She felt the sand beneath her feet, between her toes, the gradual change from solid ground to uneven. Her face was no longer shaded by the large cypress trees, now the sun shone on it full, though she could smell the storm coming and hear the distant rumble of thunder. The soil gave off a musky, earthy smell and she could feel the salty wind blowing in from the sea.

Noah had never wanted her to come down here by herself, afraid she would misjudge the waves and be swept out to sea. She had never learned to swim. Why teach a blind girl to swim?

Her husband had planned to teach Derry to swim, her fat, beautiful baby. He had taken the boy into the water with him a few times, told her that Derry was a born water baby, had loved to splash and laugh with his father. She had sat well up on the beach, away from the waves and listened to his happy chortles and his father’s deep, booming laughter. But now he was gone, dead and gone to a place where he would never swim.

She gave a strangled sob, stumbling on the uneven ground, almost falling to her knees. Going more slowly, she shuffled down the slight slope of the beach toward the water. Back there, up in the house the baby would be silently lying in her crib. She never cried, barely even made a sound. Claire was nothing like Derrin with his lusty wails. She couldn’t bear the silence, it seemed like a constant rebuke from the small creature for bringing her into such a terrible, cruel world. Noah would come home and find her even if she didn’t cry. She would be alright, Gena told herself.

The baby was so silent Gena sometimes forgot she was even there. She wondered if the baby had watched while she solemnly dressed, there was nothing wrong with the baby’s sight Noah had told her. Gena had carefully pulled her best dress from the chest, shaking away the lavender she had dried and kept in there to keep it from smelling musty. She had laced up the corset, her fingers deft after years of dressing herself in complete darkness. It was her very best dress, a dress good enough to be buried in.

She knew when she had reached the water, felt it soaking through the hem of her dress, chill on her bare feet. The sand grew treacherous and soggy here and she was careful not to stumble. A fine mist of water dusted her face, carried in from the crashing waves. The ominous rumble of thunder filled the air, muggy and heavy with humidity and with a loud crack the rain began to fall.

She felt it on her face, tiny chill kisses like tears falling down from the heavens above. The sky was crying for her loss, crying with her and she wept as she turned her face up to let the gentle rain fall on it.

And then she ran, stumbling and tripping, plunging into the water, her feet scrabbling on the bottom as she went in up to her waist. She had never been in the sea and it was deliciously cool, a sudden relief from the muggy day. Her best dress grew sodden, sucking up the water like tree with its roots plunged deep into the ground. It was heavy too, dragging her down, the thick material saturated with sea water.

She went in, further and further, her bare feet slipping and sliding on the slimy rocks on the bottom. When she felt the rocks disappear beneath her feet, she splashed onwards, flailing her arms trying to get out as far as she could. A wave crashed over her, her head disappearing beneath the foamy mess. She tumbled around in the churning vortex, no longer able to tell which way was up until she finally broke the surface, gasping for air. She had lost all sense of direction and had no idea where the shore was but it did not matter. She was growing tired, so very tired. The water was cool and soothing, dragging at her exhausted body and she let herself sink.

“Well Kelgar lad, yew have the look of a man who’s not been treated to a good fuck for weeks,” Elbran roared over the drunken sounds of the tavern.

Christ how did he know?

“No… I mean… yes… I mean… oh fuck Elbran, how in Christ’s name did yew know yew uncanny bastard?”

“Cause if yer dick’s anywhere near as droopy as yer smile then we’ve got serious problems.”

“My dick’s not droopy,” he replied, a grimace replacing his droopy smile.

“Oh don’t yew worry Kelgar my dear friend. I know what it’s like. My wife’s been that fat with child before I couldn’t even get my cock anywhere near her. An’ yew know, my cock’s got a rather long reach,” he sniggered and Kelgar joined with a half-hearted laugh.

Aylric was stonily silent.

“Eh Aylric… and no one gets swollen up with a child like that wife of yer’s. Goodness, her tits are so big I’m surprised she manages to lace em up tight in that bodice of hers. Though she’s that nice she probably thinks of other ways to attend to yew I guess she does.”

“Don’t talk about my wife like that!!!” Aylric cried, struggling to rise to his feet.

