“She’s awake!” someone cried. “Fetch Mother Jone!”
Elissa shook herself, trying and failing to sit up. She pulled the arm of the couch until her head was raised when the Gatherer came to her. “Easy, Countess.”
Countess? The word struck her. Had her mother died?
Jone appeared a moment later. “Elissa. Thank the Creator.” Mother Cera was at her back, looking less pleased. And why shouldn’t she be? Elissa had taken Stasy from her and gotten the young woman killed.
“My mother?” Elissa asked.
“Alive,” Jone said. “But she hasn’t woken, and the Gatherer says every hour that goes by makes it less likely that woman who wakes will be the one we remember. Until she recovers, you are Countess of Morning.”
“The demons?”
“Your greatwards and my remaining guard have them stymied, at least for now,” Jone said. “But there are sounds of digging below the keep, and we don’t know what to do.”
“I need to see for myself.” Again, Elissa tried to sit up, and failed. “Gatherer…I can’t feel my legs.”
The Gatherer’s blank stare was telling, and Elissa fumbled at the blankets. Pulling them away from her legs.
“Countess!” The Gatherer reached out to stop her, but Elissa slapped her hand away, at last revealing her legs. They twitched as she flailed, but she could not feel it. The skin was pale, mottled with sunken patches of gray and stark white.
Elissa felt her tears returning and ground her teeth, forcing them back. “Is there anything you can do?”
Again the blank stare, but Elissa met it with a hard one of her own. At last, the Gatherer threw up her hands. “The flesh is frozen, Countess. Dead. In time, you may heal in part, but I do not expect you will walk again.”
Elissa searched herself, realizing her own clothes were gone. “Where is my stylus?”
“You’re in no condition—” Jone began.
“Give it to me,” Elissa cut in. “Unless you want corelings swarming from the basement.”
Jone looked pained, reaching into a pocket of her gown for an item wrapped in a silk kerchief. She handled it like a hot iron pan.
Elissa snatched it from her hands, unwrapping her silver stylus. Its charge was largely depleted, but she prayed enough remained as she slid fingers over the wards to allow her to Draw directly on its power.
She inhaled as the magic jolted through her. The aches and pain in her skull receded, and she felt clearheaded for the first time in hours. Something of her strength returned. She moved to put her feet under her, but her legs did not obey as they should, tangling each other and leaving her awkwardly twisted.
“Countess…” the Gatherer warned. Elissa ignored her, taking the stylus and drawing wards directly on her legs, opening the nib to release whatever power remained.
The wards flared and some feeling returned, the white and gray mottling receding slightly, but it was nothing like the total healings she had effected in the past.
But as with Woron’s wound, sometimes magic alone was not enough.
Elissa shoved the thought aside, again trying to get to her feet. She managed to get her right leg under her, but the left dragged, and when she stood it could not fully support her. She balanced on one shaking leg a moment, then fell back.
“Don’t just stand there gawking,” she snapped. “Someone fetch me a cane.”
—
Elissa felt her nerves clench every time she heard the rumbling sound. Dust shook from the walls and ceiling, choking air thick with the stench of ichor.
Elissa’s Warders had drawn greatwards on the floor and charged them with coreling remains. Elissa refilled her stylus the same way. Mother Jone lent her a steadying arm as she stared at the wall, hora pen at the ready.
It was an old, sealed-off sewer entrance where the breach seemed imminent. Demons should not have been able to approach the powerful forbiddings, but the sounds of shattering rock continued.
Then, suddenly, all grew quiet. Elissa held a breath as the wall turned white with rime. It made a high-pitched whine as the moisture inside turned solid, then an impact sent everyone lurching. Elissa’s legs buckled, and she banged her hips as she hit the stone floor. The wall was shattered, and from the rubble stepped…Derek.
“I’m through!” Derek’s eyes scanned the room, lighting on her. “I see Elissa! She’s alive!”
Ragen came rushing past, shoving confused Warders aside as he fell to his knees beside her. “Lissa, are you all right?”
