Chapter Thirty-One
“Let me guess. You will strike off my head.” Plumestra lifted her chin and sent a pugnacious look directly at Queen Satia.
Mira froze, mouth gaping open, staring at the midwife in disbelief. No one talked to the Bonded that way. Ever.
Satia’s eyes narrowed. She was lying on her cushioned couch, propped up on pillows. While the morning had started well, it hadn’t been a good afternoon, what with vomiting and avoiding council meetings. Even Captain Ussin’s description of events in the Black Hills hadn’t lifted the Bonded’s mood. The others had been sent off on various tasks, leaving Mira to serve during this interview.
Mira clutched at the knife concealed in her skirts and hoped she wouldn’t be commanded to use it.
“You will serve as my midwife exclusively,” Satia repeated.
“No.” Plumestra folded her arms.
“I will have you executed.” The fury in the Bonded’s voice made Mira’s jaw clench.
Plumestra tilted her head as if in doubt. “That threat loses some of it impact if you repeat it too often.”
“I am your queen,” Satia hissed.
“Aye,” Plumestra agreed. “But your jugs and your womb work the same as all others, noble or common. Waste of my time and skills to be at your beck and call.”
Mira grasped her knife’s hilt harder.
“I have found that noble-born ignore my advice, act surprised when they run into the slightest discomfort, and don’t pay,” Plumestra continued. “You have no need to have me dance in attendance, and we would both get on each other’s last nerve.”
“Your death—”
“You prefer those that serve you to cower, don’t you? Dread your displeasure, fear your reprisals,” Plumestra observed coolly.
Mira couldn’t even breathe.
“I am old enough that I no longer care to play games. Lop of my head if you wish,” the midwife said. “A quick death would be fine with me.”
“It doesn’t have to be quick,” Satia snarled. “Or perhaps I will lop off your husband’s head. Nightsoil Guildsman, I believe?”
Mira froze.
Plumestra’s eyes narrowed. “You go too far, missy.” The midwife turned on her heel, her skirts swishing the floor she spun so fast. “Send your executioners. Your guards know the way.”
Mira couldn’t take it anymore. “What matters most,” she blurted out, “is the health and safety of the babe.”
The two stubborn women went silent. Mira could not breathe for the weight of that silence.
Satia broke first. “I would ask for your services for the birth of the heir,” she said, her tone cool and formal. “I would ask that you take up residence in the Palace perhaps two weeks before the birth.”
Plumestra heaved a sigh and turned back to the Queen. “One week,” she said, just as cool and formal as the other.
“Very well,” Satia agreed.
Mira remembered to breathe.
“I would ask that you take my advice, based on years of experience,” Plumestra said, “and forgive my plain speaking.”
“Agreed,” Satia sagged back on her pillows and grimaced.
“Let see how the babe is doing,” Plumestra started to roll up her sleeves.
“Must you?” Satia asked, shifting on the couch. “I—”
Plumestra raised an eyebrow.
Satia sighed. Mira released her grip on the dagger and stepped forward to help pull back the blankets. “You will speak to no one of this,” Satia growled.
“Yes, of course,” Plumestra said.
Mira watched, fascinated, as Plumestra felt the babe and checked between the Bonded’s legs, quickly and surely, all the time asking questions about diet and bowels and activity. ‘Twas masterfully done, to be sure. Mira let herself relax now that the weight of the birth was off her shoulders alone. She’d have someone to ask, someone to guide her. The relief was immeasurable.
When she was finished, Plumestra began to pull up the blankets and Mira hastened to aid her. “The babe is well and you don’t have much longer to wait.” Plumestra started rolling down her sleeves.
“Surely I am in the early months yet,” Satia said.
The midwife narrowed her eyes. “If you wish that to be true, so be it. Then I tell you the babe will come earlier than one might expect.”
Satia huffed.
“Some women bear easy, some bear hard,” Plumestra continued. “From what you have experienced so far, I suspect you will not have an easy time of it. Forget the stories you have been told. Birth is hard on a woman’s body.”
“I know that.” Satia glared at the midwife.
“Knowing and experiencing are two very different things,” Plumestra said. “Still, there are things we can do to make you more comfortable. For one thing, laying about like a wounded cow is of no use.”
Mira closed her eyes as Satia sputtered in rage.
“Yes, I know, execution,” Plumestra said. “Do so after I give the advice that you will certainly ignore. You need to move more. Outside. Long walks. It will aid in the swelling and unblock your bowels. As to your stomach, no more sugar in the tea. Unsweetened weak tea and dry crackers to go with it when the sickness hits. No more sweets of any kind and avoid spices and garlic.”
