Cast In Courtlight. Michelle Sagara
she let him do it. As if he were Teela or Tain.
She led now, and he followed; he probably knew the entire city by heart, but the only roads he usually traveled were those ruled by Nightshade. She wanted to ask him how often he left the fief, but she couldn’t spare breath.
Wasn’t certain he would answer if she could.
The streets were now lined with stalls; there were men and women beneath the low glow of torches and the high lamps that decorated the skyscape; they would work all night, and well into morning, decorating, carving, nailing or sewing as the Festival season required. This was their best chance to make money for the year, and if sleep suffered, it suffered.
They noticed her as she ran past, but that was probably because of Andellen. He didn’t wear a uniform. He wasn’t a Hawk. And a smart person didn’t get in the way of a running Barrani.
She made it past her apartment, turned the corner, skidded and fell; she rolled to her feet, cursing like a Leontine—and in Leontine—and kept going. Five minutes passed like a lifetime. And it wasn’t her life.
And then, two rights, one short left, and three small buildings, and she was there. A lamp was hanging by the side of the door, the dark, glowing blue of the midwives’ beacon. She leaped up the three warped steps and pushed the door open; it wasn’t locked.
Marya was waiting for her. Her eyes were dark, and her face was that kind of pale that speaks of whole days without sleep. “Kaylin! She’s in the—” Her dark eyes rounded when she saw what followed Kaylin in.
“Marya,” Kaylin said, half shouting as she grabbed the midwife’s hands before they picked up the nearest candlestick, “he’s with me. I don’t have time to explain. He won’t touch anything. He means no harm.” She could not force herself to add, trust him.
Before Marya could answer, a thin, attenuated cry carried the distance of still room and closed door. A younger woman, fingers clutching the frame of the door for support, appeared as the door swung open and slapped the wall. “Marya—she’s started to bleed—”
“Kaylin’s here,” Marya said, her voice pitched low, but pitched to carry. “Kaylin’s here now.”
And Kaylin pushed past the poor girl and into the bedroom. “Get water!” she shouted as she ran to the bed. “Drinking water!”
But Marya was already in motion, a comfortable, busy blur. Marya had worked with Kaylin before; she would know what was needed, and when.
Kaylin took the hand of the woman whose eyes were beginning their slow slide into shock. She pressed her free hand up and against the stretched, hard curve of belly and winced as the body told its story.
Late. She was late. She could feel the rupture.
She looked up and met the eyes of a young man that she didn’t recognize; he was so white he was almost green. “Get out,” she told him. He shook his head, mute, his defiance the product of fear.
“Marya—”
“Gerrold, come away,” the midwife said, her voice above Kaylin’s back. “Now. Your wife needs her privacy.” “But she—”
“Now.” A mother’s tone. With just the edge of anger in it—and at that, the right kind of anger. Pity, compassion, or fear would have watered the command down so badly it wouldn’t have worked—but Marya had confidence in Kaylin.
And the poor man? He had nothing. He tried to stand. Stumbled. Kaylin wondered if he was going to pass out. Better if he did.
Without another word, she drew her knife. It wasn’t clean, but it would have to do. She heard a stifled scream from a long, long distance away; heard Marya’s angry words attempt to drown it out.
And then she gave herself over to the sound of two beating hearts; one labored and slow, the other so fast and soft it could barely be heard at all.
Two hours later, she was finished.
Marya caught her hands, and forcibly broke all contact with the young woman who sat in the bed. Kaylin could hear the sounds of infant cries; could see the bundled—and cleaned—baby resting in its mother’s arms. The wound— what there was left of it—was new and raw, but it wasn’t bleeding.
“The—the father?”
“He’s there, in the chair,” Marya said in the soothing voice reserved for the injured. “He was a bit upset about the knife, dear,” she added. “We had to restrain him.” She paused, and then added, “Your man was most helpful, there.”
“My man?” Kaylin shook her head. “Who—” She turned her head sideways, which was much more effort than she would have liked, and saw Andellen. “He’s not my—he didn’t hurt him, did he?”
Marya shook her head. “Not much, at any rate. I think he’ll have a bruised jaw, but dear, he simply wasn’t listening.”
Kaylin could imagine. Blood had that effect on most people. She tried to say as much, and Marya took the opportunity to trickle water into her mouth. “It’s not for me—”
“You should see your mouth.” There was no point in arguing with Marya. “I’ve made sure she drinks,” Marya added.
“Tell her—”
“Later, dear. There will be a later, thanks to you.” She paused, and added, “It’s a girl.”
“Oh. Good.” There wasn’t much else one could say to something like that.
Kaylin tried to rise, and her knees locked.
“There’s a chair for you, if you need it. I sent Darlene home. She was … a little upset herself.”
“Did she see the baby?”
Marya nodded, the smile never leaving her face. It was a slight smile, and framed by etched lines, but it was like bedrock. You could stand on a smile like that.
“She’ll know better next time,” Marya added quietly. “This is only her third birthing. She’s never been at a birthing when we’ve had to call you before, but she’s a smart girl, a solid apprentice. She’ll learn.”
Kaylin forced herself to stand. “Gods willing,” she said, keeping her tone polite and professional, “she’ll never have to see it again.”
“Aye, gods,” Marya said with a shrug. She turned her attention to the mother, and then frowned at the poor young man in the distant chair, his dark hair splayed flat against his forehead, his skin still winter-white, except where it was purple. “I forget what it’s like, with the first babe. Gerrold, come help with your wife. She needs to drink a lot of water, and she’s likely to be a bit weak. You’ve saved any money, make sure she gets meat, and not that terrible stuff the merchants are pawning off on foreigners either, understand?”
He nodded. Kaylin highly doubted that he’d heard anything more than his name. She made her way toward the chair that Marya had produced, but before she could sit, Andellen was there, all six feet of him.
His armor looked damn odd in the very small room.
“Kaylin Neya,” he said quietly, “it is time that we returned.”
She nodded. But she couldn’t quite stand.
“Leave her be,” Marya said, her voice a slap.
“You serve your master,” the Barrani replied, “and I, mine.” But his words were shorn of contempt, and if they weren’t respectful, the lack of contempt said something. What, exactly, Kaylin was a bit too tired to figure out. Later.
“She doesn’t have a master,” Kaylin told him.
“What did he say, dear?”
Kaylin shook her head. “It’s Barrani.”
“I recognize the language.” Marya was