She wanted to tell him the truth, but in the moment it didn’t seem to matter. She threw her arms around him and squeezed tight. “I’m all right. How did you get here?”
“The same way the demons have been getting around. The sewers.” Ragen nodded to Yon and Woron, who came out of the rubble followed by a group of Mountain Spears. “Flamework proved quite effective in the cramped tunnels.”
Derek spotted Mother Cera standing with Jone. “Where is Stasy?” He strode in close. “Where is my son?”
“You don’t—” Cera began, but Derek raised his stylus, pointing it right at her nose.
“No more hiding behind your title, Countess,” Derek growled. “Not tonight. You will take me to my wife. Now.”
“Or what?” Jone snapped. “You’ll murder the Countess of Gold in front of everyone?”
Derek waved the stylus at her as well. “Don’t test me, old woman.”
“Stasy is dead,” Cera said. “Killed by a stone demon.”
Derek stumbled back at the words, face twisting in pain. But then he rushed back in, hora pen leading. “Because of you!”
Mother Cera stumbled back, falling to the floor as Derek stalked in. “No. Because of her.” She pointed to Elissa. “Because Mother Elissa had her fighting demons on the walls when she should have been safe inside with the other Mothers.”
Derek’s eyes flicked to Elissa, and she could not lie to him. “Stasy saved countless lives tonight.”
Derek gaped at her, then squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear it, turning back to Cera and pointing his stylus. “She wouldn’t even have been here had you not been holding her prisoner. Now take me to my son.”
“I’ll do no such thing while you’re—”
Derek drew a sharp warding, and the stone floor beside the countess cracked. She jumped, getting to her feet.
“Go with them, Yon, ay?” Ragen said. “Make sure Derek…”
“…dun’t do anythin’ stupid,” Yon finished. “On it.”
“I’ll see that fool in irons,” Jone said when they were gone.
“You’ve bigger problems than a man who just lost his wife wanting assurance his only child is well,” Ragen said.
“Euchor’s keep is in flames.”
CHAPTER 33
EVIL GIVES BIRTH
334 AR
“Push,” Leesha said.
“Idiot girl!” Elona was legs-up on the birthing table, hair slick with sweat. “What in the Core do you think I’ve been doing?!” They were hours into labor, and no closer to crowning.
“Leesha is only trying to help, dear.” Erny tried to take Elona’s hand, but she slapped it away.
“Get out.”
Erny’s face fell. “But…!”
“Shut it!” Elona snarled. “You’re as useless here as you are in my bed! Ent no way this babe came from your limp little stump, and we both know it!”
“Dear!” Erny turned bright red, glancing around the room. Darsy and Favah kept their eyes down and affected not to notice.
“Get out!” Elona screeched. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Leesha took her father’s elbow. “Da.”
Erny needed no further instruction, allowing her to lead him from the room.
“She doesn’t mean it.”
Erny slumped on a bench just outside. “Oh, Leesha. Of course she does.”
Leesha sighed. There was no point in pretending she hadn’t seen the truth of it in vivid detail. “Why don’t
you go back to your chambers? This may take hours yet. I’ll send for you when it’s done.”
Erny shook his head. “Maybe that babe’s mine and maybe it isn’t, but for better or worse your mum is. I’ll wait right here.”
Leesha squeezed his shoulder. “You’re too good for her, Da.”
Erny chuckled. “Too good, yet never good enough. I’ve made my peace with it, but it never stops stinging.”
“Nonsense,” Leesha said. “Mother uses the truth to hurt you so you don’t see that for the lie it is. You gave her the chance to leave you for Steave and she didn’t take it. She never would. You were always the better man, and you’ve a right to demand she treat you like you deserve. There’s more to a man than the size of his tree. If she can’t see that, perhaps she should try raising that babe on her own.”
Erny shook his head. “I love her, Leesha. Always have, always will. There’s never been another woman in the world to me. I’m not going anywhere. Not from this bench, not from this marriage. We said our vows…”
“But only you keep them,” Leesha said.
Erny looked at her. “Is that the only time we should keep our promises, Leesha? When others do? I taught you better than that.”
