She struggled but couldn't move under his weight, and he did not waste time in pinning her arms. When he pushed himself into her, the pain was explosive.
Magelia remembered nothing more until a numbing cold called her back from unconsciousness. Bryen stood at the foot of the bed, staring at her with an expression she had never expected.
Fear. His features wrinkled in pain as the icy cold in the room deepened around Magelia.
Bryen's features turned blank with shock as he whispered, "No."
His face grew lined, and the color in his skin faded.
Through the burning pain between Magelia's legs and the chill all over her skin, she watched Bryen begin to age.
"Ubad!" he cried out, his voice cracking like an old man. "Why did you not tell me the price?"
"Because you would not sacrifice your son," came the hollow answer as Ubad looked away.
"And you would sacrifice me?" Bryen asked, his voice now just a rasping whisper.
"We cannot fail," Ubad answered.
Bryen grew withered beyond old age, his hair falling from his head. His skin dried and shrank upon his bones, and then split like old bleached parchment.
Magelia closed her eyes, not wanting to see any more.
She did not know how much time had passed when she stirred again into consciousness. It was dark, the room lit only by a strange globe of flittering lights. Welstiel stood over her at the side of the four-poster bed.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She sucked in one shuddering breath by way of an answer. She would not let these things holding her captive see her cry. Every part of her body felt bruised, and she could not sit up.
"Help her," Welstiel said, looking across the room.
Magelia rolled her head with great effort. One of her bedroom guards stood at the other side of the bed. He reached down to lift her.
"Carefully," Welstiel added.
Magelia was limp with pain and exhaustion as she was carried to another room with a large bed and a painted white wardrobe. The serving girl who'd dressed her earlier was hurrying about, filling basins of water and bringing towels. Magelia was laid on the bed, and Welstiel stood nearby looking quietly distressed, but he did not touch her.
"My father is gone, and I am lord here," he said. "You carry his child, and no one will hurt you. This girl is here to care for you, to help you. If you need anything, she will bring it."
In the days and nights that followed, she was not allowed to leave the keep. But she herself had changed. She could not explain the open sorrow mixed with gratitude she felt for Welstiel's belated concern. Her dependence upon Welstiel grew more pronounced until she almost feared the very shadows of her room outside of his presence. She slept during the day, so that she could spend her waking hours in his company rather than alone.
At times he required privacy, but for the most part, Magelia found he didn't mind her presence, so long as she never touched him or spoke too often when he was occupied. As her body began to swell with child, he took greater efforts for her comfort, even ordering cotton dresses with loose bodices, so the child would not be constricted.
Welstiel moved himself to another room and ordered the furnishings of his old one to be taken out and burned, including the four-poster bed. He kept the globe of flittering lights but never returned to that room again. Master Ubad was allowed to remain as long as he kept out of Welstiel's way.
"Why don't you get rid of that abomination?" she asked Welstiel one night.
They sat in his new room as she embroidered a blanket for the child. Welstiel spent many hours there making strange objects, etching symbols in them as he whispered in a soft voice she could never quite understand.
"Because you might need him when the child comes," he replied.
His answer was so unexpected that she faltered. The old Magelia would have threatened to run him through with a sword if he allowed Ubad anywhere near her baby. But she feared he might leave if she were disagreeable, and then she would be alone in this place.
"Why would you think this?" she asked. "There is a good midwife in the village."
Most recently, Welstiel had been working on a thin brass ring. It required a great deal of his time. One evening, it took almost the whole night for him to carve one tiny symbol with his steel stylus in the string of marks running along the inside surface of the metal. The only other object of his that she found curious was a glowing topaz resting near his leather-bound books.
Welstiel looked up from his ring in mild annoyance. "The child you carry is not natural. Therefore its birth cannot be expected to be natural. We may yet have need of Master Ubad's knowledge."
Magelia nodded and went back to her embroidery. She would find a way to keep Ubad from this child.
Welstiel slipped the ring on his finger. The glow of the topaz upon the desk suddenly went out, and Welstiel nodded in satisfaction
"Perfect," he said to himself. Magelia didn't ask why this pleased him.
As she grew heavier with child, he became concerned that she needed exercise and fresh air. He walked with her about the courtyard in the early evenings. Sometimes he brought the globe so that he could sit and read while she continued her walk, but she did not mind this as long as he stayed within sight. She was never certain if his concern was for her or the child she carried.
One night as they walked, he was more preoccupied than usual.
"Is something wrong?" she asked tentatively, as he did not like his private thoughts invaded.
"No." He seemed to speak to himself more than to her. "In my sleep today, I had a dream. I didn't know that I could, as I have had none since… since shortly after I came here."
"A nightmare?" she asked with concern.
Welstiel looked at her. He shook his head with a frown, as if embarrassed to be discussing a personal issue. He made a passing remark about repairs to the courtyard wall and then paused to lift one hand to the white patch at his temple.
"What is it?" she asked. "Are you ill?"
He didn't answer and stood mere whispering to no one. He came back to himself and escorted her inside.
After that night, Welstiel changed in small ways.
He was never unkind, but their limited conversations became almost nonexistent. When he did speak, it was only to ask about her health and the baby. Some nights he appeared more rested, but often he would come down in the evenings looking exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all. On those nights, he would whisper to himself and rub his temples as if a persistent ache troubled him.
For two more moons, Magelia's stomach swelled, and the baby kicked inside her. She found the sensation pleasant and spoke to the child, as there was no one else left for her. She didn't care who its father had been. This child was hers, and hers alone.
Welstiel mixed elixirs and drank them and spent more time chanting in the nights. His state of mind improved. He seemed to gain control over whatever plagued him, but his interest in the child increased.
One night as he worked in his room, she entered without knocking to find him sitting at his desk with a bloody bandage wrapped around his left little finger. He dropped something into a bowl on the desk, and the liquid inside hissed and bubbled. She came up behind him, and he was so intent that he didn't notice her. Next to the bowl were the beginnings of a pendant with a tin backing and a stout bloodied kitchen knife.