90. Daughter

In an effort to appease the clamor and angst of a city on the brink of war, Hinnom declared The Thawing would be celebrated with two days of rest, the traditional celebration taking place on the second day.

This was what the citizens of Pikestully needed.

They had spent a short, squalling winter waiting for the days after the weather turned to say goodbye to sons and brothers marching on Perpatane’s encampment of Sealmouth.

As I was warned, Tintarian winters were formidable but over soon.

The sun was breaking through the grayness more with every day that flew by.

I retired my winter dress to the back of the wardrobe entirely and only wore the fall teal.

At the middle of each day, it even became too warm for that dress at times.

My last days were upon me.

I reasoned that I had asked for three moons around midnight on the night of The Turn of Trees.

I expected it to all come to an end around midnight the night of The Thawing.

And when the weekend of The Thawing came, I could not convey this to my husband, who insisted his ninth weekday would still be put to use training recruits.

“Spend the morning with me,”

I pleaded, lying alongside him in our bed.

“Edith, I want these young men to be ready—”

“What is one hour? Can Perch not lead them?”

He sighed.

“You are hard to resist.

What do you want from me? My hands, my—”

I covered his mouth with mine.

“I want you to take me up to the watchtower.

I want to walk along the bluff rock with you again.

Like we did after The Rush of Flowers.”

Alric gave contemplative hmm.

“And why is that?”

Because you showed me that view and made me feel something good when I felt alone and despondent, I said in my head.

“A woman has her reasons,”

I said, cryptically, kissing him again.

“I struggle to tell you no,”

he groused, leaving the bed, pulling on his breeches and leaving our room to knock on Perch’s door.

He took me up the same watchtower, nodding at the guards on the landings.

We stepped out onto the bluff rock, not wearing cloaks for the first time in three moons.

Alric placed his hand on my lower back, guiding me to the pathway from watchtower to watchtower.

Sister Sea spread out before us on our right, churning with foam and life, a hint of rose and gold on her surface as the sun flirted with the sky.

Gulls screeched as they glided over the five drake rocks.

A few fishing boats dotted the sea, taking advantage of the extra day of rest leaving most other fisherman at home, their hauls that day more plentiful.

Fathoming the briefness of my remaining life and not caring if it was too demonstrative for him, if watchtower guards could see us from their windows, I put my arm around his waist and leaned into him.

“Thank you,”

I said into his shoulder.

“This is what I wanted.”

He put the hand on my lower back around my own shoulder.

“You are sentimental this morning.

Are your courses due?”

“Alric, you cannot ask a woman that.”

“But you yourself have blamed being maudlin on your courses.”

“I am permitted that.

You are not.”

“You have many rules, wife.”

“And the first is thinking before we speak.”

“I cannot think of what to say if my mind is preoccupied with how the breeze drapes your skirts over your thighs.”

I laughed.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I loved him.

“It will be a warm day,”

he said quietly.

“Tomorrow too.

Truly weather for The Thawing.”

“And the sea looks so beautiful in preparation for her holiday,”

I said, waving my hand out over the view along the bluffs.

“I have spent far too many days of late on that courtyard,”

he said, turning his head down the path.

He was staring at Hinnom’s watchtower, the tallest and broadest of them, sitting on the bluff over that low-walled stone terrace.

“Why have you been in the king’s watchtower courtyard?” I asked.

He stopped our meandering walk and pulled me to his front, arms wrapping around me, drawing me to him.

“There are some days where that is where he likes to hold his war councils.

Even in winter.

He says it keeps us sharp.”

Yet another peculiarity of the Shark King, I thought.

I said, “How does one get up there? I have never seen symbols in the corridors that would lead to his chambers.”

There was a hesitation as if he did not believe he should tell me, but he replied, “There is a door behind the shark throne.

Behind the large jaw.”

I leaned my head back.

“Be careful.

Please.

In Sealmouth.”

“It will be a battle of brevity.

Do not trouble yourself.

Perpatane has a legion of men and we will descend by the thousands.