“Ay, Da. You did.” Leesha smiled, bending to kiss the top of his balding head before she went back into the birthing chamber and shut the door.
“Push.” Darsy had taken up Leesha’s place between her mother’s legs.
“I am pushing, you stupid cow!” Elona barked.
“Well you ent doin’ a good enough job of it, you mean old witch,” Darsy muttered.
“Like you’ll ever know what this is like,” Elona growled. “The sight of your sour mash face is enough to wilt any man’s tree.”
Darsy reddened but wisely bit back her retort. She was used to cowing others, but no one could escalate a fight like Elona Paper. Whatever she said, Leesha’s mother would come back with worse.
“Be as the palm, and bend to let this wind pass over you,” Favah advised. “Everam does not judge women for words spoken in the birthing chamber.”
“You don’t know my mother well, if you think these words limited to labor,” Leesha said.
Favah looked ready to say more, but Elona growled like a bear, and Darsy gave a cry. “I can see the head!”
Leesha rushed over, gently pushing a grateful Darsy aside. There it was, the child’s tawny-haired crown, visible at last. She began massaging it free. “This is it, Mum, one last…”
“If you say push, I swear to the Creator, I’ll—!”
“I don’t care what you do, so long as you push,” Leesha snapped. Elona grit her teeth, blood vessels breaking across her face as she strained. Then the head slipped free, and the rest came in a rush.
“I have it!” Leesha reached to clear the babe’s mouth and nose, but it wasn’t necessary. The child thrashed in her arms and gave a mighty cry.
She found herself in accord, her own eyes tearing. “I’ll never tire of that sound.”
“Give it…” Elona gasped a breath, “…a little time,” she panted again, “and we’ll all be…sick of it.”
Leesha ignored her, running sensitive fingers over the child, checking the beat of its heart, the tone of its skin, the strength of its movements, the rate of its breaths. Favah moved in, tying knots in the cord with a practiced hand and slicing it with a sharp curved blade.
Leesha looked deeper, seeing the child’s aura in wardsight. She sobbed. Whatever horrors Elona had said and done, this child, her sibling, was a soul yet unburdened with the weights of life.
“What is it?” Elona demanded, seeing the tears. “Something wrong?”
Leesha shook her head. “Oh, no. Everything is…beautiful.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Elona said. “Is it a boy?”
Leesha shook her head. “A girl, strong and perfect.”
“Night, not again!” Elona smacked a fist against the table, but Leesha’s mind was far away, remembering Amanvah’s words, months past, when she cast the dice for Gared’s bride.
She will bear him strong sons, but it will be his daughter who succeeds him.
Whatever her disappointment, Elona reached for the child. Leesha tied a clean nappy on her and laid her skin-to-skin on her mother’s chest.
“What will you name her?” Favah asked.
“Selen, after my mum.” The look on Elona’s face was something Leesha had never seen before. Could it be love?
“A strong name,” Favah said, moving away to dispose of the cord. Leesha watched her, and followed when the woman turned her back by the table and she saw a telltale glow.
She reached Favah as the old woman cast the dice, wet with blood from the umbilicus. It was a violation of privacy, but Leesha’s curiosity outweighed her offense, and she leaned in to see as the dice spun to a stop and the symbols aligned.
Wood intersecting a cutting ward.
“Woodcutter,” she breathed, too low for Darsy and her mother to hear.
Favah nodded. “The baron’s Jiwah Ka will be pleased it is a girl child.”
Not so pleased, Leesha thought, but she kept it to herself, studying the rest of the throw.
“Ay!” Elona barked. “Don’t think I’m stupid enough not to guess what you’re doing over there! I want a look!”
Favah snatched the dice up and thrust them back into her pouch. “Bad enough for one chin to look upon the sacred dice. I will not suffer another.”
“Well?” Elona demanded when Leesha returned to her side. Erny opened the door unbidden as Leesha answered.
“She’s Gared’s.”
—
Leesha returned to her office to find Araine at her desk, attended by Lord Arther, Pawl, and Tarisa as she bent over a mound of papers. Melny sat on the couch across the room with Olive.