“He’s just jesting Ayrlic lad, don’t yew listen to him now,” Kelgar soothed, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and pushing the drunk man back into his chair.

“Ye’ve got to use it Kelgar… otherwise it’ll fall off,” Elbran chided.

“Yew gentleman be needin’ anything?” a crooning voice from behind him almost made him start from his chair.

He turned around and came face to face with the ample bosom of the tavern keep’s wife, Netty. She would have been plump even had she not been with child, her face disconcertingly childlike atop her voluptuous body.

“Ah, no, thank yew,” he mumbled. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Elbran raising his eyebrows.

“Suit yerself then,” she purred, turning to stir the rich stew bubbling over the fire.

Her round rump brushed against Kelgar’s arm as she bent and he felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the fire being stoked behind him. He saw the blacksmith was listening intently to their conversation.

If only it had just been the pregnancy, but Illewen had been cold toward him since the day of their marriage. The baby was not due for another three months and Kelgar knew that such a state was no deterrent for many women. But Illewen had barely let him touch her since she had told him the news. He was miserable, utterly miserable. Kelgar had resolved to remain faithful to his wife but it was proving a far more difficult task than he had imagined.

“Goodness me, it’s certainly being hot in here,” Netty purred, fanning her face.

A trickle of sweat ran down Kelgar’s brow.

“An’ yew lads are certain yer not needing anything? Anything I can get yew then Kelgar.”

“No, no thank you,” he spluttered taking a hasty gulp from his ale.

She sashayed away and Kelgar sighed in relief.

“I know just the thing fer yew Kelgar lad,” Elbran was saying enthusiastically.

“What?” he asked cautiously.

Aylric scowled.

“Yew need a night or two with our lovely Netty,” he said, his voice a little more hushed, “Lord knows she’s a good one. Do things to yew yer wife wouldn’t dare.”

“Uh… I don’t know Elbran, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Kelgar protested.

“Sure it is, Netty’s a fine lass an’ yer wife doesn’t need to know. What happens in the tavern stays in the tavern eh?” Elbran winked.

“But Wen will be waiting,” Kelgar muttered.

“And he’s a married man Elbran!” Aylric cried, “to our good friend Vance’s widow, God rest his memory. Or had yew forgotten her.”

“Christ Aylric, who needs a priest when I’ve got yew to remind me what’s a sin and what ain’t? Of course I remember Vance, but nothing Kelgar does tonight’s going to hurt him or the lass.”

He turned to Kelgar, “Don’t yew worry yerself listening to Brother Aylric here. He’s got a supple wife at home who does his every bidding. If yer finding yers a little chillier then ye’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. How long has it been anyway?” he asked a little softer.

Before Kelgar could answer Aylric stood abruptly.

“I don’t want to hear any of this talk so I’m off home to my wife and children, God bless their innocent souls. Kelgar, yer a good man, I know yew’ll do what’s right.”

“Kiss yer wife for me,” Elbran called as Ayrlic tramped out the door slamming it shut behind him.

“Somehow I don’t think that wife of his is as innocent as he thinks,” Elbran chuckled, “So how long’s it been?”

Kelgar couldn’t help the crestfallen look that crossed his face, “Actually, it’s been months, many months.”

“Oh Kelgar lad, that really isn’t good,” Elbran regarded him with some sympathy, “then yew simply must have Netty tonight. She’s that sweet on yew she is, only has eyes fer yew tonight.”

Perhaps he should do it, Illewen didn’t need to know and Netty did seem to be taking an interest in him. And Lord knows he was desperate for any kind of affection, however feigned.

“It’s not many a man that stays faithful to his woman Kelgar, and it’s not fer everyone. Besides, if yer not spending the night with Netty our friend Firman, the blacksmith over there is sure to. Burned bastard’s been sniffing around her all night. Save her from bending over fer that brute of a man and yew’d be doing her a favour.”

That did it. Kelgar would be Netty’s tonight then and he would treat her kindly. Lord knows the poor girl deserved a kindness or two.

“Er, Elbran… how do I, yew know. Go about asking?” he asked softly.