They may even surrender.”

“Still,”

I implored.

“I need you to promise you will come home to Pikestully.”

“I will come home to you, Edith,”

he murmured against my ear.

But he would not.

I relinquished him to his duties and joined my friends in the baths, looking at each of them, while I cleaned myself.

River was babbling about some fish vendor who had been sued by a tavern for selling them rotted dogfish, telling the story to Quinn as if it was the most interesting thing River had ever heard.

Quinn was watching her soon-to-be wife with such indulgence and love I had to look away.

Catrin, giggling, was relaying to Maureen something complimentary Prince Peregrine had said to her the day before.

Mischa chimed in saying Catrin could make herself princess if she played her cards right.

Maureen was laughing at Catrin’s pretense of offense.

“I do believe,”

said Helena next to me, passing a rose and clove soap to me from a basket on the lip of the bath, “we may find ourselves friends with a queen one day.”

“You think he will marry her?”

I asked so that only my friend could hear.

She nodded.

“I do.

He seems smitten and he could do worse.”

“He could do no better,”

I agreed.

“Mischa told me that she overheard men in Jeremanthy’s office saying the king wanted his brother to betroth himself to some wealthy Sibbereen family’s girl, to secure alliance with them.

Before Perpatane can buy Sibbereen.

But the prince refused.”

Helena cringed.

“I hate that Caleb will march on Sealmouth a week from now.

Or any of these men.

Some of them boys.

This war is a disease and I worry it spreads.”

“I cannot speak of it,”

I said, closing my eyes.

“Edie,”

she said, caution in her voice.

“I need to speak with you.”

Quizzically, I turned to her.

“I have two ears and am right here.”

“In private.

Can we sit on one of the turret’s landings after breaking our fast?”

I said, “Of course.”

“Is that rose and clove?”

Maureen asked, walking through the warm water towards us, bending her knees to stay under the surface.

“It is,”

I said and handed her the soap.

“I feel so bad for her,”

she said to us.

Her head tilted across the baths to where the Lady Vinia and her daughter bathed.

“And why is that?”

yawned Helena, splashing water at the suds on her arms.

“Her mother is such a cold lady,”

answered Maureen.

“And makes her dye her hair.”

“She does what?” I asked.

“She must have some other color in her hair.

Like her brothers have that white streak,”

explained Maureen.

“How do you know this, girl?”

asked Helena, eyes glancing at me.

“We were in the dyer’s.

The lady was berating the dyer because he was out of Opal’s dye.

And you could see a patch on her head where another color grew in.”

Helena and I stared at each other.

I had, in a fit of confession, told her the entirety of Isabeau’s warnings, not just that we should be all leery of Vinia because she used to be courted by my husband.

Helena knew of his sponsorship of Isabeau and the possible parentage of Opal.

I had been keeping my deadly bargain with my goddess to myself and confiding in her about Vinia felt like a recess from all of my secrets.

When Maureen rejoined Catrin and Mischa, Helena turned to me.

“That is not his child.”

“You think she is Halsted’s then? As his sons have that streak in their hair?”

She nodded.

“As does the lord, their father, father of all three children.

That woman has manipulated your husband into forever being connected to her.”

I sighed.

“He believes that girl is his.

Do I tell him?”

Helena lifted her shoulders, eyes wide.

“I advise against it.

For now.

Think on it.”

We dried off and broke our fast together in the dining hall, everyone chatting about what they would do with their day of rest preceding The Thawing.

My mind was awhirl with Helena’s conjecture and the fact that this was my second to last breakfast.

I tried to answer the questions that were directed at me.

No, I did not know what Alric’s family would do for the holiday, but yes, I assumed we would join them.

Helena poured us tin cups of tea and we walked back towards the second level dormitories, waving goodbye to Mischa, Maureen and Catrin who were out to a day of shopping in Pikestully and to River and Quinn, off to spend time with fellow sea staff.

“Alric insists on training these poor boys all day,”

I complained as we strolled towards the stairwell, walking slowly so as to not spill our tea.