Was this the loyalty of her inner circle? Two days into Araine’s return, and she’d already taken Leesha’s place. She opened her mouth to shout when Olive, barely three months old, reached up and took a firm grip on Melny’s décolletage, pulling herself to stand up on her lap.
“Creator!” Leesha rushed to them, her anger forgotten.
“I know!” Melny beamed. “She’s been doing it all morning!” Olive turned, eyes meeting Leesha’s, and gave a joyful laugh.
Leesha knew she should be concerned at Olive’s unusual development—most children could not stand until nine months at least—but she could not help laughing in return. There was nothing usual about Olive Paper.
The girl let go her grip before Melny’s great bosom slipped free of her dress, reaching for Leesha. For a moment she kept her feet, but then her little legs buckled and she fell back on her bottom, laughing again.
Leesha swept her up and kissed her. “I met your aunt today. At this rate you’ll be running before she learns to roll over.” Olive replied by reaching out and tweaking her nose.
There was a shuffle of paper, and Leesha looked back across the room. Araine continued reading through the papers, murmuring to Pawl who took careful notes. Arther and Tarisa at least had the sense to look guilty.
“Mistress.” The first minister bowed as Leesha stormed their way, babe in hand. “We did not expect you back so soon.”
“Is that your only excuse for breaking your oath to me?” Leesha demanded. “The Hollow’s ledgers were closed, you swore.”
“Pfagh!” Araine looked up at last. “You said yourself there were no state secrets anymore.”
“Your state,” Leesha snapped. “This is mine.”
“I haven’t shown her anything sensitive,” Arther said defensively. “The Duchess Mum asked to help with requisitions for her refugees…”
Araine whisked a hand, and Arther fell silent. “You can’t expect me to sit around all day rubbing Melny’s belly, Leesha. I can’t help you on the battlefield. I can’t ward, heal the sick, or deliver babes. But this, I can do.”
Leesha blew out a breath. She had a right to be angry with all of them, but she
could not deny she needed the help, and there were few in the world with more experience in running a city than the Duchess Mum. “And what have you surmised?”
“That your heart is far larger than your coffers,” Araine said. “It’s a wonder you’ve kept the Hollow afloat with all the entitlements you hand to every beggar who comes to town.”
Leesha’s eyes narrowed as she turned to Arther. “Nothing sensitive, you say?” The man looked like he wanted to sink into his starched collar. It was true Leesha needed the help, but she had little desire for Araine to know just how fragile the Hollow’s economy was with war on all sides.
“It doesn’t take a genius to see the larger picture from how much you’ve done for my people in just two days,” Araine said. “You’re spending klats faster than you can stamp and lacquer them.”
“We stopped lacquering them months ago.” Olive pulled at her dress, and Leesha freed a breast, bringing her to suck. Arther made a strangled sound and turned his back so fast, she thought he might give himself whiplash.
“Even so—” Araine waved at the papers.
“What would you have me do?” Leesha demanded. “Let your people starve on my doorstep, like you did when the Rizonans came begging to your gates?”
“Of course not,” Araine said. “I’m trying to compliment you, girl, if you’ll stop interrupting long enough to let me. You’ve danced a razor’s edge, and yet there are no empty bellies in Hollow County.”
The old woman shook her head. “The first Rhinebeck drove Angiers into bankruptcy to assure the lords of Angiers would grant him the throne when my father died, did you know?”
“Rojer said something of the sort once,” Leesha said.
“Leave it to a Jongleur to spin tales out of turn,” Araine said. “What did he tell you?”
“That Rhinebeck the first invented the machine to stamp klats,” Leesha said, “and kept one in five for himself.”
Araine snorted. “It was a lot more than that. Even so, after the bribes were all paid to keep his throne, the old fool died and left his son and me with a vault filled with little more than ledgers of debt and the smell of must. My Rhinebeck was more interested in hunting and bedding harlots, leaving Janson and me with a demon of a time keeping our empty coffers secret until the city got back on its feet.”