Elbran smiled, detailing the discrete method that the tavern keep had fostered to avoid embarrassment in such a tiny tavern.

Kelgar nervously approached the tavern keep, a rotund man with hair slick with animal grease and smoke. Rinan Kerswell had a rat-like face, pointy teeth that poked from his mouth when he leered and an unpleasant blotchy complexion. Rinan was the sort of man who would have sold his own children if he thought it would get him a copper or two. Perhaps he would, if they were girls. Kelgar remembered the tavern keep had one son, and he found himself hoping that the one on the way was also a boy.

“I’d like some of yer fine honey mead,” he whispered awkwardly.

“Certainly, yew’ll find a jug of it upstairs,” Rinan replied with a smirk.

“Oi, Rinan yew dirty fuck, get me another,” Grimm the furrier snarled.

“Yew wait yer turn or yer out on yer arse,” Rinan growled, while at the same time reaching out a discrete hand for Kelgar to put the money in.

He nodded to the ladder in the corner and Kelgar gingerly climbed, feeling the heat of blacksmith’s glare as he went.

The room was small and dirty, stinking of boiled lard, cooking smoke and unwashed men. He heard a small toddler whimpering in its sleep behind a ragged curtain that split the room in two. He sat heavily on the straw bed, feeling it creak and rustle beneath him, head in his hands. He waited for Netty but he was thinking of Illewen.

He had failed her.

Maire turned from the steaming basin as she heard the door to the kitchen creak open biting back her irritation. She had already burned herself on the cauldron heating the water over the fire and now it was going to go cold while she dealt with some guard who desperately needed a sandwich or something equally stupid.

But it wasn’t a guard. Reynard Hynde was slinking through the kitchen towards her like some marmalade Tom intent on marking his territory. She gulped, the taste of dried fish and coal fire in her mouth and crept towards him wiping her calloused hands anxiously on her stained apron.

“Hello there,” Reynard said in a low voice.

“Is there something yer wantin’ Goodman Hynde,” Maire asked meekly.

“Actually yes, but let’s not forget our manners first. How are yew today Mistress Maire,” Reynard said with a smile that didn’t quite make it to his dark eyes.

A trickle of sweat ran down the back of Maire’s neck.

“I’m being just fine, how about yerself?” she asked softly.

“Oh… yew know… I’m healing. I think I’ll end up looking like a patchwork quilt when it’s all done with.”

He gave a hollow laugh, his dark eyes gleaming in the flickering firelight.

“Oh, I’m being that sorry about that I am,” she blushed almost as red as her messy braids, “I did the best I could but I’m not being known fer the neatest stitch around.”

She wiped her hands again nervously on her apron remembering the poorly stitched patches there. But she had tried extra hard to do a good job of the man’s back, though the tattered flesh had made her want to retch.

“Oh no, yew did a fine job with what yew were given,” he smiled slowly at her.

She flinched as she unwittingly scraped the recent burn against the scratchy fabric of her dress.

“But Mistress Maire, are yew being hurt,” he gazed down at her arm and the red blotchy blisters that were beginning to rise there.

He gently took her hand in his and raised the arm to peer at it in the gloom.

“Aw it’s nothing, just a scald is all. I get ‘em all the time an’ they always go away in a few weeks,” her cheeks were hot as she snatched her hand from his grasp.

The kitchen had been stuffy and warm before he came but it was beginning to feel unbearably hot as her heart pounded and thudded in her chest.

“If only I could be helping yew as yew helped me,” he lips twitched up at the sides.

She felt ill, nausea roiling in her stomach as he stared down at her.

“But then, I didn’t owe yew a favour did I,” he smiled widely but his eyes were cold as dead coals.

She swallowed, a lump forming in her throat, trying to think of something to say but she didn’t have to because he filled the silence.

“An’ I’m thinking yer still owing me a few more,” he murmured and took her burnt arm in his hand.

Her breath caught in her throat as his thumb stroked the intact skin of her arm, barely skirting around the edge of the inflamed, blistered burn.

“What do yew want from me?” she whispered, her heart stuttering and galloping at his touch.

