“Just a teeny, weeny smidgen more and you’ve had enough good Sir,” Alexis mumbled to himself eyeing the bottle of wine on the desk.

Certainly he had paperwork to attend to, the running of the Kingdom and such, but good Lord it was boring business. So it was that he found himself a tad sozzled though it was still early in the afternoon. He had thought a cup of wine would help ease the pain and had found that a bottle worked even better.

He was startled by a booming knock on the door just as he took a gulp from the bottle. Before he could tell whoever it was to go away the door was flung open and a deliciously plump girl bounced in. Everything jiggled in all the right ways, from her round thighs to her wonderfully full breasts. He almost spluttered wine all over the table and ended up coughing and choking and red in the face while trying to still look debonair. It didn’t work very well.

“Hello Sir Harty… am I pronounciating it right… ooh yer drinking wine… sorry to be startling yew. I’ll just grab myself a chair. No don’t get up,” she chattered turning to slam the door shut behind her.

She plonked down onto a chair with a contented sigh as he tried to regain his composure.

“I’m Dessini, Dessini Cade… but yew can call me Dessy if yer liking,” she said before he could regain breath enough to ask.

She was rather plain in some ways, freckled, ruddy skin but with a healthy glow to it. Her hair was thick and chestnut, with curls that bounced when she turned her head in a saucy way he rather liked. And she smiled. A lot, and with each one her face lit up like summer sunshine, her eyes sparkling.

He was beginning to regret the last swig of wine.

“Yes… well… Dessy is it? Why are you here again?” he asked, feeling rather foggy and confused, “Did we have an appointment I’ve forgotten?”

“Lan sakes no, I just showed my old self in I did,” she grinned at him warmly and he couldn’t help but smile tentatively back.

“Er… so why are you here then?”

“”Well now, I thought to make myself useful. There’s a damn sight too many… oh pardon… that’s to say, there’s being too many of us packed in at Steen’s place so I decided to get myself some employment,” she said happily as though that was all the explanation needed.

“I see, and am I to assume you were hoping to secure employment with me?” Alexis asked slowly, trying not to slur.

Good Gods! Was this woman bouncing in here and offering him services just like that. Hepsie would kill him if he touched her.

Alexis… do not touch the girl.

But goodness she was touchable. Maybe he should just reach out and pinch her cheek… it looked so delectably chubby.

“Uh… I’m not sure that would be the best idea. You see, I know your sister-in-law very well and I’m not sure she would…”

“What’s it like then?” Dessy asked ignoring him.

“What’s it…” he almost choked and then he saw her staring at the wine.

“Oh, well… it’s alright. Not the best I’ve had but you do know that’s the life when you are stuck in exile on a ruddy island. Ah for a fine Ulaanbaatese firewine.”

“Can I try some,” she grinned up at him cheekily her eyes twinkling, “I’ve never been drinking wine.”

God help him.

“I suppose so, here, let me uncork it for you.”

He passed it to her. She took a large swig, her plump lips closing over the neck of the bottle.

If Alexis could have kicked himself under the table he would have.

He watched her neck as she drank, the muscles contracting as she gulped it down. The skin there looked smooth and soft. He would have liked to kiss it, to nip at it a little. A trickle of wine ran down her chin.

Keep it together man. This one is not for you.

She thumped the bottle down on the table and heartily wiped her mouth with a tattered sleeve.

“It wasn’t what I was expecting… burned a bit on the way down. I rather liked it though,” she smiled up at him, her pouty bottom lip stained dark red with wine. He would have liked to lick it off.

“I’m glad you liked it. It isn’t the best there is but it’s a damn sight better than nothing.”

“So, on to business then,” Dessini grinned.

“Yes… about that…”

“Well… I was asking around thinking I might fare well as a nanny type. I do like the children an’ they seem to like me well enough. An’, well I heard yew was having more than most so I thought to ask yew first.”

A nanny! Thank the stars.

“Yes, well, that is certainly true. I have been blessed with three strong boys,” he smiled though it grew a little brittle when he thought of Colthan.

A nanny, that wasn’t so bad now. Though he couldn’t take his eyes off her as she fidgeted on the chair completely unaware of how enticing she was. No… it was a bad idea. He did not want to incite the wrath of small, stern midwives and he had an inkling that Morven wouldn’t be all that fond of the girl, as dear as she seemed.

“Well now, I’m don’t think my wife is really needing all that much help. Thank you for your kind offer though.”

There, it was done. Now she would leave and Alexis would go find some entertainment elsewhere. And not think about the midwife’s sister-in-law.

“Oh… oh… I see,” her smile fell, her bottom lip trembling a little.

She almost looked like she would cry. For a moment Alexis saw something deeply sad, something tragic behind her childish facade.

“I really thought yew would be saying yes. I got my little hopes up an’ everything,” she sniffled.

Goddammit she had got her little hopes up. And he hated dashing little hopes.

“Perhaps you’re right. Three’s a little many for Morven to manage and she does like having some time for reading. You’re hired,” he grinned woozily at her his stomach churning.

“Oh thank yew, thank yew dear Sir Harty!” she squealed, “Yer just the best.”

She threw herself out of the chair gave a startled Alexis a hug and bounced towards the door.

“I’ll be the best nanny ye’ve ever had,” she giggled.

Alexis hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He had had a few nannys in his time. They rather reminded him of old fat Flora who had rasied him and there was something a little naughty about that. But Hepsie would kill him. And death by midwife was surely not worth acting out a saucy fantasy or two. Alexis imagined she had plenty of creative ways to make him suffer.

“Bye then,” she bounded out the door like an excited puppy, curls flying behind.

Oh God… and Morven was going to kill him too.

Morven had been happy with the new additions to the castle that summer, allowing her and Alexis to finally move from the dank, salty swell of the ship’s body. She had been even happier with her sitting room, small but cosy, tucked up in the corner of the tower. Finally Colthan’s constant coughing was easing now that he was out of the damp air that rose from the ship’s warped walls.

