Philomena poked out her rosy lower lip. Her tears flowed freely, though exactly what sentiments induced them remained a question. “Tomas said he’d never lose a match, that I’d never be left alone in this vile place. Bad enough he was forever away, but at least he would take me to Montevial in the winter. And now I’m so ill, and it’s just as well I should die, for by the time this is over, it will be almost spring. I shall be fat and ugly and everyone at court will have forgotten me. Curse him forever!”
With every shuddering sob Philomena set the twittering chambermaids aflutter like a flock of birds disturbed by a prowling cat.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” said the old woman, patting Philomena’s coverlet. “You must calm yourself or the child will be disfigured, even if you should manage to bring it alive this time.”
Philomena howled. Half the maids wailed in unison with their mistress.
Neither affection nor sympathy persuaded me to take charge of the sickroom, but only purest pragmatism. If I couldn’t speak with Philomena in a rational manner, then I couldn’t discharge my obligation and get on with my life.
It was my duty-and my wish-to tell Tomas’s wife and son how he had died with the honor befitting the Duke of Comigor, the Champion of Leire, the finest swordsman in the Four Realms. No matter now that he had never been intended to survive the battle that took his life, that he had been a pawn in a much larger game than the challenge of some petty chieftain to his king. No matter that his hand was fouled with the blood of those I most loved. In the end, set free of his madness, he had asked my forgiveness, and his last thoughts had been of his son. I had promised him I would tell the boy of his regard. In some way I did not yet fully understand, the enchantments that had corrupted my brother’s life had been my responsibility, and I liked to think that fulfilling his last wish might in some measure repay him for what had been done to him.
“Look here, madam,” I said to the old woman, drawing her away from the bed, “this excitement is doing your niece no good. And you yourself look exhausted. I’m a relation of the late duke-family, just as you are-and I’d be happy to look after Her Grace while you take a rest. For her sake, you must take care of yourself, must you not? Take you to your room for an hour. I promise to call you at the slightest difficulty.”
“Why I could never- Who do you-?”
I caught the arm of a passing maid and ordered her to escort Philomena’s aunt to her chamber, seat herself outside it, and wait upon the lady’s every whim. I then commanded the hovering attendants out of the room, sending one to make broth to be brought only at my call, another to polish all the glassware in the house in case the physician was to need it, and one to count the clean linen for when it might be wanted. Only one quiet girl called Nancy did I keep with me. I asked Nancy to hang up my cloak, open a window, and keep everyone out of the room so her mistress could rest. Then I pulled up a chair to the side of the huge bed and waited.
It was not surprising that my sister-in-law was difficult. Her father was the Chancellor of Leire. A political marriage that obliged her to live in a place as removed from court as Comigor would seem like slow death for a pampered young woman reared amid the royal intrigues and scandals of Montevial.
After a brief interval of steadily decreasing moaning, Philomena took a shaking breath and looked about. “Where is everyone?” She sniffed and blinked.
“I told them that their highest duty was to serve you, and that they’d serve you best by giving you room to breathe. Now tell me what’s the matter. You’re not giving birth, nor look even close to it.”
Philomena wailed again. The serving girl jumped up from her seat by the door, but I waved her away. I folded my hands in my lap.
The wail ended with a hiccup. The duchess dabbed her eyes. “It’s dreadful. If I’d not lost the others, you see… The physician tells me I must stay abed or I’ll lose this one, too. To suffer such wicked travail and have them all dead, save for Gerick, of course, my darling… though he’s not quite as affectionate as one might want, nor at all interested in the things he should be, and such a vile temper… The physician Ren Wesley tells me to stay abed, so Aunt Verally says he must think that I will die, too. Then today I wake with such awful pain in my back that I know the end must be near.”
“Ah. I understand now. How many have you lost, then?”
“Two. Both stillborn.” I handed her an embroidered handkerchief from a stack of them beside the bed. She blew her nose.
“It’s a terrible thing to lose a child at birth.”
Philomena glanced up quickly, as if it had just occurred to her who was sitting at her bedside. She pulled the red satin coverlet tightly to her chin.
“I mean you no harm, Philomena. What Tomas did wasn’t entirely his fault. Certainly, I hold neither you nor your son responsible.”
Months ago, even before Tomas was free from his corrupting blindness, he had begged me to return to Comigor, hoping that I could protect his child from some unnamable evil. I had refused him then. I had seen no reason to heed my brother’s fears when my brother had watched my husband tortured and burned alive for being born a sorcerer. I had seen no reason why I should care for my brother’s child when my brother’s knife had slit my own newborn son’s throat, lest he inherit his gentle father’s magical gifts. How had Tomas reconciled what he had done? Madness, enchantment-I had to believe that. It was the only way I could forgive him.
She averted her gaze. “Tomas’s men brought your message when they brought the news that he was dead. I thought you were trying to make me afraid.”
“Let’s not speak of those things now. If the physician has sent you to bed, then I’m sure it’s for the child’s health, and not because of any danger to your own. If your back hurts, perhaps it’s because you have so many pillows so awkwardly arranged.” I reached around her and pulled about half of them away, straightening the others so she could change position without being smothered. I had Nancy bring a warmed towel, which I rolled into a firm cylinder and inserted behind Philomena’s back.
“Oh! That’s marvelously better.”
“Good. Nancy can replace the towel whenever you wish. Now you should rest. When you’re awake again, I’ll tell you and your son what I’ve come to tell you of Tomas.”
“It won’t bring him back,” said Philomena, settling into her nest and yawning.
“No,” I said, feeling guilty at the joyous anticipation that prickled the boundaries of my skin. Ten years after his horrific death, my husband had indeed been brought back to life, a mystery and a marvel I could not yet fully comprehend. Only a few months had passed since Midsummer’s Day, when a sorcerer prince with a damaged memory had intruded on my life. Only a few weeks had passed since the day I realized that somehow Karon lived again within that prince, and a sorcerer named Dassine had confirmed my guess. At the end of that day, when the two of them had walked through the fiery Gate of D’Arnath’s Bridge and vanished, Karon could not yet remember either his own life or that of D’Natheil, the Prince of Avonar, in whose body he now existed. But Dassine had assured me that Karon’s recovery was only a matter of time and work and sorcery. He would come back. He would know me again.
Sighing deeply, Philomena dropped off to sleep. To look on her drew me back to the lingering grief that even such a miracle as Karon’s life could not allay. Philomena had a living son.