Chapter 9 #4
I, too, had experienced the fear and pains of childbirth. Even without death raveling warning chills around my arms, I would know this woman was dying.
I crossed the small room and knelt beside her bed, taking her hand. Her sister began to say something to me, but I dowsed and fled into the mother’s lumis.
She was a puzzle, not unlike me, although her puzzle formed five large rings, each hovering above the next, largest to smallest. The pieces were warping, cracking, tilting, falling.
There was no lumis for the baby. Lumie were not shared, and I would not be able to enter the infant’s until it came into the world.
Fighting a sore lump in my throat, I hurried to the rings and began soothing them, ushering magic into my hands, trying to be patient with its pace.
However weakened I had become, my mind remained sharp.
I knew what to do. I pulled magic into paste and reset pieces, turning and shifting until they fit snugly together.
Thanks to my hunger, the magic drained me quickly.
Still, I pressed on. A few pieces snapped out of their rings, resisting my touch, but I refitted them diligently, until it seemed the circlet would hold.
Moments after I returned to the room, the cries of the baby rang through it.
“Is it well? Is it well?” The mother pushed herself to her elbows.
The midwife looked pleased as she cut the cord. “Well enough, aye.”
I did not ask permission; I slipped a hand through the midwife’s thin arms and touched the newborn’s foot.
Her lumis spread before me, three small ponds grouped together with cattails growing along their sides.
The image of it was so reminiscent of Ursa’s it gave me pause.
Shaking myself, I went to the farthest pond, its waters darker, and pressed magic into it, imagining my hand a net to catch dirt and refuse, until the waters cleared.
When I returned to reality, the midwife eyed me knowingly before handing the babe to its mother. “Hale as a harvest,” she assured the woman.
The woman cried and clutched the baby to her chest, lying back and staring at the ceiling. Her sister stared at me—not with antagonism, but curiosity. Surely she understood what had transpired.
“You . . .” The midwife crooked a bony finger at me. “. . . Come.”
She stepped out of the room and down the hall, to the front area where Eden sat with the trembling twelve-year-old. To the child, the midwife said, “Mother and baby are fine. You might go say hello.”
The girl lit up and ran down the hallway. Anger sparked in my heart—not mine, but Renn’s. Whatever he dealt with seemed to be coming to a head. I tucked it away, needing to focus on the present.
“Who are you?” the midwife asked Eden.
“He’s with me,” I answered, not bothering to mask my Canseren accent. I was out of place regardless of whether I came from the south or the north.
“He.” The midwife snorted. “Perhaps to a blind fool.”
Eden focused her gaze on the floor.
Addressing me, the midwife said, “You’re a long way from home.”
I nodded. “I am. We’re trying desperately to make it back, but the war has barred our travel.”
“It’s barred most everyone’s travel, the war. Only small fishing vessels are making it through.”
Eden lifted her head, doing a poor job of hiding her hope. “Has Cansere attacked Sestan soil?”
The midwife shook her head. “Not yet.”
My soul shriveled. I had wondered if we might come across a war camp for the Phoenix where we could take refuge. But this had always been Nicosia’s war, and he’d decimated Rove. Renn was on the defensive.
“You’ve a long ways to go,” the midwife said. “Hundred fifty miles to the strait.”
Breath left me. We’d been traveling so long, so hard. To have so much distance left to cover—inhabited distance—I pressed my hand to the wall to steady myself. Eden shielded her face with her hands to hide her weeping.
The woman frowned. “I appreciate what you did in there. Our stationed healer is eight miles away, but he costs too much for most folk to afford. I might have lost both of them.” She hesitated.
“Maybe just one. I know what I’m doing.” She folded her arms as though to protect her pride. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
I searched her haggard face. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve been meaning to visit my sister in Catalaine.”
She waited expectantly, but her statement went over my head. Not Eden’s, however. The princess lifted her head. “Catalaine?”
“That’s what I said.”
Eden looked at me. “It’s a city not far from the border.”
Hope blossomed in my center, pushing out the wilt and Renn’s lingering anger.
“She married a Canseren. He’s dead now.” The midwife shrugged. “But I could take one of you that far.”
The hope cracked. “One of us?”
She nodded, mouth pressed into a firm line. Resolute. “My wagon is small. I couldn’t possibly hide both of you. And I assume you’re hiding, dressed the way you are.” She indicated Eden. “So who will it be?”
Eden’s eyes watered. “We can’t possibly . . . Please, I’ll better the disguise—”
“I’m not risking my neck over an ounce of gratitude,” the midwife snapped. “One of you to Catalaine. We leave in the morning.”
Eden and I exchanged a long glance. Her countenance began to crumble. She wasn’t used to this hardship—she’d grown up noble.
I pressed a hand into my heart in an attempt to balm it.
Cansere would lose hope if it lost Renn and Eden.
Technically, since Eden was older and “married,” she was the heir to the throne, though I did not think she’d fight Renn for it.
No Canseren in their right mind would validate that sham of a wedding, nor welcome Adoel Nicosia to the throne. And I . . . I could do this. I had to.
“If I take over your role, as long as I’m able,” I bartered, “would you also try to procure my friend a ship? Safe passage to Cansere?”
Eden jolted. “No.”
The midwife eyed me. Considered for many long seconds. “Yes, I would make that trade.”
“Then take her. Please.”
Eden rose to her feet. “You don’t . . . you don’t have to do this.”
“You are more important to Cansere than I am.” I crossed the room and took her hands in mine. Lowered my voice. “Go, and go quickly. Tell them I’m coming. I’ll try to follow your path, through Catalaine. Tell Renn I’m coming.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She embraced me, holding me too tight to her slender frame. “I will, I will. I promise.”
The fact that she did not protest further spoke volumes of how tired she was, how close she’d come to giving up. Eden needed this. I . . . I could wait a little longer.
Turning to the midwife, I said, “Thank you. You’ve no idea what this means to us.”
She eyed us, a little suspicious, but it passed. “Let me take care of things here, and I’ll take you to my home. You’ve many patients. And I trust you to keep your word. What was your name?”
“Ursa,” I answered, throat aching around the word. “My name is Ursa.”