“Well, fer starters yew could let me kiss you,” he said softly, still stroking her arm.

She squealed as his thumb ran roughly over the burned patch. He released her arm and pulled her to him.

“I don’t think that’s being a very good idea,” she managed between chattering teeth, her whole body shaking against his.

“Shhh now,” his mouth was hot against her ear, “of course it is.”

And then he kissed her. His lips brushed hers lightly, then more insistently and though she kept her mouth champed tightly shut, somehow he managed to work his tongue inside. His mouth was hot and wet and she was growing dizzy with the heat in her body, with the scent of his sweat, with the boiling of her blood and the throbbing ache of her heart.

He leaned down toward her, holding her tightly and forcing her to follow so that she was hanging from his neck lest she fall onto the packed dirt floor.

All her weight was on one of his arms which was wrapped tightly around her waist and she never thought to worry after the other until a hand came sneaking up her chest. When he cupped one small breast in his strong farmers hand and squeezed she broke the embrace gasping for air, prying the hand away that was touching her where she knew it shouldn’t.

“No… don’t,” she managed between ragged breaths.

“Maybe next time then,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

Miriamele shivered as she entered the cathedral, though the room was warm and stuffy. Great roaring fires rose in the braziers around the room, curling tendrils of smoke leaving great sooty stains on the soaring buttressed roof. They said N’nkasha had come from the desert, roaring out of scorching depths like a sandstorm, flaying all unfortunate enough to cross his path. It was hot there, on the Southern Continent and so the fires were tended till they flared higher and higher and always he cried, “not hot enough” in his rasping tongue.

A trickle of sweat snaked down Miriamele’s brow as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom. N’nkasha had chosen the Cathedral as his throne room, profaning the sanctity of that room with death after death and every rampant fury of his insatiable lust. It was told he had taken the first wife, his moon wife on the very altar of their God.

Shapes loomed at her through the smoke and the shadows, scantily clad dancers twisting and writhing obscenely. The gleaming oiled bronze skin of the guards, cruel curving blades in their hands and tattoos obscuring their faces. And seated before the altar was the God King himself.

The eunuch jabbed her sharply in the back, “Stand up straight little star, the God King does not want to bed a hunchback.”

Her trembling hands fell to her side. They had dressed her in thinnest of silk, all but transparent so that no curve of her adolescent body was hidden from view. She longed to cover herself, to curl up and hide but the eunuch was pushing her forward into that room with its rank, charcoal smell and its hundred cruel eyes all fixed on her.

She crept ahead of him, past the dancers and to the front of the room where the God King and his night sky regarded her impassively. Akana, his moon wife was swollen with his child, her huge belly painted in gold with strange symbols, bells from a vest that barely covered her heavy breasts jingling as she shifted her weight. Akana had borne him child after child, four girls and a boy but never the Sun child that he awaited.

Beside her were the star wives, Lubaya from the conquered Jungles of the South and Nagale, a peace offering sent by the Tassril to ensure the God King’s favour. It was said that Lubaya had once been a great beauty but when the son she bore was stillborn the God King had torn her eyes out in a fit of rage. The child had not opened its eyes and so she never would again. The ruined mess of her face was hidden under a heavy veil. Miriamele was glad she could not see it.

“God King, my sun, my golden light. Please allow this pathetic worm to speak,” the eunuch intoned in the language of the Kerthqua, his voice high and weak.

Miriamele had been trained in their words, deep in the sanctuary of the harem, preparing her for the night when sun and star would dance. That night would come soon she had been told, on all hallows eve when the people of her culture said the dead walked the earth. The Kerthqua believed that on this day night stalked through the daylight, dragging her ragged cloak of destruction behind and bleeding the land as she walked. To save the world from eternal night the God King must pierce a star flooding the sky with light once more. After coming of age and choosing his moon wife, the Sun King would take a new star wife each year to protect the world from endless night.

N’nkasha gave a slight nod of his head.

“The third star is rising great Lord. She comes before you now to bathe in your boundless light.”

“Hallo Mirri,” a voice called from behind the throne.

“Shut your mouth maggot meat,” the fat usurper Faldorn growled from his plush seat.

