down at Dalan sleeping, his tiny face at peace. So peaceful, so wonderfully, wonderfully…quiet.
“You need sleep, Orval.” Winter led the way into the bedroom. Amari never stirred. The older woman placed Dalan in his basket and pulled back the bedding on the empty side of the bed.
Orval stared. “I can’t. Amari’s sleeping.”
“You can.” Winter pulled him over and gently pushed him down. “Sleep, Orval.”
“I don’t want to wake her,” Orval protested even as his treacherous body sank onto the bed. Winter pulled the blankets over him. “She’s so good with them and so lovely and—” the yawn caught him by surprise and his jaw cracked. He blinked up at Winter. “Maybe just for a few minutes,” he mumbled. “It’s so scary. They’re so tiny, what if I break them?”
“Orval, you’re doing fine.” Winter straightened. “But you do need help.”
“Can’t afford—” Orval gave up the fight, letting his eyes close.
“Leave that to me,” Winter said. “I’ll see to it.”
Sleep swept over him, pulling him down before he could muster a word of protest.
Amari woke to a heart beating steadily under her ear.
She drowsed, listening, feeling warm and secure, until consciousness flooded in and she lifted her head.
She’d been sleeping on Orval.
The poor man was sprawled next to her, on his back, his one arm wrapped around her as she cuddled close. Amari looked at his face, relaxed in sleep. Orval looked exhausted, and rightly so. He’d aided her at every turn, even when she was almost too tired to nurse the babes.
Light was flooding in through the small windows. Amari shifted to check the baskets, but both babes were sleeping as quiet as could be. She relaxed, letting her tiredness wash over her, hoping to slip back into sleep herself, until her stomach rumbled.
She needed food, and she’d best be about it while everyone was sleeping. Orval might not like it, but she didn’t have the heart to wake him. He needed the rest, poor man.
She slid out from under the blankets and wrapped a robe around herself before quietly easing out of the room. A quick visit to the privy and then she headed to the kitchen, dreading the sight. She and Orval had tried to keep up with everything, but the room was a wreck, She’d see what she could find to eat, even if it was pease porridge. Amari wrinkled her nose, but she had to eat.
But she opened the door on a warm, well-lit and clean kitchen, filled with the wonderful smell of kav. Winter was at the sink, finishing washing the dishes. Amari couldn’t have been more surprised. “Winter?”
“Good, you’re awake.” Winter started to dry her hands. “I was going to pretend to be you, but now you can answer the door when they come.”
“What?” Amari took a step in and closed the door behind her, not wanting to wake anyone. Every dish was clean and there were bundles of bedding piled by the door.
“Here,” Winter handed her a mug. “Here’s some weak kav with lots of cream and sugar. I’ve an egg pie with tubers in the oven, no spices, mind, and there’s bread and butter. Best get food in you while you can.”
Amari took the mug and held it close, enjoying the warmth on her fingers and the wonderful smell. “Kav…” she breathed out a prayer of thanks and took a sip. The warmth traveled down her throat and pooled in her belly. “You are an avatar of the Ancestors,” she said reverently.
Winter snorted. “Orval woke me because Dalan was having a bout of gas.” She would have said more but a knock at the outside door cut her short. She moved out of sight of the door, gesturing for Amari to answer it.
“Mistress Amari, how be you this day? And the twins?” A small, wrinkled woman was standing there, a younger girl behind her, their arms laden with baskets of clean linens.
Amari blinked and opened the door wider. “Well, thank you,” she said as the two women bustled in, exchanging the clean for the dirty bundles on the floor.
“We’ll get this back, quick like,” the older one muttered, half under her breath. “There’s bedding and nappies here that will tide you over.”
“This bundle be the dirty nappies?” The young one grinned as Winter nodded. “Hope those pisspots search it.”
A flood of thanks overwhelmed Amari; it had been miserable trying to keep up with the wash. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispered.
“If’n he looked up from his books now and again, the Master would see that he’s well-liked, especially by the booksellers.” The older woman rolled her eyes. “He’s been scribing for us and figuring for us whenever we comes around.”
“He’s got our respect and affection,” the younger one said. “And there’s many a hand willing to pitch in.”
“After all Master Orval’s done for us, tucking a few extra things in the wash is no chore.” The older woman smiled, then sniffed. “What them guards don’t know is none of our business.”
A chill ran down Amari’s spine. She’d forgotten the guards.
“Best we come more like every other day instead of weekly, Mistress.” The older woman raised her voice loud enough for the guards to hear as they both headed down with their bundles.