She had been less than happy, however, that she was now obliged to share this private place with her new step-mother and whomever she chose to invite. But how could she say no to her Father. So more often than not, she found herself confined with the dreadful woman and her friends. The Princess had not had trouble making friends, and was already very close to the First Mate’s wife, Eyvir, who also came from the islands of Fjaerland.

Colthan whined and snuggled against her legs, trying to make himself unobtrusive in the folds of her dress. She knew how he felt.

The women were prattling in their own burbling language as they often did, as though Morven were not even there. Occasionally they would switch back to common, with magnanimous smiles as though they were doing her favour. “Oh daughter, we were just talking about this…” they would offer up some short explanation in kindly tones though they had spoken for near on half of the hour. Every time that woman called her daughter she bristled with annoyance. And the blonde trollop knew it.

It made it easier to ignore the sound of their voices when they spoke in Fjaerla. It was not an unpleasant language and at times she could simply let it wash over her. Then she could think and it was almost as though she were alone. But other times she knew they were speaking of her and she felt the colour rise in her face and the anger in her chest. Her heart throbbed hot then as Bharata had told her it must not.

She had decided to learn their language, secretly. She was sure her Father had a book. That would show them, when suddenly, one day, she interjected in perfect Fjaerla. Oh the look on their faces would be worth it.

It was nice though, to see the children playing together and they all got along fine though Colthan did not like to join in, only watch. Little Bruna, was the same age as the twins, and Dhanesh, Eyvir’s son, a little younger was happy to follow them in everything they did.

“Mama! Mama! Lookeee mee! Lookeee mee!” Riandur garbled.

She looked up and he had one of the dolls hanging from between his newly grown teeth.
“Meee snoweee!” he dribbled through the legs of the doll.

A few days ago Snowy had decided to gift her with a small dead rat which unfortunately the twins had witnessed. Colthan had been having nightmares ever since but apparently not Riandur.

Bruna giggled and followed suit shaking the body of the doll between her teeth as she saw Riandur doing. Riandur made growling noises in the back of his throat as he flung it on the floor as Snowy had done with the rat, after shaking it well and good till it was truly dead.

Colthan was watching his brother intently, his lower lip trembling slightly.

He gave a small whimper and snuggled closer to her legs.

“He not like his brother at all is he?” Eyvir giggled, “What wrong with you Colthan… you no want to play with your brother.”

“And your auntie,” Tiatny chortled, never tiring of the joke.

“You have to wonder, they so different,” she looked up at Morven her eyes wide and innocent, “you drop him on his head?”

Tiatny was trying not to laugh.

Morven felt that boiling sensation in her chest again and tried to fight it back down.

“There is nothing wrong with him,” she said icily, and the children looked up at her with wide eyes.

Eyvir shrugged and she and Tiatny switched back to their native language.

Tiatny gave a tinkling laugh. This time Morven knew they were talking about her.

She began to count each breath, in and out, slowing her fluttering heart as Bharata had shown her how.

A loud thwacking noise rang through the room and then the wailing began. This time it was Bruna. Riandur had hit her on the head with a doll. Morven wished she could do the same to Bruna’s mother.

“Mama… he hitee me… owwww!”

“Shhh shhh Buna… shhh,” Riandur was trying to remedy the results of his actions by calming her. He patted her foot softly but to no avail.

Dhanesh began to whimper and Eyvir was already to her feet.

“Riandur no!” Morven cried shaking her finger at him, “You behave yourself. You don’t want me to tell Papa you need a spanking do you?”

Bruna had wriggled around to face her mother and was clutching at her skirts. Tiatny reached down and patted her on the head.

“You alright Bruna. Just a bump. No crying now. Big, brave girls, they no cry.”

She bent down and kissed her on the forehead, “There… all better now.”

Bruna sniffled but she stopped crying.

Dhanesh was a different story.

“Neshy… oh Neshy… he didn’t hurt you now did he,” Eyvir picked up her son with a flustered worried look on her face.

Dhanesh began to sob quietly though no injury had been done to him.

“Oh Neshy… Neshy no,” Eyvir warbled, “It’s alright… it’s alright.”

But the look on her face was all concern.

“I think we go home now,” she gave a wavering smile to the other women and left.

Now Morven was left alone with that woman. She would have to talk to her.

But first there was her errant son to deal with.

“Riandur, you apologise to Bruna now for hurting her,” she chided.

“Buna… I pologise,” Riandur said sincerely.

Bruna shuffled over and he handed her a doll and put one in his own mouth. The Snowy game soon began again like nothing had happened.

“I don’t know why she do that,” Tiatny said disparagingly.

“Pardon?” Morven asked coldly.

“Eyvir. Why she always got to treat boy like he made of glass. He will be if she do that. Grow up weak.”

Morven gazed at her in surprise. She had often thought so herself about the way Eyvir fussed over her son. It seemed they at least agreed on one thing.

The sun was shining brightly and a stiff wind was blowing out to sea taking with it the stench of too many hot days. It was the perfect day for the ship to set out, the sails already billowing with the impatient breeze. The ship was creaking as it rocked to and fro while the men worked to release the ties that held it steadfast. The rising tide was already lapping at the barnacle-encrusted sides with her salty tongue, waiting to carry the ship away once more on her foam crested back.

It was a perfect day but not for Kelgar. He would be left behind when the ship floated out to sea, left to shamble his way back to the castle. Left to guard a half-finished keep while his brother was off having another adventure. Left to crawl into bed each night beside a wife who shrank away from his touch.

Sir Eanraig was bidding farewell to his daughter who was looking well. Her hair was starting to grow back, red and luscious and she had a healthy glow to her cheeks again. His wife stood beside with their oldest child who was clinging to her mothers plait and gazing at it with the avid attention that suggested she was about to put it in her mouth. The blonde haired young woman stood and silently stared at her husband’s tearful farewell and Kelgar thought he noticed a twitch of annoyance on her flawless face.

At the shoreline his brother, Osras was bidding his wife farewell. They stood locked in a seemingly endless embrace.