She had tried not to look at the wasted man tied to a crucifix, another mockery of their religion that N’nkasha had profaned the church with. But she could not help it, her eyes finding the face of the man she had known, Estan, cousin to the King, brother of her sister’s dearest friend. His face was a ruined mess, scars new and old streaking across the skin. His left eye was gone, N’nkasha had plucked it out and thrown it to the dogs. His arms were frail where muscles had once been strong enough to wield a great sword. Pale scars snaked across his chest and open, ragged wounds weeping pus and blood. He should have died when he was supposed to. It would have been a merciful fate.

She fell to her knees before the God who walks the earth hoping he would ignore this indiscretion from his very favourite plaything.

He gazed down at her, his golden eyes glowing with unholy light. Such eyes were the inheritance of the Sun King, only the child that had such eyes could take the throne when the final fire took him. She gave a shudder, suddenly afraid that child would be hers.

He rose slowly to his full height, towering above her. He was the tallest man she had ever seen, all long, slender limbs, angular, like some great golden insect waiting to tear her apart with his slavering jaws.

But he turned and went to Estan, hanging weak and exhausted on the cross.

“You would speak to my star in this way pink dog?” he rasped in common, bringing his huge head close to the broken man’s face.

“We’ve known each other since she was a child,” Estan replied boldly.

Please, please Estan, please stop.

She rose trembling to her feet.

“No one may know the star but the Sun King,” he purred drawing a razor sharp golden knife across Estan’s belly, opening up the flesh behind it.

Estan gritted his teeth in pain but did not cry out. He looked up at the God King, defiance written on his mutilated face.

“Now dog, there is no pleasure in your silence, the third star wants to hear you scream.”

He jammed his long finger deep into the oozing wound and Estan cried out in agony.

“How I wish I could pull the feeding snake from your belly but then you would die and that would be a shame,” he drew his finger along the bleeding cut as Estan writhed and groaned.

Please oh please stop.

“Please,” she moaned out loud and then frightened went completely silent.

N’nkasha went rigid, slowly drawing his finger from the wretched man’s belly. His knife flicked out and for a moment Mirry thought he was going to kill Estan. But he was only cutting the ropes that bound him to the crucifix and the injured man fell heavily to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“Come to me little star,” he beckoned with one bloody finger. From the corner of her eye she saw the Tassril star shudder. The moon wife was looking steadfastly ahead.

“Would you plead for this man’s life my star?” he crooned.

He reached up to stroke her cheek with his soft fingers, leaving a bloody trail down her face.

She was paralysed with fear, repulsed by the slithering of his finger as it slid over her cheek coming terrifyingly close to her eye. She tried to answer but she had lost her voice.

His other hand darted out like a snake and closed over her throat. Squeezing the air from her he lifted her bodily from the ground, struggling in his grasp.

“Who are you to ask me anything?! I am the God King. Perhaps this man has already pierced you?!” the Sun King roared shaking her like a ragdoll.

“If I find your light already spilled I swear you will suffer like no one ever has. I will flay the skin from your flesh alive star-child!”

Her vision was growing dark, the blood vessels in her eyes bursting as her struggles grew weaker. Her hands pawed ineffectually at his arm, which, strong as iron, closed tightly around her windpipe. Just as she was losing consciousness he released her.

He caught her in his strong arms as she fell.

“There now little star, you must not anger me so. Shh now.”

He pulled her gasping and spluttering for air to his chest. Her face scraped across the jagged medallions that covered his oiled chest. Her nostrils filled with the acrid scent of his sweat, the sickening sweet smell of his perfumed hair. She choked and coughed, tears running down her face.

“Shhh shhh, little light, little star,” he murmured.

He was running his hand along her spine, pressing her against his body.

She felt one of his hands closing over her breast as the darkness engulfed her.

“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.

The horses nickered uneasily in their stalls as they entered the stable. Ana’s eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, the warm scent of hay and horse manure tickling her nostrils.

“So… what do yew think?” she asked softly.