“Many thanks,” Amari called behind them. She could see the guards at the base of the stairs, nodding to the laundresses. She shut the door and turned to Winter. “Can Orval afford this?”
“He gets a small stipend from the Crown.” Winter opened the oven and was using a cloth to pull steaming dishes from within. “This part of the city is working men and women, most with a deep and abiding distrust of the Crown and the Guard. No good comes of association.” She paused and looked closely at Amari.
“But Orval has lived here a long time, and while he is of the Blood, he is one of us. He makes time to aid those that knock at his door and takes nothing in return. Even if on occasion he walks into people in the market when he tries to read as he walks.” Winter rolled her eyes.
“There won’t be talk of coin. And there won’t be talk of the oddness of a sudden marriage. People here ask no questions and offer no information.”
Amari sank onto a stool by the table and watched Winter dish up a plate of food. “We tried to keep up—” she started to explained, but Winter made a hushing noise.
“Or course you did,” Winter said. “But it’s been ten days and I should have checked on you before this. Eat now. Those babes will need feeding soon. Once Orval wakes, we’ll change the bedding and get that room set to rights.”
Ten days? Amari had eaten her first mouthful before that sank in. She’d lost track of all time, awash in the cycle of feeding and cleaning and sleeping. How could ten days have passed?
She frowned at the plate and took another bite, only to look up when Winter cleared her throat.
The older woman’s eyes had gone suddenly hard.
“I don’t know, and don’t want to know, what you are doing here. Your business is your own. But don’t hurt him, you hear me?”
Amari nodded, the threat clear. But the woman deserved honestly, if nothing else. “I hear. I will try not to.”
Winter grimaced. “He’s getting attached to the babes. It may already be too late. I fear—”
The inner door opened. “Too late for what?” Orval asked, yawning as he limped into the room. He was wearing nothing but trous and looked sleepy and rumpled. To Amari’s eyes, he looked oddly boyish without the thick robes he usually wore.
“Too late in the day for your stipend to be delivered.” Winter said firmly. “Your rent’s overdue.”
Orval nodded absently, looking at the table. “Is that egg pie?” he asked, his eyes lighting up. Amari smiled as he hastened closer.
“And kav,” Winter offered him a mug. “Strong and black. You need it.”
“The skies bless and keep you.” Orval sat and took the mug with a grateful sigh.
“Eat while you can and I’ll give you the news, such as it is,” Winter said as she dug into the clean linens. “Here,” she tossed Orval a tunic.
Orval pulled it over his head as Winter prepared him a plate. To Amari’s amusement, dressing rumpled his hair even more. Orval caught her eye and gave her a sheepish grin as he dug into the food. “Good news?” Orval asked Winter before sipping his drink.
Winter waited for him to swallow then spoke, her tone flat. “Queen Mother Tithanna was interred in such haste, they didn’t even pull the dagger from her heart.”
Amari closed her eyes and offered a soft prayer.
Orval froze, staring at his food. “She wouldn’t have done that. She’d never have done that, killed herself. She was too old, too tough, too—” Orval snorted softly. “Too strong, truthfully.”
“Be that as it may,” Winter said, some of the clean dishes clattering as she stored them away. “She’s dead and buried, and it was done in haste and with little honor.” She looked over her shoulder at them. “Eat.”
“I don’t think I can.” Orval said. Amari nodded. Her own stomach was lead.
“There’s worse to come,” Winter said. “Force it in if you have to, but you need to know what’s happened in the last ten days and I’ve not much time.”
“Ten days? Orval’s eyes widened as they met Amari’s. Amari shared his disbelief. She dropped her eyes to her plate and then forced herself to take another bite. Orval followed her example.
Winter settled at the table, her own mug of kavage wrapped in her hands. She wasn’t as calm as she seemed; Amari noticed her knuckles were white.
“Lord Jazan was executed for treason this morning. His lands and assets seized.”
Amari’s heart grew heavier in her chest.
Orval set his mug down, his lips pressed thin. “Lady Jazan? Their sons?”
“Their sons were both killed on the field.” Winter’s voice was dry and matter-of-fact, grating to Amari’s ears. “Lady Jazan has fled. Other supporters of the Airion House have fled as well, or been imprisoned, and their lands and coin forfeit.”
“I have no lands,” Orval said.
“No,” Winter agreed drily. “You have the newest generation of the Blood. Healthy twins, of which your Captain Ussin has made their Majesties very aware.”
Fear gripped Amari, fear that was reflected on Orval’s face.