Kelgar did not think Polina lay rigid and silent, doing her duty as his brother moved above her. Not like Illewen. It was all he could do to bring himself to touch her.

He smiled, a smile so brittle he was sure his face would crack along the scars and fall to pieces on the sandy beach. He wondered if his heart already had. Each scene he saw was one more boot, thoughtlessly crushing another meaty piece beneath its heel so that it grew smaller and smaller and mingled with the sand.

Sir Arwaduhn was there, kissing his pregnant wife tenderly goodbye. Beside them her sister’s family said goodbye to their father Denel, kisses from both the girls and finally their mother. Tears and sniffles all round.

He had asked if Illewen wanted to come down to the beach with him. Perhaps he had thought she might hold his hand and stand beside him as his wife, to say goodbye with the rest of his family. But she had not come. She had said she was tired and the baby was kicking. She wanted to rest. The baby was kicking, Kelgar could even see its movements sometimes. He longed to reach out and rest his hand on her belly, to feel his child moving inside her but he couldn‘t bring himself to. And she had never offered.

Close to the water the Duke huddled together with his cousin who had carried his little daughter out to bid him farewell. He had heard the rumours about the Duke’s wife, and he deeply pitied the man. When he saw the haunted look in the Duke’s eyes Kelgar knew he had no right to be miserable at the path his own life had taken. He had a healthy wife and soon, God willing a healthy child.

The King and the Queen stood waiting to send their best wishes with the men who would do their work across the sea. The King was wearing his cheerful smile, the Queen regal as always despite the heat and her pregnant state. The new Father was climbing up the steps to give a final blessing to the ship before it set off on its important journey.

Beside him stood the wives of the captain of the fleet and his first mate. The captain’s wife stood sombre and elegant, while Eyvir, the First mate’s wife tittered and giggled beside her.

“Have you come to bid me farewell then wife,” the captain rumbled, his face solemn, his eyes sad.

“Perhaps you have been doing the cracking of her shell Rasmus,” Lekha’s twin grinned beside him, “I tell you, my sister, she is warm and soft but you not believing me.”

“I did not come for you,” Lekha spat at her husband, “I come to say the goodbye to my brother.”

“Not today then friend,” Mahavir winked at the captain and embraced his sister.

They murmured together in their own language for a moment and Lekha kissed him carefully on both cheeks.

“Husband, you bring him back alive,” she growled at Rasmus who shrugged impassively.

“No stupid things, you hear,” she said a little softer.

Mahavir murmured something gently in their own language and then turned to his wife.

“Now you,” he purred, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her passionately.

“Mahavir, you must be so disgraced?” Lekha hissed and then returned to their language spitting out what sounded to be very grave insults.

But Mahavir wasn’t listening as his wife lunged at him, tipping him off balance.

“Now then lassie,” Sir Eanraig called out with a chuckle, “please don’t maul him too badly, he’s an important member of my crew.

Suddenly Osras was barrelling into Kelgar’s arms with a grin on his face.

“Brother,” Kelgar cried as the air was squeezed out of his lungs.

“Brother!” Osras replied giving him a hearty slap on the back.

Osras released him and gave him a stern look, “Yew’ll take care of the place here won’t you while I’m gone, keep an eye on everything.”’

“Yes, yes, of course,” Kelgar replied quickly.

“And don’t yew sleep with my wife while I’m gone,” Osras gave him a wink that was almost a scowl.

“Osras!” Polina shrieked slapping at him and Kelgar’s brother gave a great guffaw.

Kelgar gulped. There had been a time when he had come extremely close to doing just that. But that had been before they were married.

“Yew rotter!” Polina gave him another hearty slap for good measure.

“Yew know I’m just joking,” Osras chuckled, “but if yew do I’ll skin yew alive.”

Kelgar finally laughed, “Keep yerself safe yew great lout.”

They were all leaving him behind in the stagnant life that had captured him on Mhalwae. There was not adventure for him here. Nor love. Just life, plodding along, trying to make it through each day and steel himself for the night. God he wished he were getting on that ship.

“Good morning Gentleman,” Eanraig had let himself through the door.

“Normally we knock and wait to be announced,” Garald intoned, rising to his feet.

“Goodness me Eallair, he’s a cheerful one isn’t he. Where on earth did you find him?” Eanraig quipped with a grin.

Eallair fought back a smile, Garald was rather grim, though he certainly got the job done.

Garald towered over Eanraig, “Sir Eanraig Danachold Your Majesty.”

“Good, now we’ve got that over and done with,” Eanraig said briskly, striding over to the chair opposite Eallair.

Eallair watched the grinning man and Garald’s straight back heading towards the door. For a moment he wished his steward would stay. Of course, he could order him to but how would that look.

Eanraig plonked himself down into the chair opposite Eallair, crossing his legs nonchantly, one booted foot jiggling, “So lad… I came here to ask you a question.”

Eallair himself had been meaning to ask the older man something, but had spent the last days deciding to call on Eanraig and then retracting the order when his cowardice overcame him. Garald at least, was no stranger to how poor a ruler Eallair was. He was the one man Eallair truly could hide nothing from.

Eanraig went on in a rush, “Well, of course you know the quarters on the ship are dreadfully crowded. And, well, I’ll be taking the ship with me and wasn’t planning on three womanly additions even if two of them are very small and cute and don’t take up a lot of space.”

“So, I was hoping you could maybe find some room for them here in the castle. I’m going to need a couple of rooms at least… a nursery and of course a study. And a laboratory where I can continue with my experiments. If a library would not be out of the question I have, well… quite a lot of books weighing down the ship,” he gave a dry chuckle, “if it wouldn’t be too much trouble of course.”

Eallair cleared his throat, “At present there isn’t room in the castle for anyone, though with the addition of the new working hands that accompanied you we can certainly get a move on with the building this summer. I can promise you a place by the end of summer, though I’m not yet certain about the laboratory and library, since many are still living on the ships. I can offer your wife and children some rooms on one of the ships until the new building is complete.”