Mara only stared and Ana wondered if she even understood. Hepsie had asked her if she would be so kind as to play with Lady Inbar’s ward and she could never refuse dear Hepsie anything. And they were of a similar age. She had been desperate to get away from her bratty little sisters anyway, and jealous of Elere who was allowed to help Hepsie with her work since she was a big girl now. Ana thought she was pretty grown up now that she was nine but apparently it wasn’t enough to help with the babies. And Dessy, well she was never to be found these days. So she spent her time with Mara, who was even shyer than she. It was an awkward sort of friendship. Most of the time they barely spoke and when they did oftentimes they could not understand one another anyway.

At least the other girl had princess hair. That went a long way to earning Ana’s respect. And she could do the prettiest braids, more pretty than Ana had imagined in all of her daydreams. Ana had a secret hope that one day Mara might braid her hair for her, but it seemed only the Lady Inbar was granted that favour.

But that could be all about to change since she had found the secret hideout, in the back of the stables where nobody every came. Creeping behind the boxes she could almost pretend she was indeed a Princess, holed up in a fortress waiting for her Prince to come. She just had to make Mara understand.

“It’s being a place fer us, fer me and yew. We can hide here an’ no one will be finding us. Nobody ever comes here but Kel an’ he won’t tell our secret. It’s perfect.”

The other girl raised her dark eyebrows and stared at Ana, a look of vast concentration on her pale face. Ana thought her rather beautiful, her flawless skin and trailing raven locks. Ana’s face was always ruddy and freckled. Hepsie called it a healthy glow but Ana hated it.

She tried again, more slowly sounding out the words carefully, “Yew know Mara… secret. A secret. Just fer yew an’ me. To play here.”

“Secret?” Mara asked her brown wrinkling in confusion.

How was she going to explain?

She was saved the need when the door to the stables clicked open and two small shapes flitted in. It was Jabari, the medicine man’s dark-skinned son and one of the Manasa boys. She could never remember all their names. They both seemed so strange and foreign to her. Jabari most of all, who had heavy dreadlocks, coiling out from his head like snakes and birthright tattoos covering his face. And the Manasa boy slinking in, cat-like, his pale eyes glowing. They said his father had been a Talmasian from the great deserts of the West, where the nomadic tribes lived out their short and violent lives under stretched canvas and the stars.

“Greetings,” Jabari said in his strange accent while the Manasa boy scowled at them from beneath his wild, ruffled hair.

“What the hell are yew doing in here?” the Manasa boy growled at them, “This is our place. No girls allowed.”

She glared back, noting that his bare feet were dirty and his clothes were torn. Her own clothes had been neatly patched by her own hand. Hepsie had even complimented her on the skill of the stitching. Her feeling of smug satisfaction fled when she remember Mara’s many fine dresses.

“No no my kaibigan. Do not be rude to ladies. I am Jab, please to meet you,” the other boy said carefully.

“We met before, on the ship” Ana mumbled and Mara just stared.

“Yew can’t be here,” the Manasa boy said belligerently, ignoring his friend’s plea for courtesy, “this is our place. Boys only. We found it first.”

“But Lemeki friend, kaibigan. Surely can we not share?” Jabari asked congenially.

“No… no girls,” the other boy scowled, “Girls are stupid. They only want to do their hair and they cry all the time.”

“We don’t cry all the time!” Ana responded unable to refute the hair claim.

Suddenly, unaccountably Mara began to giggle beside her. She was a little shocked. The girl scarcely spoke and now she was laughing.

“Why she laugh?” Jab asked, confused.

“Oh, please excuse my friend Mara, she’s not speaking much common. I don’t know if she’s understanding,” Ana sent a sidelong glance to her friend who was tittering into her hand.

“I see… I also speak not good common,” Jab said with a solemn look on his face.

He bowed deeply, “I am pleased to meeting you Mara.”

Mara giggled even more, her shoulders shaking, her scrawny arms folded over her chest. The situation was getting out of hand. Ana mustered all of her faltering courage.

“We were here first an’ it’s no boys allowed. So yew’d better just scram if yew know what’s good fer yew.”

“Scram,” Mara repeated with a grin waggling her finger at them.

“No way!” Lemeki said, glowering at them, “We was here first!”

