Jin Li Tam nodded and sipped her tea. It had a strong lemon and honey flavor to it, going down smooth and hot. “I’ve used the last the powders,” she said. “I will need more.”
The River Woman smiled. “I can’t give you any more,” she said.
Jin Li Tam blinked and set down the cup. She felt a moment of panic, and it folded in on itself, reproducing more anxiety as she realized how afraid it made her that she might not be able get more of the powders and continue her attempts with Rudolfo. As much as she hated the deception-and had even convinced herself a dozen times that she would tell him-she’d gotten quite adept at slipping the powders into his drinks in those hours before they were to be together. She knew that telling him about this deception meant leaving footprints that he could follow back to other deceptions, eventually seeing her father’s work-and her own work in support of her father-in his life.
She could not bear the way he would look at her once he realized that House Li Tam had murdered his brother, his parents and his closest friend in order to move his life in a direction one man thought it should go in.
All of this flashed across her mind, and she felt something squeezing her heart. “I don’t understand,” Jin Li Tam finally said. “You have the recipe. I can arrange whatever ingredients you may need delivered.”
The River Woman shook her head, still smiling. “It would not be prudent, Lady Tam.”
Jin Li Tam felt anger rustling awake within her. She could hear her own voice getting cold as she pushed back the chair from the table. “I need those powders,” she said. “If you can’t make them for me, I’m sure Caldus Bay’s woman can oblige me.”
The River Woman’s smile continued, broadening as she clucked. “Lady Tam,” she said, “please sit down.”
Uncertain, Jin paused, then sat. Suddenly, she didn’t feel she could meet the River Woman’s eyes. She looked around the room instead.
She felt the old, rough hand slide over her own and give it a squeeze. “I can’t give you any more,” the River Woman said, “because they might harm your baby.”
Jin’s eyes snapped up. “My what?”
The River Woman nodded. “It’s all over you now. The tone of your skin. The brightneso. T"1es in your eyes. It’s in the very way that you walk.” She stood and walked over to a cabinet, drawing a gold ring with bits of pink and blue ribbon tied to it.
Jin Li Tam felt her heart flutter and expand. “You mean-?”
The River Woman nodded again, picking up a bucket of river water. “You’re with child. Recently, too, I’d say.” She winked.
Jin Li Tam did not know what to say. Instead, she sat still and watched as the woman clenched the ring and its strings in her closed fist, speaking to them in a mumbled tongue she could not place. The River Woman poured the water into a wooden cup, then dropped in the ring, still mumbling.
“Now,” she said, “we see what your water tells the river.”
Jin went into a back room, feeling suddenly awkward and exposed. She felt fear and elation arguing within her over whether she should run or dance. Afterward, when she brought the cup back out, the River Woman took it and set it on the table.
“Now finish your tea, dear,” the River Woman said. “It will take awhile.”
Jin Li Tam looked at the cup and the ring at the bottom of it. The threads were tucked neatly beneath the gold circle, their tips waving slightly in the blended waters. “What if it’s wrong?”
The River Woman shook her head. “Forty years and I’ve yet to not know a woman with child when I saw her walk into this hut-even as soon as the morning after if you get my meaning.” She grinned and sipped her tea.
They finished their tea in silence and sat, watching the cup. Finally, the River Woman clapped her hands. “Delightful,” she said. The blue thread had become disentangled from the ring and drifted to the top.
Jin Li Tam didn’t need to ask what it meant. She fell back into the chair, letting her breath out. She felt tears in the corners of her eyes, and her stomach suddenly felt uncertain. “A boy,” she said in quiet voice.
The River Woman nodded. “A strong one, by the looks of it. What will you name him?”
She didn’t even think about it. The name leaped to mind immediately even though she’d not thought about it before this very moment. “Jakob,” she said. “If Rudolfo concurs.”
The River Woman’s smile filled the room with light. “A strong name for a strong boy.”
Jin Li Tam couldn’t take on amp;#_her eyes off the cup now and its blue thread floating in the yellowed river water. “He will need to be,” she said. “He is inheriting a tremendous task.”
The River Woman nodded. “He will be strong because he has strong parents.”
One of the tears broke loose, and Jin Li Tam felt it trace its course down her cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
The River Woman leaned in, her voice low. “Lady Tam,” she said, “it occurs to me that you are more concerned about how this child came to be than you need be. Lord Rudolfo will be delighted and he will not question this.” She paused. “I consider this to be a private matter between you and me.”
Jin Li Tam nodded. “Thank you,” she said again.
As she left the hut to make her way back to the manor, she found herself wondering what kind of mother she would be. She’d barely known her own mother, spending most of her time with large groups of siblings, taking instruction from her father and his brothers and sisters as they raised her to be a Tam. The idea confounded her. Two parents bringing one child into the world and staying near that child until old age carried the parents away. That child creating children of their own and the turban passing down from father to son in the shadow of a new library in a different world.
It was the most terrifying undertaking Jin Li Tam had ever imagined.
Once inside her room, she reran the bath and stripped down, pausing in front of the full-length mirror to study her stomach.
Easing herself into the hot, sweet-smelling water, Jin Li Tam smiled.
Neb
Neb felt the weariness deep in his bones now that the work was done. He’d walked Windwir twice in the last week to be certain, but despite the winter’s storms they’d finished ahead of schedule. And though the sense of accomplishment permeated him, he felt a sadness in the midst of it. Over the months, he’d seen more and more of the Marsh girl, Winters, and they’d fallen into a routine together. At least twice weekly now, she met him out on the northern edges of the camp, when he could discreetly slip into the forest. They walked together, and somehow, somewhere along the way, their hands had touched and then joined so that now, whenever they walked alone, they did so hand in hand. They had not kissed again, but Neb found himself thinking of it all the time, uncertain of how to bring that about again.
He laughed as he walked north across the empty plain. Over the last several months, he’d commanded a camp of gravediggers, presided over discipline, even buried some of their own dead when the war crossed into their work. He knew how to order and inventory the supplies for a camp, and he found himself suddenly undeof s sorstanding and even proposing military strategy. All impressive for a boy of fifteen years.
Sixteen now, he realized suddenly. Sometime in the last few weeks a birthday had slipped past him unawares.
He had learned much and had proven much, but he still did not know how to kiss a girl.
As he approached the line of trees he called out, and she broke from them, running nimbly across the ash and mud.
“Nebios ben Hebda,” she said, smiling and out of breath. She looked around the field and looked south to what remained of the gravediggers’ camp. The tents were already coming down as the workers began their exodus. A small contingent would be traveling north with Neb to aid the construction of the new library. Most were scattering to what homes they could either find or make or return to. “You really are finished,” she said.