He felt himself blushing with embarrassment though he couldn’t say why. He was completely flummoxed by this man who had always been so close to his Father. He could almost hear his Father’s voice of disapproval asking him why he was not doing more for the man who had been his closest advisor.

“I hope that’s alright with you,” he murmured.

“Well, I guess it will have to do,” Eanraig said briskly, beginning to rise to his feet.

Eallair swallowed to try and wet his throat which was becoming increasingly dry, “Wait one moment Eanraig. There is another matter I would speak of.”

Eanraig thunked back down onto the chair, his boots clomping on the table base.

“Well lad, what is it? Spit it out. You look like you’ve eaten a bad apple.”

Eallair gulped and continued, “Well, it’s just that… you must know of the sickness that’s been spreading through the people. Some have already died… the Cade girl, the Dryden’s little boy and the Ulcar’s as well. Countless other are ill. It has started to spread into the castle now too. Lochan’s steward’s family are sick with it and now its made it to some of the kitchen maids who knows how far it will spread.”

“Yes, I would have to be blind not to notice. Bharata has been out amongst the people doing what he can but we’re not magicians Eallair. I can’t offer you a cure, though I am flattered you would think it possible.”

“That’s not exactly why I wanted to speak with you,” Eallair hid his hands, which were beginning to tremble beneath the table.

“What is it then,” Eanraig sounded exasperated.

“What I wanted to know is, had you any knowledge of this illness before? Did you know before you landed on Mhalwae?” it was said, Eallair waited nervously for the reply.

“My dear lad, what are you trying to say here,” Eanraig whined.

“I want to know whether you knew of the sickness before you came here,” Eallair held his ground, though his hands were planted firmly on his thighs to stop their errant shaking.

“Lad, we had to rush here. Bharata, he can see things, things a man shouldn’t ordinarily. He told me of my daughter and how ill she was. And he told me there wasn’t much time. We had no choice. She’s my daughter Eallair,” Eanraig whined.

“Those little boys that died were somebody’s son,” Eallair murmured.

“So what is it you’re accusing me of here Eallair!” Eanraig’s voice was vicious as he scowled at the King, “Yes… we knew about the sickness. There had been deaths. Not many. We disposed of the bodies overboard and quarantined the rest. We thought we had it contained. Nobody sickened for a week before we landed here.”

“I see,” Eallair mumbled.

“No I don’t think you do Eallair. You may as well be accusing me of murdering those poor children though you sit here and do it in a gentlemanly fashion. I did the best I could given the circumstances. Any man would have. I had no idea the sickness wasn’t contained.”

Eanraig’s voice was growing louder, his shoulders shaking with barely contained rage. Eallair could not stand up to a storm like that and flattened back against his chair trying to make himself as small as possible.

“But why didn’t you tell us there was sickness on board. We might have been able to stop this,” Eallair mumbled.

“Because I didn’t deem it necessary information,” Eanraig snapped.

Eanraig took a deep breath, his body relaxing into its former languid pose, “Now. May I have your word that apartments will be made ready for me and my family by the end of the summer.”

Morven took deep breaths as Bharata had taught her, drawing each into her lungs with achingly slow precision and exhaling. Bharata had said that gasping air in would only fan the flames that were burning in her heart. As she breathed the pain began to subside, until it was nothing but a dull burn in her chest. Nothing like the searing agony of only a few days ago.

Morven did not believe in magic. And yet, somehow, this man from the strange realms of the southern continent had dragged her back from the brink of death. She had drunk his icy cold potions, trickling through her insides and dousing the ache in her heart. She had let him lay his hand on her breast, a place that no man but Alexis touched and felt him drawing the pain from her, an uncomfortable sensation that reminded her of the letting down of her milk when Albin began to suckle. She had listened to him speak words in a strange tongue she did not understand and felt a little better as he did. Morven did not believe in magic. But she believed in her father and her father believed in this man.

And here she was, on her feet after so many months.

Albin squirmed in her arms, “Oh… Albin, don’t worry. Mama’s just fine.”

Mama’s just fine… well she was wasn’t she. Well almost.

There was a hearty knock at the door.

“Please do come in,” she called.

The door swung open with a bang and there was her father. She longed to run and throw herself into his arms, but she was holding a baby in her arms. And so, it seemed, was he.

Albin craned his neck to stare at the other baby and so did Morven. What was this?

“Hello my dear,” her father was sombre as he never was, “I am so glad to see you up and about. Bharata tells me you are doing much better and were ready to receive visitors. So here we are.”

He attempted a vague smile but it fell when he saw the expression on her face.

“I see this must be little Albin. Look at him, what a strong lad he is. Takes after his grandfather no doubt,” he chuckled.

Morven didn’t laugh. “Who’s baby is that?” she asked in a wavering voice.

“Why this is my baby dear. Born the same day as little Albin. Her name is Ulrika.”

He hoisted the girl up onto his shoulder and stroked her back dreamily, “Pretty little thing isn’t she?”

Morven could only stare. She found herself suddenly trembling. Had things really changed so much? And so fast?

Albin whimpered and wriggled in her arms, feeling her shaking. Afraid she might drop him she went to put him in his crib.

“Hush now, hush now,” she murmured and he stopped squirming, content to lie cosily in his basket.

She shuffled back to her father whose attention was completely taken by his new daughter.

“I take it this means you have remarried?” she asked, though it was more answer than question.

Of course it did. But all these years since her mother died, he never gave any indication. Her heart gave a painful throb and she tried to breath deep.

“Yes, yes indeed,” he answered, “ Lovely girl, Tiatny… a Princess of Fjaerland in fact. You two should get along splendidly. She’s about your age.”

About her age! Her father, her dear, old father taking up with some woman young enough to be his daughter. Morven had never considered herself judgmental but right at that moment…

Her father kissed the baby on the top of its head and Morven found herself wishing it was her in his arms. How could things have changed so profoundly?

She tried to look pleased, “So, I finally have a sister then.”

Eanraig held the baby before him making silly faces at her, “Actually, you have two. Little Bruna, she’s sixteen months old. Reminds me so much of you when you were that age.”