Satia sat, sullen and glaring. Mira hovered close.
“Well?” Plumestra asked. “Up, now, and a walk about the hallways. Or are you like every other—”
Satia grunted, threw back the blankets and struggled to her feet. Mira went to aid her.
“There is another matter,” Satia said. “I am appointing you Royal Nurse. You will oversee my child’s household.”
“No,” Plumestra said firmly. “My skills are not in babe-tending.” She hesitated for a moment, then added. “I would, of course, aid you in finding the best nursery maids and wet nurses.” Mira noticed Plumestra was watching Satia’s face carefully, as if looking for a reaction. “They may be of common stock, but will be loyal and reliable.”
“Of course you will do that,” Satia gather her robe about her, flinging her hair free of confinement. “Royal Nurse, I command you—”
“There. Well, that lasted longer than I thought you would.” Plumestra turned on her heel and headed for the door. “If you don’t mind, give me a few days to see to the last of those currently under my care. Then send your guards and—”
Satia drew a breath. Mira started to pull her knife, expecting the command—
“Wait,” Satia said.
Madam Winter herself greeted Guyik as he entered her establishment. The warm air of the sitting room surrounded him with the comfortable scents of supper, with just a touch of spicy perfume. The lady was a pleasant enough looking-woman, but there was a weariness in her eyes.
Guyik bowed low. “Lady, I am Acton, a merchant. I have been long on the road from Swift’s Port. Before I begin my business in the city, I would relax, dine, and have my cares seen to. Perhaps one of your ladies would entertain me for a meal and see to my needs?”
“Of course,” Winter said. “If you have the means.”
He opened his purse and offered her coin. “A meal, some company, and a week’s lodging?”
She nodded, took the money, and stepped back. “Come in and be welcome, Merchant Acton. Let us see to your comfort.”
In no time at all, he was in a comfortable, padded chair by the fire, with a cold ale beside him. It was early enough that there weren’t many other patrons, so quite a few women hovered about, eyeing him with warm smiles.
Guyik stretched his long legs out and relaxed into the warmth, just as any weary traveler might, and smiled back, but gave no signal to any yet. He’d ask one to join him eventually, someone cheerful and plump, who hopefully liked to gossip.
Madam Winter wandered over, gesturing for him to remain seated when he went to rise. “What news of Swift’s Port, Master Acton?” At his grimace, she smiled. “Not to your liking?”
“Nay, Madam, salt air did nothing for me, and all the music was sea chanties, and all the food, fish.” He screwed his face up in a mocking grimace and drew a laugh from her. “Edenrich is better for a soul now that the war’s done,” he finished.
Her face went flat. “Not all souls,” she said bitterly, and moved off.
Ah. Guyik settled back, satisfied. He knew well enough that it might take some time before he’d learn anything.
A slight ruckus at the door drew everyone’s attention. One of the woman was at the door, barring entry, glancing back at Winter.
Madam Winter stood in the center of the room, drawing herself up as if for battle. “Let him in,” she commanded. The woman stepped aside and a military man pushed his way in, the one Guyik had seen that morning.
Guyik’s interest perked. Perhaps he’d learn more quicker than expected.
“Captain Ussin,” Winter’s voice rang out as she confronted the man. “How dare you come here, after what you have done.”
“Winter,” Ussin’s face was red, perhaps from wind and snow-burn. “I had my orders,” he said pleadingly. “It’s an honor for Orval to be—”
“It’s not, and don’t claim it is to my face,” Winter snapped, her jewelry rustling as her body shook with anger. “The Black Hills are never anything but trouble and death for Xy, and you know it.”
“What else could I do?” Ussin asked. “I had my orders. If I refused to carry them out, another would have taken my place.”
“Better so,” Winter choked out. “If you could have seen Orval’s face when he walked in, seen what you’d done—” she stopped herself with a sob. “It will haunt me forever.”
“I did what I could,” Ussin said. There was more there, Guyik could tell, but the man glanced around and it was clear he wasn’t sharing detail. “I had to do it,” he continued. “I had to protect my men—”
“And yourself,” Winter said.
“Aye, true enough,” Ussin said and just stood there, as forlorn a man as Guyik had ever seen.
Winter sagged, old and tired, and stared at the floor. “I don’t know who I despise more,” her voice the merest whisper but loud in the silent room. “You, for taking them to their deaths, or myself for not doing more to stop it from happening.” She closed her eyes.
“Winter,” Ussin’s whisper was a plea for both their sufferings. Guyik held his breath.
“Come, Captain Ussin,” Winter held out her hand. “We will open a bottle and share our grief and try not to hate ourselves quite so much come the morning.”