“But there is soon to be another,” Winter said. “Queen Satia is pregnant.” She huffed as she took a sip of kavage. “Odds are it’s not Xyrath’s. For all his cavorting in his youth, never once heard that he got a woman pregnant. Loyal to Satia, I grant him that, but he’s a poor breeder.”
Orval sputtered, coughing. “Winter!”
Winter ignored him. “The King holds revels in celebration as the cold creeps in, and now there is talk of raising taxes to pay the good warriors who fought for the throne.” Winter’s lip curled. “Which no one believes, but all will have to pay.” She looked up at the darkening windows. “I best get back. We’ll open soon enough for the evening hours.” She stood, leaving the mug of kavage on the table. “Orval, more people will come to aid you, for all that you have done for them. Accept their help, don’t be foolish. I’ll slip out quietly. You can bolt the door after the babes wake. Finish your food.”
Amari watched Winter go, leaving the door ajar behind her. She reached for her kavage and found Orval staring at her. “Ten days?” he asked. “How did we lose ten days?”
“Exhaustion,” she said glumly. “Babies. Honestly, Orval, I had no idea. It’s all been a blur since I fled—”
“The marcus,” Orval sat up straighter. “Ten days and the marcus has not returned.
I thought he’d be back by now, to spirit you and the babes somewhere else, somewhere safe and suitable for babies.” He stared ruefully down at his plate. “I also thought it would be easy caring for babies. It’s not like they would wander about and disrupt my stacks of books. A few days at best. How bad could it be?” He looked up at her. “Feel free to roll your eyes at my stupidity.”
Amari stared back as a bubble of laughter rose up in her throat, and the next thing she knew they were both laughing giddily, though with a hint of desperation. She wiped her eyes and reached over the table for Orval’s hand. He covered hers with his long, warm fingers, still laughing. When the fit passed, they both held their breaths, waiting to see if the babies had roused.
“You are so good at this,” Orval whispered. “I’d thought I’d killed poor Dalan.”
“I helped raise my younger siblings and cousins,” Amari explained.
“A large family, then?” Orval asked.
“Yes,” Amari pulled her hand back, not wanting to explain. “We’d best finish eating.”
Orval’s forehead puckered, but he drew his hand back as well. “It was only my sister and me, and we were fostered at an early age.”
“Fostering? That is not done where—” Amari paused as a wail cut through the air.
“I’ll go,” Orval stood. “Eat.”
Amari managed to clear her plate as she listened to Orval talking to the babes. One long, last drink of kavage, then she started to unlace her top to bare her breasts.
“Dalan is still sleeping,” Orval said and brought both infants into the kitchen. “But Lara’s ready.”
Lara cried again.
“More than ready,” Amari smiled as she took the swaddled baby into her arms and put her to the breast.
Orval sat down, cradling Dalan in one arm as he reached for the food. “Do they ever sleep through the night?” he asked, mumbling through a mouthful.
“Eventually.” Amari smiled, enjoying the feel as Lara suckled her nipple.
“Eventually,” Orval echoed with a sigh as he rolled his eyes. Then he grew quiet. “I claimed you as wife and now these two are considered of the Blood. Maybe we should use that token to send for the marcus. We could have you all catch fevers and die. I could become a grieving widower.” He glanced down at the babe sleeping in his arms. “Or maybe,” he said with an odd, tentative note in his voice, “maybe I could come with you.”
“Leave your books?” Amari asked in surprise.
“Well—” Orval started, but was interrupted by a ruckus of some kind on the stairs. A shrill, old voice called out.
“Orval, tell these scallywags to let me in!”
Orval rolled his eyes. “My Aunt Xydell, a terrible gossip. Nothing for it, I guess.” He rose, balancing Dalan as he opened the outer door. “Welcome, Aunt—”
Her voice entered first; she must still have been climbing the stairs. “Foolishness, guards following an old lady around, and more foolishness guarding a bookish fool who doesn’t bother to let family know he’s wed.” Her cane clicked the floor as she appeared, well wrapped against the cold, silver-haired and tall, with sharp blue eyes that peered over a scarf. “Shut the door, nephew. You’re letting out the heat.”
Orval stepped back to let the woman in. “How nice to see—”
“Doubtful,” she said as she unwrapped her scarf. “But since you are holding a babe, the rumors must be true.” Xydell fixed her gaze on Amari and her eyes narrowed. “What is this brazen hussy doing here? If you’ve hired her as a wet nurse, I’ll be having harsh words with your wife. Why would she hire a whore?”