She hadn't gotten out of the apartment much, but still had sensed the deep currents twisting through Castle Krief. Servants chattered and speculated. There was trouble with the succession. Bragi had been chosen King, but his family hadn't been made hereditary custodians of Kavelin. The crown would be up for grabs if he died. Several parties wanted control of the succession.
Then there was the eastern situation, and the sporadic civil war in neighboring Hammad al Nakir, which could have considerable impact here.
And, of course, there were the traditional ethnic frictions within Kavelin itself, frictions three enlightened monarchs had been able to ameliorate only slightly.
She stared out her window and thought of her distant mountain home. She had been no more happy at Fangdred. Each day had witnessed its prayer that the outside would call them forth. Now they were free of that isolation, and she only longed to retreat to the safety of her mountain fastness.
"I must be mad. I can't even be satisfied when my prayers are answered." The baby moved again. "What are you doing in there? Jumping rope?" She tried to relax. There was surcease in sleep, sometimes.
Sleep was slow coming. Her back ached. Her legs and feet hurt. Her mind would not abandon its neurotic harping despite her efforts to silence it. And the baby would not lie still.
But sleep of a sort did come, and with it visions as disquieting as anything her mind threw up while awake.
They belonged to a family of dreams she had begun to know well. She dreamed about Ethrian, a desert, and a great, frightening shadow. Her son was calling for help. His voice was weak and remote. The shadow was amused. It lashed out at her child, inflicting intolerable torment. She reached out for Ethrian, but he couldn't tell she was there.
She had had a lot of Ethrian dreams lately, mainly when she wasn't too deeply asleep. They varied, yet always showed her son alive, trying to evade some shadowy peril.
Varth claimed it was just pregnancy doing strange things, that her dreams had no parallel in the real world. But she had been through this before, several years ago. She hadn't been pregnant then.
She believed cluster dreams reflected truth. There was great magic in dreams, though she hadn't the knowledge to interpret them. Her own touch of magic was severely diminished now she no longer had brothers. Their grasp of the Power had always required the concentration of the entire family...
Varth was no expert, either, but he should know enough to realize her dreams had significance... or did they? Suppose he was right? Suppose they were manifestations of her fears and insecurities?
She was coming out of the twilight into which she'd fallen. She wasn't chasing every will-o'-the-wisp notion. She was trying to think linearly... And she was disappointed. For an instant she'd felt she'd reached a half-open door, about to capture an unsuspected glimpse of the truth.
She heard a soft rustle, quiet footsteps. She recognized the maid's step. "I'm awake, Margo."
"Ah, Lady. I didn't want to interrupt your nap. Your husband asked me to check."
"Tell him to come in."
Varthlokkur seated himself on the edge of her bed, held her hands. "How are you feeling?"
"Pretty good. What's happening in the rest of the world?"
"The usual. They're being born, they're dying, and generally acting silly in between. Four hundred years I've watched them and they haven't changed. They keep right on doing the same stupid things."
Disappointment trickled through Nepanthe. There would be no discussing her dream while he was like this. "You're in that mood again?"
"What mood?"
"All is vanity and chasing after the wind."
"Hunh! Sometimes it's the only realistic philosophy."
He was just within the penumbra of melancholy. He would be unfit to live with if his mood deepened. But he was salvageable now, if she kept him from losing himself inside. "What set you off?" Let him roll it out. Let him look at it and get mad. That would break the chain.
"It's Bragi. He's changing. A few years ago his eyes were wide open. Nothing got by him. Nobody fooled him. And he never fooled himself."
"What are you talking about?"
"He isn't that way anymore. There are intrigues here in Kavelin. Conspiracies about to explode. And he won't see what's happening. He goes off and plays Captures or plots against Shinsan. While the real danger grows like a cancer, right behind him."
Victory! He was angry. "Why do you care? Kavelin isn't your home. And you'll outlive its troubles."
"I don't know. You're right. Since Ilkazar fell I haven't been attached to any particular place. But maybe I like what the old King, Queen Fiana, and Bragi wanted to do here. Maybe I like the promise of their dream, if it succeeds. Maybe I'm aggravated because Bragi has gotten distracted from the real issues. Maybe he's changing into somebody I don't like."
"And maybe you're misjudging him, Varth. He's tricky. You never know what he's doing. He might have his thumb on the pulse of whatever it is that's worrying you. You can't ever forget that he's got Michael Trebilcock. The way people talk, Michael is everywhere and nowhere, and not a whisper of intrigue gets past him. My maids say the nobles are scared to death of him."
"Uhm. Bragi does have good help. But what happens if he gets so weird they stop agreeing with what he does? Never mind. It's beyond my influence. I shouldn't worry. How was your day?"
He had slipped into a more pliable mood. Not a good mood, but the best she would see. "I had another dream. Ethrian was calling for help again."
Varthlokkur's face folded into a dark scowl, like a savage old thunderhead. She half expected lightning to prance across his brow.
She chose her words carefully. "I don't think this is just pregnancy and wishful thinking, Varth. There's something touching me. I'm not saying it's Ethrian. Probably it isn't. But I think you should take me seriously and try to get to the bottom of it. It might be important in some way neither of us can see right now."
"All right. I'll do that." His voice was cool, unhappy. "I'll let you know if there's anything to it." He rose. "I have to go out. I shouldn't be long."
She watched him leave. Run, she thought at his back. Get away. Why do you get so upset when I talk about Ethrian?
Several days had passed. Varthlokkur encountered the King in a hallway. Amidst the dancing shadows cast by oil lamps, they paused. Varthlokkur asked, "Any word on Michael yet?"
"Aral found a cold trail. A friend of his saw Michael in Delhagen a few days after the attack on Liakopulos."
"Strange."
"Everything is, these days. How long till Nepanthe's time?"
"Two weeks. Three."
"Nervous?"
"Very." The wizard's smile felt weak. He was beginning to worry. He was getting tied up here, and he had promised Nepanthe that he would take her home before the birthing.
"Nothing to worry about. She didn't have trouble with Ethrian."
"Do me a favor? Don't mention that name. She's got a bee in her bonnet about him lately. She's decided he's still alive. Thinks we should try finding him."
"Is he?"
"I don't know."
"A couple weeks ago you said... "
"I know what I said. This isn't the time to worry about it. We've got a baby to get born." He was surprised at himself. He was snarling. Did the possible survival of the boy so threaten him?
"I'll check back later, in case something turns up."
"It won't." He watched the King depart. The man's shoulders were stiff in a carrying-the-weight-of-the-world fashion. "My friend, you're going to have to learn to mind your own business at least some of the time." He wheeled and stalked toward his apartment.