“Oh they will be done by lunch,”

Helena said confidently.

“It will only be a half day.”

“And how do you know?”

She smirked and gently butted her hip against mine.

“Because Caleb says that Alric is much easier to negotiate with now that his bed is warm.”

I let out a laugh, an edge of bitterness in it.

“I am happy that you are happy,”

she said as we sat on the second landing.

“And I am about your happiness,”

I said, leaning into her.

I felt her give pause next to me, thinking she was about to say her reason for our private meeting, but she asked me more about how much I thought Peregrine would propose to Catrin.

We discussed this and whether or not I would be ordained as a priestess by The Rush of Flowers, in time to marry Quinn and River.

And then, after hours of our easy intimacy, the intimacy of dearest friends, she came to it.

“Edie, I need to tell you something.

And I worry it will cause you pain.

But you are also the first person I want to tell.”

There was a flip in my stomach.

I knew it without her saying it.

And before I could even have a chance to react, I did not let myself think on it.

I chose to ask, “How far along?”

And I painted celebration on my face.

Her eyes grew wet.

“I think she will arrive in summer.”

“You know it to be a daughter?”

“I think so,”

she said and put her face in her hands.

“It is as it was with Maureen.

I am overwhelmed.

I am happy and fearful and I cannot believe it.”

“Why can you not believe it?”

I asked, placing a hand on her back, grateful she could not see my face or anything it might reveal.

“Because Cyrus and I could not conceive after Maureen—”

“Then why are you fearful?”

“I am old,”

she sighed, lifting her face from her hands.

“It could be a difficult birth.”

“It could be an easy birth as well,”

I countered.

“This is a blessing.

Maureen is going to have a sister.

And Mischa and I —and Catrin and River and Quinn, for that matter— will have a niece.

And don’t call yourself old.

You know we are the same age.

It’s insulting.”

I said the last part with humor.

She turned fully to me.

“You are not upset?”

“You ask this because of all our conversations about barrenness?”

She nodded.

“I know you wanted a child.”

“I also wanted my husband to love me.

Perhaps those two wishes were interlaced.”

“And now you have a husband who does love you,”

she said, eyes searching my face.

I did not want to explore this with her.

I smiled, looking away and I stood.

“The way he looks at you, Edie.

I did not think such a man, of so little emotion, could have such longing in just his eyes.”

I leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Have you told your babe’s father?”

She shook her head.

“I wanted to tell you first. He is—”

she paused to chuckle.

“He is so loud.

The whole second level will hear his reaction.”

“When you do, the man will fall at your feet,”

I predicted.

Helena’s face looked like it would crumple again.

“I have told you of his childhood.”

“You have.”

She wiped a tear from her eye.

“He also lost a wife and their babe in childbirth.

When he was younger.

Fifteen winters ago.

He told me he never wished to remarry until me.

This babe will be as mending to him as she is to me.”

I shook my head.

“Only a woman such as you, kindred, could heal a wound like that.”

Helena smiled.

“We have done it for each other.”

“As well as made love in stairwells.”

She made a sound with her tongue and teeth.

“You will never let that go, will you?”

“I will reference it when we are a hundred.

Thank you for telling me.

Do you need help down the stairs? To the dining hall?”

I reached down to bring her to her feet.

“Too early to be handled so delicately,”

she said.

“I am going to nap instead of eat.”

I walked her to the dormitory, embraced her and walked, almost unseeing, to my door.

Inside, I shut it closed and then stumbled towards the desk, collapsing next to the chair.

I sat on the ground and pulled my knees to my chest.

“Not her,”

I said out loud.

“I have had to have that conversation with so many other friends, but not her.

I have but a day and a half left of my life.

I could not be spared that? I could not be relieved of the task of having to smile? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

A torrent poured from me, a rip in my lungs and heart and throat, vomited out in a strangling cry. “Why?”

I cried.

“How can you make me suffer so? I thought you loved me.”

My goddess did not speak.