David Weber - The Road to Hell

The doctor walked through the door, which was immediately-and firmly-shut behind her, and took one long look at the Crown Princess.

“I should’ve known that palace staff wouldn’t go out of their way to help a random visitor find a lady’s restroom.” She looked plaintively around. “I do really need to go.”

“Of course, Doctor.” Andrin bit down a demand that the woman tell her first what her Talent showed and pointed at the carved screens that shielded a line of necessities.

The Grand Palace did do luxury remarkably well. The Order of Bergahl had maintained that aspect of it in their centuries long stewardship. A small fountain in the waiting area filled and drained hand pools, offering easy wash-ups and a soft splashing that also covered any undignified noises those using the necessities might need to make. After what seemed like an eternity, Doctor Morlinhus reemerged and set to washing her hands thoroughly.

“I’m sorry to rush you, Doctor,” Andrin said, “but we’ve only got a few moments before this meeting starts to look suspicious. I believe my mother explained that she needed you to give me an exam.”

“She said a woman in need. She did not say the Crown Princess and Heir to the Throne of Sharona carrying the next Heir to the Throne of Sharona.”

“Really? I’m pregnant?!”

“Of course you’re pregnant.” Doctor Morlinhus shook her head. “Everything feels fine. Just one mind in there though. I hope you don’t expect me to try to make it two or change the gender for you. No one can do that.”

“Oh no. Of course not! But can you tell what I’m having?”

“Too early. In another month maybe, depending on the growth between now and then. And even then I might get it wrong.” Doctor Morlinhus gave her a sharp look. “I expect the Empress will be arranging a reason for me to come back regularly?”

“I expect.” Andrin agreed softly.

“Yes, dear,” Doctor Morlinhus softened. “You’ll do fine, Your Highness. It’s just hard work expecting. Don’t wear yourself out too much pretending not to be.”

Andrin crushed the woman in a hug.

“My Talent only covers so much. All I can do is listen to how the little ones are feeling and measure how developed their minds feel. Do try to maintain a healthy level of exercise and keep away from sick people. I can only See how things are going, not what will happen if you do foolish things. Make sure to eat a good quantity of fish. It’s poor people’s food here, but it’s good for you. Lots of vegetables too. I’ll give your mother a list if she doesn’t have one already.”

“Of course. Thank you, Doctor!”

Lady Merissa knocked once on the door, and Andrin left with her, in a hurry to get back to the council chambers before anyone realized she’d just had a prenatal consultation with one of the universe’s most Talented doctors. Lady Merissa had to remind her to slow to a calm walk lest she return out of breath.

* * *

That night Andrin dreamed of waddling.

In the fuzziness, she couldn’t see her feet. Then the dream took on crystalline, almost Glimpse-like clarity and she saw a great mound of belly hid her feet from view unless she stuck them straight out. She wiggled the tips of her toes at herself. They were clean, scrubbed and painted in delicate pastels to match the baby’s sleeping room. The playroom, she was suddenly certain, had a much bolder more vibrant paint scheme, inspired by the lush plant life and bright ocean colors of Eniath, for all that the room was here in Tajvana.

A dark shadow blocked the sunlight streaming through the window. Glass shattered and knives struck her even as she turned to shield the precious bump with her back and spine. The movement was too slow with heavy weight wrapping her body in an aching layer of sustenance for her child, and hideous scarlet splashed the sundrenched playroom.

The dream reset. She’d moved the baby’s chambers to an inner suite. No windows this time, for better security. Attacks still happened, as she’d expected, but the Guard stopped each of them before they could reach the nursery or her. She rested easily with the large tummy. No elaborate painting on the toes this time, but she still wiggled them back at herself.

She sat down to a breakfast tray delivered by Lady Merissa. Some berries Andrin didn’t yet recognize filled half the tray. Somehow she knew they’d quickly become her favorite food, during her pregnancy-she’d want them day and night for their mix of tartness and sweet lusciousness-for all that they were seasonal and increasingly difficult to procure.

Fast work with the spoon emptied the entire bowl. She only barely noticed the off flavor at the end. Then the cramps came sharp and hard. Blood splatter coated the hands she tried to use to hold the bleeding back and stop the too early, far too early birth. She vomited bile mixed with breakfast, but too late. Vomit and blood clogged her senses as she lay weeping on the matted child’s rug.

The dream reset a dozen more times. Until finally she gave it all up for utter secrecy. No suite prepared, no special food requests. She vomited, normal healthy vomit, multiple times a day and hid it. Lady Merissa increased her makeup to hide the sallow tinge to her face. Her middle sister, Razial, pretended a renewed love of sweet jams and included the favorite berries in the mix. But the jar was tested carefully and measured out a bit at a time in no more than the consumption rate a boisterous young princess could reasonably manage. Andrin bore the pregnancy in deepest stealth. She had to keep this child alive.

And still she failed. Again and again, she failed.

She rose from the depths of sleep, weeping, and her tears stirred Howan Fai awake beside her. She hadn’t wanted to do that, but she clung to the strong, loving comfort of his embrace as she poured out the horrible dreams. And not simply because she needed his comfort. These weren’t Glimpses; she knew what they looked like entirely too well, and only Death Glimpses revealed the fate of the person to whom they came. She did die in some of the nightmares, but in most, she survived to grieve bitterly over the yawning ache of her murdered babe. Yet they were more than simple nightmares induced by anxiety: she was equally sure of that. She dared not trust the details of the fast changing dreams to paper, yet she needed to be sure they were remembered properly in the morning, and so she poured out her nightmares to him in a bare whisper while he held her sobbing body.

“It will not happen, my love,” he told her sternly, kissing her earlobe while he stroked sweat and tear-soaked hair from her forehead. “Upon my life, it will not happen! We will keep our child safe and your pregnancy secret. Chava and his accursed agents will learn of it only when our babe is born!”

Andrin nodded against his shoulder, limp with emotion, wrapping his love and his promise about her like another blanket. The Caliraths had already given up one heir to the throne, willingly and at great cost, she thought. But she and Howan Fai would see that this child reached Janaki’s years.

“We can keep the secret for a while without too much trouble, I think,” she said after a moment. “If we’re careful, it’ll be at least two months, maybe three, before anyone’s going to notice anything just looking at me. But you know Chava’s watching like a hawk for any sign of something like this, and I’ll still have to attend state dinners. Won’t he start to wonder if I suddenly stop drinking the wines at them?”

“No doubt you’re right about that viper,” Howan Fai agreed grimly. “But I think the solution to this problem is near at hand, Sister of White Fire. We will get you a Taster. Your father has Kallen, and as rare as Precogs are, Tasters are among the more common. They only need to Know food and drink with a Precog range of a few minutes, and you are the heir. We should already have assigned one specifically to you, too, and no one will be surprised if we correct that oversight. The Taster can switch any wine for juice of the right color, and with enough care we’ll be able to keep the news from leaking that way.”