“Two sisters?” her heart was roasting, turning slowly over a spit so that each side was nicely browned.

Two sisters. A new mother. It was all too much.

“Isn’t she just beautiful,” Eanraig sighed, “looks just like her mother.”

Morven remembered all the times he had sat her on his knee and gently held her chin between a calloused thumb and finger gazing at her face. “Morven, you are such a beauty. Just like your mother was,” he would say. And sometimes she would see a silent tear trickling into his beard.

She felt an acid pain in her heart, sizzling and spitting. She took slow deep breaths as Bharata had told her.

Through all the years of living with a man who chased anything wearing a skirt, who spent more nights entertaining the town whore than he did in her bed. Throughout all those years she had never felt anything remotely like this. Morven was desperately jealous.

Lochan felt distinctly uneasy. It was Eanraig. The arrival of the boisterous older man, who carried authority as easily as he wore his finely woven clothes had thrown him. This man was a trusted advisor of the former King. A friend who had suddenly materialised, bringing news of the outside into their silent exile. It should have been a good thing. But Eanraig’s presence had sent Eallair’s new found confidence scattering like a flock of disturbed chickens, their feathered arses ruffling in the breeze.

Lochan was worried.

He gazed at the scarred face of the older man, the flickering candlelight casting ghastly shadows over the humps and ridges of his congenial expression.

“So lads, it’s a nice setup you’ve got yourselves here. You’ve done quite a job these last years, though I can see a few places where some assistance might be needed. And of course, I’m happy to offer my services,” he smiled with affected modesty, one leather booted foot jiggling as he spoke.

“Yes, of course Eanraig. That would be very much appreciated. I know you were a great friend of my father and it is an honour to have you here,” Eallair simpered and Lochan felt the dreadful urge to slap him.

“But please, you must have much news from the outside world and as you can imagine, we are somewhat desperate for anything you bring.”

Eanraig slowly uncrossed his legs, leaning heavily on his thighs and gazed intently at Eallair.

“Yes, please Eanraig. Has Lomorrad risen against Faldorn yet. Surely they must have. Can we go home?” Radomir asked softly, looking tired and old.

His face seemed to hang from the dark circles under his eyes, the corners of his mouth only held up tentatively with the coarse whiskers of his beard. It seemed all the fight had left Radomir and Lochan was suddenly not sure it was a good thing as they sat facing a man he no longer knew if they could trust.

“No… Radomir, no. I’m sorry. But the news is not good at all,” Eanraig murmured, a pitying look on his face., “You see, Faldorn is the least of our worries.”

“What do you mean?” Eallair asked tentatively, “What could be worse?”

“Worse… worse is the God King N’nkasha. Yes I see you’ve all heard of him. Well my friends, it seems that the warlord Faldorn was only paving the way for him. He has risen up from the southern continents which are almost entirely conquered and now sits on the throne of Branwhuld,” Eanraig intoned with the morbid enthusiasm of someone relating a ghost story, his fingers absentmindedly tapping his velvet-clothed thighs.

He stared directly at Eallair as though judging how the King would respond to this news.

Eallair’s face crumpled with worry and disbelief, “N’nkasha? What could he possibly want with Branwhuld?”

“Think of it young Eallair,” Lochan flinched at Eanraig’s offhand tone but nobody corrected him as they listened intently, “Branwhuld is the gateway to the Nothern continent. If you hold those ports you can supply a war that could last for all time. It’s the perfect staging ground for the war to end all wars.”

“Good God,” Garrick mumbled underneath his breath, coming to life for the first time that evening.

“Yes, you may say that my red-haired friend. Indeed,” Eanraig nodded, looking round at the confused and frightened expressions of the men around him. Only Lochan kept his emotions hidden.

“But what about Lomorrad? Ulanbaat? Have these places fallen too? Has he taken the archipelago of Fjaerland? God… that’s our last defense before he could come here,” Eallair’s panic was audible as he stumbled through a list of their allies.

“Calm down now lad, take a deep breath,” Eanraig said evenly, “so far they’ve only taken Branwhuld. It is not so easy to wage a war with a spine of mountains like that rearing up before you. It will take a lot of timing and planning. But I can tell you, it will be on the cards. Lomorrad and Ulanbaat are holding strong and making ready lest the hordes of N’nkasha come pouring down the mountainside. But at least when we left things were still quiet.”

“Have you been in contact with Lomorrad at all Eanraig, Ulanbaat? How about Fjaerland? Did you tell our allies about your suspicions that we had survived?” Lochan asked.

“Indeed I did and what’s more I have messages and news from each of them to share with you. I’ve even had contact with some rebel groups in the southern continent. Our friend Bharata in fact, has relatives in many of the tribes. And of course you should be happy to know my lovely wife Tiatny is in fact a princess of Fjaerland, the twin of Ingskel who is married to your Queen’s very own brother. As you know Queen Inaris is a great friend of mine and seeing as she had a few spare daughters hanging around she was happy to offer me one which only makes our alliance stronger. And I tell you, Inaris did not take kindly to the news of the murder of Kaysa,” he gave a sympathetic glance in Eallair’s direction at the mention of his brother’s wife. Lochan could not help but think of their four pretty children… all murdered and gone.

“It’s no good to outlive your children… no good at all,” Eanraig tutted shaking his head, “Everyone is up in arms my friends. The known world isn’t going to sit back and wait while N’nkasha just takes it all.”

“Then you don’t think you could have been followed? Since everyone now seems to know of our presence here,” Lochan’s tone was cold as he scrutinised the older man’s face.

“What sort of fool do you take me for Lochan,” Eanraig’s face suddenly twisted in anger, “of course we weren’t followed. It took every precaution imaginable. Mhalwae’s location is secret as ever.”

“No, no, of course Eanraig… we understand. You’re a clever man. I’m sure you did everything necessary,” Lochan couldn’t help staring as Eallair apologised to the man who had just all but shouted at him.

“But then we must send an envoy,” Garrick suddenly interjected, “if there’s some possibility of retaking Branwhuld we’re going to need the support of our allies.”