The stable door swung open and their argument was forgotten as a small scruffy figure burst in and barrelled into Lemeki poking at him with an outstretched finger.

“Now yer dead Leki. Dead. I’s killed yew I does,” the small boy squeaked in delight.

“Mori! What the hell! Get out! Leave us alone yew stupid runt.”

“I wanna play too… pwease Leki I’s big enough I is,” the boy whined. He was another Manasa but this time of a smaller variety. Same scruffy hair and torn trousers.

“Only grown ups can play here Mori,” Lemeki growled at his younger brother, “Yew have to be at least eight to play here.”

“Yeah,” Ana chimed in.

The only thing more awful than boys were little brothers and sisters.

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.

“Do you have a moment to talk now?” Lochan asked in exasperation.

He had been trying to have this conversation with Garrick for days but whenever Lochan had the time amongst preparation Garrick was nowhere to be found, or not to be disturbed.

“I don’t know, do we have the time Isabelle?” Garrick asked in a baby voice to the child lying calmly in his arms blinking curiously at Lochan.

Lochan ignored this, “I want to speak to you about Eallair.”

“Alright,” Garrick said his eyes on the baby, “Go on then.”

“It’s just,” he paused distracted for a moment by the baby which was looking up at Garrick with such a look of fervent adoration as Lochan had never seen on a child so small, “er, that is to say Garrick, you’ve really got to keep an eye out for him. He needs friends, friends with his best interests at heart and with me gone there will be one fewer.”

“Hmmm,” Garrick grunted.

“You’ve got to keep an eye out for him Garrick. With this peasant uprising things are more caustic than ever. Especially now there’s a chance people could actually leave Mhalwae. Before everyone had to band together because there was no other choice. But now… well, the last thing we want is some sort of civil war breaking out.”

Garrick gave no sign he had heard, swinging the baby into the air and jiggling her about until she chuckled and smiled.

“Garrick, where you listening?” Lochan asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

“Silly uncle Lochan, thinks we weren’t listening,” Garrick grinned at his daughter, “Of course I’m listening.”

There was something unsettling about Garrick’s behaviour. He hadn’t been like this when Atholt was born. With Isabelle he scarcely let her out of his sight. Lochan couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his friend without the small girl in tow. She was always there, lying quietly in his arms, sleeping in his lap. Lochan wondered that Cindra wasn’t jealous. He didn’t think he had even seen his cousin with the baby come to think of it.

“You worry too much Lochan, always have,” Garrick continued, lifting the baby to his shoulder, where she buried her face into his thick mane of hair.

“I’m worried for a reason Garrick,” Lochan snapped back at him, “You and I both know where Eallair’s strengths and weaknesses lie. Certainly, he’s picked up the reigns a bit more since Sigurd was killed. But we’re on a knife edge Garrick. A knife edge! One slip and it all falls apart.”

“Come now Lochan, calm yourself. You’re upsetting the baby. It’s alright my sweet, there now.”

The baby didn’t seem particularly upset but Lochan was certainly getting that way. It was impossible to discuss anything with Garrick these days. His attention was completely fixed on his daughter. Had he not been holding her at this very moment Lochan might have rammed his friend’s head into the bookcase a couple of times to try and knock some sense into him.

“You’ve got to take care of him Garrick. I can’t do everything. I will be his eyes abroad. You have to be his eyes here,” Garrick didn’t appear to be listening, staring into space, rocking the baby slowly in his arms.

“Yes, yes. Don’t you worry. It will be fine,” he murmured absent-mindedly.

“Garrick it’s just, well… he’s our friend. You’ve got to take care of him,” he sighed dejectedly his shoulders slumping.

Why couldn’t there be more than one of him?

“Just keep him safe,” Lochan mumbled, turning away and striding from the room.

Behind him he could hear Garrick cooing nonsense to his daughter.

“Hello my love,” Isaura’s husband murmured as he carefully sat down on the side of the bed.

Isaura started, causing a spasm of pain to run rampant down her spine. She had dived in deep, so deep into the realm of her own pain that she had been oblivious to her husband’s presence in the room. It was easier when she could lie there, floating in stasis. Then she could count the moments passing, focus on the twisting ache of her spine, count the bones in her body one by one. She came up gulping and spluttering.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” Lochan gazed at her with concern, the corners of his mouth drooping.