Ussin stepped forward and took her hand and they disappeared together up the stairs.
The room stayed silent. Guyik looked around at stricken faces, filled with fear and indecision. Perhaps a new understanding of life under the House of Wyvern was slowly sinking in.
Guyik took a sip of ale and settled back in his chair to watch.
Plumestra left her escort of guards outside and eased the door of her home open. It was a solid, decent home. No velvet, or servants, but them and theirs and a door to close against the world.
The warmth within was not just from the fire. Borre, stood by the table where a meal was laid, a pitcher and mug in his hand. Waiting.
“You heard.” She paused in the doorway, seeing the worry in his eyes.
“The gossip beat you home,” he rumbled. “My entire guild knew and watched and kept eyes on you as you went about with palace guards, and then to the palace itself. The Queen wants a midwife, I take it.”
“Husband, I—” she didn’t even know where to start. She closed the door at last.
“You are worn,” Borre poured hot kavage. “What food can’t cure, kavage can.” He held out the steaming mug. “Come tell me of your day, wife.”
She started to remove her scarves and cloak, then glanced at the door behind her. Stout and warm the house might be, but hard to know if ears were glued to the door.
Borre nodded his understanding as she took the mug. “I’ve roasted onions, and here are bread and cheese.” He settled his large frame into a wooden chair and she sat opposite him.
They kept the talk light, each telling of their day. Plumestra said that the Queen wished her services and did not to mention the threat of execution.
Borre raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Of course,” he said. “You are the best, and known for it.”
Plumestra flushed with pleasure.
Borre finished first and offered more kavage, which she declined. “Have you women in need this night?” he asked as he cleared the plates.
“No, unless I get a summons of distress.”
“I too am released from duty tonight. I’ve a mind to take you to bed, wife.”
“And I’ve a mind to be taken,” she said, glowing.
What followed were normal chores, clearing the table and warming water for washing. What made it special was her consciousness of Borre’s presence. The warmth as he stood next to her, his soapy hands handing her the dishes to rinse and dry. His scent as he leaned into her space, reaching for a pot as he gave her ear a brush with his lips.
She smiled in anticipation and gave him a nudge with her hip.
He hummed in response though she could see the worry in his eyes.
She went to bank the fire. And her warm, wonderful husband, a caring man, went out and offered kavage and bread and cheese to the guards.
She almost laughed out loud as he walked back in and closed the door firmly behind him.
He shrugged and held out his hand.
She took it and he led her to their sleeping chamber. They made their ablutions quickly, then climbed into the bed to meet in the center where it sagged. The linens warmed as she snuggled up next to him.
“I do not like this,” Borre whispered. “I fear for you.”
Plumestra raised herself to look in his face. “She offered me a guild charter.”
Borre blinked. “Say again?”
“A guild charter,” Plumestra repeated. “A full charter, with fees waived, and a royal endorsement.”
“I’ll be damned,” Borre said.
“Imagine it,” Plumestra said. “A seat on the guildmaster council. Apprentices, the awarding of a master’s badge, a way to teach, to learn through something besides failure? Maybe even a birthing house.” She settled back down, putting her head on his shoulder. “Save the lives of countless women and babes.”
“I know it’s your dream, my plum.” His arms tightened around her. “But I do not trust them. There’s been body parts found in the waters that flow out from under the Palace, and they did not come from upstream, so far as any knows.”
“Borre, it’s more than that, don’t you see?” Plumestra put her lips to his ear. “They’ve won and she is in power, whether we like it or not. The Queen is not going to keep the child at the tit for long, if at all. We could influence the next Son or Daughter of Xy through the wet nurses, the nursery maids, the staff. While his mother plots and schemes to gain power and glory, we will take the long view and teach the child a sense of honor and truth.”
“In that household?”
Plumestra hummed. “She is not the kind to raise a child, husband, and will pay little attention to the nursery. We will raise the child and instill a strength of character she cannot dislodge.”
“It’s a risk,” Borre murmured.
“It’s a risk,” Plumestra agreed. “But being within a hundred miles of her is a risk.”
“Know this, my wife,” Borre shifted on his side to face her. “If aught happens to you, my guild will never clean their cess pits again.”
“A terrible thing,” Plumestra said with a smile. She pressed her hand to his chest. “Sleep, Borre. All will be well.”
Borre scoffed, and shifted, moving to cover her. Plumestra drew in a breath as the heat started to rise in her depths.
“Didn’t just take my wife to bed just for gossip,” he said as he nuzzled her ear.
“Borre,” she sighed with pleasure and rained kisses on his face.