Chapter Thirty-Four
In the Palace of Xy
Riven rubbed the grit from the corner of his eyes but the spidery black handwriting didn’t waver. He needed options. He’d spent months poring over the scroll, following the routine, trying not to give away the fact that he was seeking alternatives.
He didn’t have any.
The click of Avice’s knitting needles was a steady rhythm. She sat next to the table, watching him, as they always did, day after day, every afternoon, as he struggled.
They had blankets, baby clothes, and nappies to show for their time.
He had nothing.
Riven groaned as he eased away from the desk, stretching his back. That wasn’t quite true; he had learned a lot. But the answers stayed the same.
The spell was perfect, and in its perfection lay the problem.
It either worked or it didn’t. It resisted modification or alteration; it had a purpose, and that was that.
It was well designed to protect the child at the center, but it held the possibility of failing spectacularly, to the determent of everyone around it.
Including him.
Avice shifted and caught his eye. “Tired?” she asked, her narrowed eyes fixed on his face.
Riven rolled his shoulders; there was an ache between his shoulder blades. “Hard morning, downstairs. They’re prepping for the blessing feast for the heir.”
The knot in his back didn’t ease. He was almost out of time and he knew it.
Avice nodded and started to gather up her work. “I will send Nora to you,” she said.
“That’s not necessary,” Riven protested half-heartedly.
“I think it is.” She gathered up the scroll, placing it in its box as the door opened.
Witless entered, carrying Riven’s dinner tray, a baby doll in the crook of his arm. “Dinner, dinner,” he said with a grin a mile wide as he slid the tray onto the table.
Riven returned the smile, until what he’d thought was a doll waved one of its arms, free of its swaddling.
The sight of a real baby jolted Riven, taking his breath and wrenching his stomach.
Avice didn’t even blink. “Nora will see to you,” she said, securing the box and getting to her feet.
“Thank you.” Riven frowned as he stared at the child. “What’s the baby’s name?”
“Baby,” Witless said, cooing to the bundle, letting the tiny hand hit his nose.
“No need for names, that comes later,” Avice said. “After the casting.” She gathered up her work and the scroll box. “They’ve acquired the number required, I believe.”
The sick feeling in his stomach expanded.
Avice swept past Witless, heading to the door. “Have a care for yourself, Riven. We can’t have you working yourself to death.”
Riven sagged on his stool as the door closed behind her. Witless was by the window, cuddling the child.
They’d started to accumulate spell components. The shelves around him were filled with bags of diamond dust, gold, and gems, all with a strict inventory. Barrels of quartz sand, pure silver bowls, the highest quality beeswax candles…
Babies.
Knowing was one thing. Seeing was a gut-punch.
Names were important; they’d had names before they’d ended up in the orphanage. He’d forsaken his name due to his shame, but theirs had been discarded, trashed, erased.
“Master?” Witless gave him a worried look. “No eat dinner?”
The baby peeped out of its swaddling, staring at him with dark eyes. It was darker skinned, a chubby face, with just a few wisps of black hair.
He’d undoubtedly had a name before this, but it had been discarded as if it had no meaning, like so much trash to toss in a midden. Riven had given up his name; he’d no right to it. But this child, all the babes, they—
Riven’s stomach flipped again. “No,” he said. “No dinner.”
“Nonsense,” Nora came through the door, clearly having heard his words. “You need to eat.”
Witless dropped his eyes, backing away as she came to stand behind Riven, putting her hands on his shoulders. He could feel her warmth through the cloth and melted slightly. She was so beautiful, her black hair down over her shoulders, her scent surrounding him as she pressed against him.
“What are you doing to yourself, tying yourself in knots?” she murmured as she started to knead his muscles. He leaned back against her, taking a deep breath. She smelled of ginger and tea.
A sneeze startled them both. Riven turned to see the baby’s face suddenly scrunch up as it let out a wail.
“Take that back to the nursery, moon-child.” Nora commanded. “Do not return. I will see to the tray.”
Witless obeyed, backing away, shushing the babe as he went out.
“Eat,” Nora said as she slipped onto the stool beside the tabl, and started to uncover the dishes. “Then we can see about the knots in your back.”
Riven took a piece of bread as she poured kavage. He started to pick at the bread. “So we have all five babies?”
“So I was told,” Nora said. “Apparently the orphanage idea was a good one.”
“How fares Xykeir?” Riven asked.
“Well enough.” Nora shrugged. “He’s got wet nurses and nursemaids. They care for him.”