“Yes, indeed Garrick… I was just getting to that. Our friends in Lomorrad were hoping if I found you, you would send some men to begin to plan a resistance. Queen Inaris would very much like a word too and I believe the Ulannbaatese would appreciate a visit. I’ve heard tell the Talmasians are stirred up too and you know the Itruskans are so intermarried with Ulaanbatese we can surely ask for their assistance. We are all going to have to bond together if we want to overcome this. Though the Inadden and Kimorese still seem to think this is not there problem, stubborn idiots and I haven’t heard news from Tassril or Ewori. We simply have to hope they hold to the peace treaty and don‘t break ranks and join with N‘nkasha.”

He smiled congenially, “I will off course go, and I can offer my ship… she’s much faster than any of yours with the adjustments I’ve personally made.”

“I’ll go too if Your Majesty permits it,” Lochan said, not looking at his cousin who was staring at him in confusion, “you’ll need someone who knows what’s happening here on Mhalwae and what we can potentially offer by way of assistance.”

“Fine idea, fine idea indeed. We’ll have to leave sooner rather than later if we want to make it back before winter begins,” Eanraig clapped his hands together heartily.

“Your Majesty,” Radomir droned with a miserable look on his face, “I’d like to request that you send me along as well.”

“But Radomir, I need you here,” Eallair said looking unsettled, “I can’t have all my good men sailing off during the harvest season. I’m sorry but you’re going to have to stay.”

“I understand,” he sighed, “it would have been nice to get away for a while, that’s all.”

“It’s not going to be a holiday Radomir,” Eanraig said snippily and then turned to Eallair, “we’re going to need some good men. Of course, I have my own crew but if you have a few trustworthy men we could use that would be very helpful. If possible it might be a good idea to get in contact with the underground rebellion in Branwhuld and see if we can’t smuggle out a few more refugees to swell the ranks on Mhalwae. We’re going to need to start preparations immediately. We should probably leave early next month.”

“Now… if we’re done, I do believe my lovely wife has probably delivered a baby by now and I’d like to go and check what type it is. Goodnight gentleman.”

And with that he strode from the room.

“But how did you find us here?” Eallair asked softly, the worry that Lochan felt apparent in his voice.

Lochan stared at Eanraig, awaiting the answer. What if they had been followed?

“Come now young Eallair, you do know I’m a genius don’t you?” Eanraig quipped, a wide grin on his scarred face, “If anyone could work out the secret of Mhalwae it was me.”

Lochan suppressed a grimace of irritation, “It’s Your Majesty now Sir Danachold.”

“Oh right… of course. Takes a bit of getting used to I imagine. Well then Your Majesty…. it wasn’t easy if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve spent the last years researching in libraries from one end of the known world to the other to find you. I’ve been searching for you ever since I caught rumour that you had fled to the mythical island of Mhalwae. Turns out it wasn’t so mythical after all eh? And there was evidence of it, though dispersed.”

“And we weren’t followed, if that’s what’s causing that dreadful frown Lochan,” Eanraig nodded in his direction.

The boisterous, small man gave a sudden shudder, “and we arrived just in the nick of time eh? For my poor little Morven that is. I had a feeling something bad was going on.”

“Yes, dear father, I wanted to thank you profusely, from the very depth of my heart for saving the life of my dearest and most treasured wife. I owe you a debt of gratitude which I shall spend the rest of my life repaying, a thousand thanks, a million blessings…” Alexis stammered with the most humble look Lochan believed the man had ever managed.

“I didn’t do it for you, you moustacheod hussy,” Eanraig grunted in irritation, “so save your pretty words.”

Alexis gave a surprised braying laugh, like a donkey kicked in the behind.

“I wasn’t joking you moron. Besides, if you want to thank anyone Bharata here is your man,” Lochan followed Eanraig’s gaze to the tall, dark man, standing silently graceful at Eanraig’s side, “If it weren’t for his healing magic Morven would surely be dead.”

“Then sir, I am forever in debt to you,” Alexis bowed deeply to the sombre man who merely narrowed his eyes. Small flecks of chalky white paint were still visible at his hairline.

Healing magic…. he tried desperately to stifle the bubble of hope that had risen unbidden.

“You might want to be careful what you say Alexis,” Eanraig chuckled, “Where Bharata comes from one does not make such promises lightly”.

Alexis swallowed hard, turning a pale shade of green.

“You must have much news from home. Has… has Faldorn fallen? Is it safe to go back?” the look of hope on Eallair’s face was heartwrenching.

“No Eallair… pardon me Your Majesty. It is not safe to go back. I have much news indeed. You should gather your men together and we can discuss the manifold news I bring you of the last few years,” Eanraig replied, his face crinkled and earnest.

Lochan did not like the look on the older man’s face. He too had held a little hope in his heart that perhaps the army of Lomorrad had come to Branwhuld’s aid, cascading over the mountains to smite their foes and restore their country to its former glory. But perhaps Lomorrad had fallen too.

The baby in Garrick’s arm gave a soft whine and Lochan grunted in exasperation.

“Garrick, do you really think this is an appropriate time to be dragging around the poor baby. She has a mother and a nurse. Don’t you think they would be more suited to look after her than you?” Lochan snapped.

“She’s alright Lochan, she promised not to be loud,” Garrick looked down at his red-haired daughter with dull-eyed adoration and Lochan found himself disturbed again as he had been many times since Garrick had proudly told her the name of his newborn girl.

“She’s a cute little mite isn’t she,” Eanraig smiled, staring down at the wide-eyed baby, “best not bring her along when we meet though Garrick, if you don’t mind.”

Garrick look crushed but Eanraig ignored him.

“So Gentleman, I suppose it would be best if we just keep it to a few upper level types. Sorry Alexis, I believe that doesn’t include you. Who else have you got here? Is Radomir lurking around here somewhere? Of course, if that’s alright with you, Your Majesty,” he sent a hearty wink in Eallair’s direction.