In response she lifted hers up in a difficult smile, “No, no… you just startled me that’s all.”

“Oh, good,” her husband sighed and leaned back against the bedboard.

His fine brows were knitted into a frown, the tension in his body evident from the way the tendons in his neck were standing out.

“Is everything alright?” she asked softly.

He sighed again, “No. It’s not really.”

“What’s wrong Lochan?”

He stared at her for a long time. She knew he was seeing the pallor of her skin, the dark hollows around her eyes. She had lost even more weight in the last months so that her dresses had to be tightened by the seamstress to prevent them falling off entirely. Her hair was falling out in clumps so, in order to cover the bald patches, her lady maid had to carefully arrange it. She wondered if he found her beautiful any longer. When she looked in the mirror all she could see was a spectre of her former self, as though she were long dead but her body refused to admit it and let her continue decaying above the ground.

Her soul was trapped inside this cocoon of pain and suffering. She would not be free until her body finally gave in and let her die.

“Please, tell me,” she murmured, reaching for his hand.

He took it in his own, slowly rubbing his thumb over the dry skin.

“Eallair wants me to go on the ship to Lomorrad and Fjaerland,” he replied dejectedly.

“He trusts you” Isaura replied gently.

She shifted position on the bed. Even this was a monumental task that required her to drag her numb left leg in to place. She carefully smoothed down her dress where it had crumpled and turned back to Lochan.

“I know he does. And he shouldn’t trust Eanraig. I certainly don’t. In my mind it would be madness to send that man off with the diplomacy of Mhalwae in his care. He doesn’t speak for the Kingdom. I’d send Garrick but the way he’s been since the new baby was born, I don’t trust him to keep us safe. And Radomir… well…”

“Then of course you must go,” she replied, “there isn’t any question. What are you concerned about? I’m sure things will run smoothly here without you. Madlenka’s got a head on her shoulders and she has no trouble reigning in Eallair if she needs to.”

But he was staring at her with such a look of devastation it nigh broke her weakly beating heart in two.

He would be gone for many months. It was a months travel to the Northern continent alone. And then there would be diplomatic missions to various allies. He would be gone a long time. She felt his hand trembling in her own and she squeezed it a little tighter, snuggling in close.

“You’re afraid something will happen to me while you’re gone,” she whispered.

She closed her eyes as she leaned against him, exhausted from merely shuffling across the bed. She was so very tired and so ready to fall asleep and never wake up. But she saw now that she could not give in to that desire. Not yet.

“Yes,” he choked and she felt his tears hot against her cheek.

He drew away from her, rubbing his eyes in shame. Then she felt his arms tighten around her waist. Her spine throbbed and ached sending pulsing shivers up her neck and down again to die out in her numb legs.

“I can’t lose you,” he mumbled and another tear spilled unbidden and ran down his cheek.

“Lochan, my dearest heart, but you are going to. I cannot stay like this forever. We both know how this is going to end. It’s been coming a long time.”

A ratcheting sob rose from his throat as clutched her to his chest.

“You are going to lose me my love and you must prepare yourself for that,” she said softly, “but I will always be with you. Always. Whenever you forget that just look at our daughter. I am with you in her.”

“And on the day you die I will be waiting for you at the gates of heaven.”

He was weeping openly as she had never seen him do, his mouth open wide gasping air, his lower lip trembling as he tried to control the sobbing.

She clasped him around his neck, pulling her meagre weight up by her arms so her face was level with his, “You must go with the ship Lochan. You must do this. For the Kingdom. You cannot think of me. This is more important than me.”

“Then you must promise me something,” his voice wavered.

“You mustn’t let go while I’m away. I couldn’t return…” he drew a rattling breath, “and find you gone. I couldn’t do it Isaura. It would be the death of me.”

“Promise me,” he squeezed her tighter, sending a bolt of agony through her body.

“Promise me,” he ground his teeth, staring at her with red rimmed eyes.

She was so very, very tired.

“I promise,” she murmured and kissed his trembling mouth.