“The Queen isn’t feeding him from her own breast?”
“Not likely!” Nora laughed, then tilted her head as if surprised at his reaction. “She gets daily reports.”
“I guess I thought that you and the others would care for him,” Riven said slowly.
“The Bonded has other duties,” Nora pointed out. “And we serve the Bonded, not the babe. Besides, the midwife recommended people with experience who could be trusted with the heir. Xykeir has them, and Witless. For now.”
“Of course,” Riven said faintly.
“You are torturing that bread, not eating it.” Nora said with a pointed look at his plate.
Riven looked at the pile of shredded bread.
“Why so tense?” Nora asked.
Riven heaved a sigh. “The casting,” he lied. “The day is coming and it needs to be perfect.”
Nora rose from the stool. “Come,” she said, pulling him toward the bed chamber. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”
She felt so good, tucked up against him, sweat drying on their bodies, their legs intertwined. He pulled up the blankets to make a comfortable nest. Nora fell asleep quickly.
Riven stared at the canopy above their heads and tried, but sleep would not come.
He was as helpless as she was, in many ways. After these last few months, he was wrapped in an emotional cord, as fully bound as she was, with a magic that originated in his heart. He loved her, even though he knew full well she’d kill him if so commanded.
And though he loved her, her attitude toward the babes bothered him. For Nora, for all the Bonded, including the Queen, the babes were things. They were property, assets, to be used and controlled for others’ needs.
Even Xykeir, poor lad. Wet nurses were all well and good, but who would he really be able to turn to when he needed help, when he was sad or lonely or disappointed? That kid was going to need warmth in his life.
It made Riven sick, but not just because of their attitudes.
He had to ask himself if he was any better.
He’d treated his victims, all his victims, the same, hadn’t he?
He hadn’t known the name of the whore he’d killed to raise his undead army, or if he had, he couldn’t remember it.
All he remembered was her limp body in Uncle Stancil’s arms.
He wasn’t any better than the Queen, was he?
Satia hadn’t had a choice when she had been bonded. She’d been a babe herself. But she had a choice now.
Riven snorted softly. Not likely she’d change her mind, and if she did, she’d erase all trace of the work he’d done.
Erase him as well.
Nora stirred next to him, then blinked, frowning at him.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
She drew a deep breath, stretching and yawning. “Still thinking?”
“Yes,” Riven said on impulse. “Witless should bring the babies more often. Get them used to the room and to me. I could burn some of the incense, so they get used to the smell.”
Nora blinked at him. “Why?”
“To avoid screaming and fussing during ceremony,” Riven said. “Can you imagine, if one of them shrieks like that during the chanting?”
Nora rolled her eyes. “Good point.”
“That includes Xykeir,” Riven added.
“I will tell the Bonded,” Nora said, then rolled on top of him. Riven grunted at the weight, even as his body responded.
“Such dedication should be rewarded,” Nora purred. “I think we should—”
Riven’s stomach gave an ugly growl.
“Eat?” Riven asked hopefully.
Nora laughed.
Witless was surprisingly good with babies.
He brought them in the afternoons, while Riven worked and one of the Bondmaidens sat in their usual place.
Witless would bring them one at a time and coo to them as they lay on the floor, kicking their feet in the air, waving their hands. He brought wooden rattles and a bright red wooden ball that rolled under everything.
Witless would sit behind them, prop them up on their butts. They couldn’t really sit yet and quickly would topple over onto his leg, chortling with joy or screaming in frustration. Funny, they were all different, each had their own way. Even without being named, there were hints of personality.
Late in the day, after the Bondmaiden had left with the scroll and Witless had gone to fetch the evening meal, Riven would take his turn with the babes.
They were adorable, all of them. Different hair colors and skin-tones, but all strong and healthy. Especially Xykeir. He had his mother’s coloring, chubby cheeks and dimples, with a tuft of black hair. Bright blue eyes, and a bright smile, who loved being tickled.
Kid drooled a lot, though. On everything.
One afternoon, Avice kicked the ball out from underfoot, but Witless caught it before it rolled back to Xykeir.
“No, no, baby needs to want,” Witless scolded the Bondmaiden, then set the ball just out of the baby’s reach. Xykeir turned his head, shifting his shoulders, reaching for the ball.
Riven twitched with surprise when that tiny body flipped. In a blink, Xykeir was on his tummy, gripping the ball, drooling in delight. When had he learned to do that?
Avice had noticed, her gaze fixed on the child.