Lochan thought it prudent not to remind Eanraig that he was only a knight. Eanraig had been, however, the old King’s chief science advisor.

With a great heaving clunk the door swung open with a gust of hot summer air. Blinking at the sudden light in the gloomy throne room Lochan could make out a slender silouhette with a large belly.

“Eanraig!” an outraged voice demanded, and the form of a heavily pregnant woman with long, flaxen plaits and a glare on her face swam into view.

“Tiatny my love, my treasure. What seems to be the problem? We are rather busy here. Men’s business you know,” he chuckled uneasily.

“Men’s business,” she spat, “Perhaps you would be kind and show to me the women. I am getting the baby and if you do not be fast it will be here on floor.”

Morven’s heart fluttered in her chest, wet ragged butterfly wings torn up in her writhing pain. The agony of her heaving belly had dulled now to a constant aching tightness that came and went like the slow flapping wings of some huge, dark beast folding over her.

The noise had finally stopped, the irritating squawk of panicked women, the slosh of buckets of bloody water, the hot hands leaving imprints of pain where they wrestled with her unresponsive body. She breathed in long rattling gulps of air that sent eddies gusting into her butterfly heart, setting the broken wings shuddering again and making her feel ill inside her chest.

She wanted it to end, the furtive brushing that scraped her from the inside out.

“My Morven, my sweet little kitten. There you are,” a warm voice rumbled above her and she reached out towards the comforting sound, her eyelids fluttering like tiny wings.

A warm hand stroked her flushed face, the cool brush of familiar rings, the callouses of years of fighting, the tiny nicks of paper cuts.

She felt a warm rush of love stronger than the pain, stronger than anything she had felt in such a long time.

“Papa,” she croaked, struggling to open eyes that were gummed shut with tears of agony.

“Shhh now darling, don’t try to talk. You’re safe. I’m here now. Your Papa’s here.”

She opened her eyes blearily staring up at him. There was her Papa’s scraggly red beard, his freckled face with crinkles around his wise green eyes, a new scar or two arching over his wide nose. There was her Papa’s wry smile, the charms he wore dangling around his neck she had so loved to tangle her chubby fingers in as a child. Here was the one man she truly loved.

She sighed in contentment, his warm hand stroking her lank hair, cooling her clammy brow. He was all she wanted. Her Papa. Her dear, sweet Papa.

The hand stroking her face grew icy cold, unfamiliar rings grating over her sensitive, hot cheeks. She shivered in fear, the clenching pain in her belly clamping her down, writhing on the bed.

“Papa,” her voice rattled through her teeth, but her Papa was gone.

She opened her eyes trying to focus on the figure hovering above her. He placed a frigid hand on her breast above her weakly beating butterfly heart. He swam into view, a dark man, a chalky white hand print obscuring his face.

Morven screamed.

“And what does a horse say Riandur?” Alexis grinned at his son whose soft brow was furrowed with concentration.

Riandur had a pudgy, doughy face with round eyes that narrowed when he was cross or tired. His body was strong, with fat little hands and wrists that looked as though someone had tied a piece of string very tightly so they bulged on either side. He had fat little legs, strong legs which could kick, legs which he could totter around on for long moments before he had to cling to his father’s hand. He was a big boy for his age, a strong boy. It sometimes seemed that he had robbed his brother of that strength, that in the womb somehow Riandur had taken more than his fair share of nourishment

Where Riandur was strong and fat and healthy, Colthan was pale and small and wan.

“Ney!” Riandur shouted in glee at the top of his longs causing his mother to start.

Alexis glanced over at his wife who was staring down at her hands as though amazed by how swollen they had grown. Along with her growing belly her fingers and feet had ballooned, so the skin stretched taut, uncomfortable and shiny. Her face had swollen too, the dark pouches under her eyes distended above her flushed cheeks.

It had been a long, long time since he had lain with his wife. He had barely touched her for weeks since she could not bear the pressure of his hand, the heat of skin. They lay, on separate sides of the bed, Alexis on his back like a corpse afraid to accidently brush against her.

There had been other women of course, but it was a long time since he had managed any kind of satisfaction. Even as they lay beneath him squirming and moaning all he could think about was his wife’s swollen features and her dull eyes staring up at him.

“And what’s the horses name?” Alexis asked.

Riandur looked put out at having to answer such a ridiculous question.

“’orse,” he whinged.

“’Orse? You mean h-orse. Isn’t that a rather boring name for a horse. Wouldn’t you rather call it something moe heroic like Gallant or Whitewithers?”

Riandur scowled at him and Alexis felt the impending tantrum. Riandur was a funny boy, and was prone to suddenly changes from grins and giggles to full blown shrieking rages.

He grinned at Morven. They always though it rather a joke to watch their dark-haired son stamp his tiny feet and screw up his face into an ugly red ball.

Morven was not looking at him or their child. She stared straight ahead, her eyes glazed, her mouth slightly open. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the flush from her cheeks spreading down her neck. It was as though she was gazing inward, listening to some sound deep inside her body. Alexis hoped it was the baby she heard.

He had begged Hepsie for some cure to her pain, some assurance that his wife would be fine and healthy once more. But good-hearted, little Hepzebah couldn’t give him any. She had given Morven some medicines to take but that was all she could do. It would be difficult for his wife, she had told him. The baby was causing a strain on her system and the only thing that could help her was the birth of their child. It was still months away and Alexis carried with him a silent dread that it would be too late. He almost hated the unborn child for slowly sucking the life and vitality from his mother.

“No!” Riandur squeaked, “no, no, no. ‘Orse! ‘Orse! No witewivvers! No!”

His son clenched his tiny fists and stamped his fat little feet. Alexis couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Alright fine. No witewivvers then. ‘Orse it is.”

Riandur’s face slowly lightened from purple to its usual shiny, scrubbed pink. He stood up as though challenging his father. He pointed to the horse.

“Fine you little monster. Whatever you want. It’s your horse after all,” Alexis leant over to tousle his son’s thick hair.

Riandur lost his balance tumbling with a thump onto his solid behind. He opened his mouth to scream but then his eyes went wide and he pointed at his brother.

Alexis followed his gaze and saw that Colthan had shakely pulled himself to his feet. It had been many months since Riandur first stood, his brother sitting silently, watching with a pale, intense look as his brother trundled round the room with father in tow. Alexis had tried many times to coax the boy to his feet, but every time the small child had hung limp from his arms, his weak legs refusing to hold him.

And now he stood.

Alexis smiled with relief at his wife, “Morven love, look! Colthan is standing! The little mite is finally on his feet.”

“Mama,” Colthan murmured, staring up at his mother, swaying in place as though waiting for her answer. His tiny head was inclined towards her, and Alexis knew he was staring up at her with his watery, blue eyes.

He took a tentative step forward, “Mama.”

He clutched frantically, his hands too far from her skirts.

“Morven, he wants you!” Alexis cried, tearing his eyes from his son to gaze at his wife.

Her baggy eyes were pressed tightly shut so that only the tips of her lashes protruded from between the bulging sacks of her eyelids.

It was as though she didn’t even hear him. Or if she did, she no longer cared.

Alexis swept his shaking son into his arms, staring into the tiny boys face with the wet tears that were running silently down his cheeks.

“Well done little man. Well done. You are quite the stander is seems,” he murmured, planting a kiss on the boys forehead.

Without a word Morven rose ponderously to her feet, her body swaying drunkenly as she lurched towards the door. So it was these days. When Morven retired to lie down in the dark she did not even see fit to tell her husband. He let her go.

Colthan clung timidly to his father’s neck, his tiny pawing hands curling around the draw strings of Alexi’s silken shirt.

“Don’t worry little man, Mama will be alright. We’ll all be alright.”

Alexis only wished he believed it himself.

Alexis wandered into the stables to saddle up a horse only to be greeted by the all too agreeable sight of Mistress Elmvarn. Her face was flushed a delicious pink from the cold air, her ebony hair come loose from its braid and tumbling around her face in luscious curls. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, her sumptuous pout turning up into a warm smile.

He had intended to go for a ride but this was all the better. Perhaps he still would.

“Why Nyawe, what a great pleasure it is to see you on this fine morning. Have you just been for a ride?”

He knew she had, her tangled, windswept locks, the light bristles of horse hair scattered over her cloak, the slight sheen of sweat on her neck. Not long before Nyawe, the irresistible steward’s wife had clamped her warm, soft thighs around a rippling muscled beast. Alexis felt a hot throb just imagining it.

“I certainly have,” she purred with a grin, “and I can’t say I would be averse to another.”

Her gaze slid from his face, down his chest where his heart was beginning to thump, over the fine folds of his cloak and further. She stared shamelessly and he felt himself growing painfully hard.

She flicked her eyes up to his, dark and hot beneath the bobbing curls that were plastered in places to her moist skin, “What do you say?”

Good Lord she was beautiful. The steward had to be a flaming idiot to let things lie for this long. Either that or his preferences tended in another direction. Alexis could not have lain beside a woman like this for an hour without touching her, let alone months.

He lunged at her with a throaty growl, ramming her into the wooden pillar, his body pressing up against the warm, soft front of hers in all the right places. He leaned his hips against hers and she moaned, her eyes growing bleary with desire, her pouting lips opening for him.

His mouth found the salty skin of her collar bone, covering it with kisses, biting and nipping at it hungrily. He kissed his way up the groove of her pale neck, his mouth finding hers and he could not suppress a groan at the feverish intensity.

They both came up gasping for breath, panting , his chest grazing against hers.

“Well, that certainly was a kiss and a half,” she murmured with a smile of childish gratitude, “have you got anything else up your er… sleeve?”

“I certainly do, but I most certainly don’t hide it in my sleeve. Would you like me to show you?”

“Oh, I think I might have some inkling, you see, something has been poking me in the thigh all this while. Could that possibly be your something else?” she giggled.

“I think you’re getting warmer.”

She began to slide her hand down the front of his cloak, her small, pink fingers rubbing against the thick material.

“Warmer… warmer… hmmm really rather warm there…”

“Hot,” he choked as her hand found its target.

“God, it’s been so long,” she growled throatily, pawing at him, fumbling trying to undo his belt.

So it had, he thought suddenly serious. And the last time had been painful and frightening for her. He pulled away gazing somberly into her wild, green eyes.

“I promise to be gentle Nyawe, I won’t hurt you like your husband did,” he murmured.

She pulled away from him as though scalded.

“What the hell did you say?” she spat, “What the hell do you know about that?”

Suddenly her face was ugly and hard, her eyes screwed up as though he had struck her, her mouth curving up into a nasty sneer.

“I’m sorry, I, your husband told me what happened,” Alexis felt his ardour subsiding as he stared at her shocked at the transformation from purring kitten to enraged tiger.

“That is, ah, he confessed to me.”

“That filthy bastard! How dare he discuss that with anyone. Lying, cheating son of a bitch. I suppose he told you who the splaylegged slut he’s been fucking is. I suppose you’ve probably been fucking her too. Tell me, who is the feculent trollop? Who is it?”

Alexis was shocked and confused by her fury, she had drawn herself up, her shoulders raised like a hissing cat puffing up to appear more menacing. Alexis was certainly menaced.

“I don’t know what you mean Nyawe. He only told me that he forced himself on you and had been doing penance for that. I suppose I shouldn’t interfere but the old lad really does seem sorry about it. I don’t think he meant to hurt you.”

Alexis was burning his own bridges, but he did feel a little sorry for the old boy and he wasn’t sure anymore if he was ready to tangle with this furious wench.

“Forced himself? Penance?” she stared at him incredulously, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

She darted out of the room, leaving Alexis in the company of nickering horses.

“Well ladies, I suppose I will be wanting a ride after all,” he sighed.

Good Lord, well that sounded rather naughty didn’t it, he thought.

“Ahem, you know, a gallop, a canter and whatnot.”

He really wasn’t making it any better was he, “Oh whatever, you know what I mean.”