Terry Simpson - The Shadowbearer

The house smelled of bellflowers and spices, and sure enough, around the room on short pillars were vases filled with the blue and yellow blooms. Candles, smoke rising from them in lazy wisps that carried the nose tickling scent of the spices, burned in small holders on the three long tables set to either side of the room’s center. Servants hurried to the tables upon which sat various appetizers, from fruits to breads to meats.

As Stefan and Perta made their way across the room to the wide marble steps, several attendants came to offer Stefan fruit or small pastries of rolled meat. The mouthwatering aromas brought a grumble to his stomach. Hunger denied his temptation to shoo them away. Soon he was gulping down food while washing it down with his wife’s kinai wine. Whatever Thania had planned, she intended to have his attention held until she was ready. My dear wife, what are you up to now?

The last time Thania had gone to this extent, she’d thought she was with child. When she found out she wasn’t, she’d been devastated. Stefan’s shoulders slumped with the thought. With the threat of another campaign in the way, he wondered if they would ever get to experience the joys of parenthood. At eighty, his chances were rapidly dwindling. Although she kept her age a closely guarded secret, Thania was much older by far, but she had the advantage of being a powerful Ashishin on her side, while he was only a Dagodin.

They reached the landing, followed the balustrade to the right, and entered an alcove with a staircase to the uppermost floors. Two flights up, they exited and strode down a short lamp lined hall to the main bedroom. Perta knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Stefan’s heart sped up at the sound of Thania’s melodious voice.

Perta entered, and Stefan frowned at a noise much like a child’s laughter.

A moment later, the steward announced, “The lord is here, my lady.”

The urge to push open the doors almost overwhelmed him, but Stefan decided to let his wife have her fun. She’d gone to extreme lengths to prepare for his homecoming. The last thing he wished to do was ruin her surprise. One boot tapping on the rug, he waited.

The giggling reached him again, but this time a child did appear, peeking out from the door. Hair midnight black, green eyes twinkling, something about the child seemed disturbingly familiar. Stefan growled under his breath. Now he knew why the whole delay. Thania had once again taken in one of the servant’s children. H ad one of them died like last time? He shook his head. When last this occurred, his wife had become irrationally attached to the baby. When the child’s family arrived to claim him from Southern Felan almost a year later, it had taken months for her to recover from her sorrow.

“My lady says you may enter, sir,” Perta said from where he stood holding the door open.

Stefan stepped inside, his heart suddenly racing at the prospect of seeing his wife after so many years away. The door closed behind him, and it was only himself, Perta, the tiny boy who couldn’t be more than three and …. Was that another child sitting at a small table playing with a doll eyeing him curiously? Stefan’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. What, in Ilumni’s name, is going on?

Rather than question Perta again, Stefan studied the room. Similar to the rest of his home, his wife had kept the room as he remembered: the wide bed, the paintings on the walls and the lamps in their sconces. The familiar rug under his feet showed some battle between the gods. A bundle wrapped in an oiled cloth sat on a table near the door to the sitting room. A pinging noise made him look down. A smile on his face, the boy was knocking on his armor.

Smiling in return, Stefan peered around the room and called out, “Thania? Love?”

The door to the adjoining sitting room opened, light pooling in to match that from the glass lamps adorning the room’s walls. In glided Thania, radiant as ever, her hair falling in velvet waves down past the mounds of her tanned bosom and the deep V-neck of her layered silk dress with its many ruffles. Between her ample cleavage rested the twin to his pendant. To add to her appearance, she’d made up her face with powders and paints the way he liked. Upon her entry, Stefan’s pendant bloomed with warmth. Thania did not appear an hour past twenty-five naming days. She was perfect. Blue always looked best on her.

“My love,” she said, all sweet innocence, a smile that would brighten the dreariest day lighting up her face.

The thoughts of the King, the children, and all else fled Stefan’s mind. In several brisk steps, he strode to her and swept her from her feet. She smelled of saffron and bellflowers. He gazed into the golden pools of her eyes and kissed her deeply. Soft lips, so soft, like spun silk, greeted his chapped monstrosities. He couldn’t tell how long the kiss lasted but it felt like forever as her tongue played against his own and on his lips, moistening them. When he let her go for a moment to stare into her eyes, they were both breathless.

The pinging noise came again, and Stefan glanced down. The boy stood there knocking on his armor. Next to him was the girl.

Innocent eyes peered back up at him then over to Thania. “Mommy, who is this?”

The familiarity struck Stefan then, and he gasped, releasing his wife. Except for the green eyes, the child, no, both children were splitting images of her.

“Yes,” Thania said. “They are my … no, correction, they are our children. Stefan, this is your son, Anton and your daughter Celina.”

Stefan promptly sat on the floor, armor and all.

“How?” Stefan stared dumbly. “How can I have children when I wasn’t here for three years?”

A cough came from Perta’s direction. “My lord, my lady … if it is not too much, I beg your leave.”

“Yes, you may go,” Thania said.

The two infants were clutching her dress. As doubtful as he felt, Stefan could see some of him in them, and they certainly had his eyes.

“As to how,” Thania said, “The last night before you left …”

Stefan remembered well. Passionate did not quite begin to describe their lovemaking. Raunchy, salacious, maybe lecherous would be a better word. He flushed. Not once that night did he attempt to hold back.

“Twins,” he whispered. He rolled the word around on his tongue. “Praise Ilumni.” A sudden outpouring of love almost overwhelmed him. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he allowed the sobs to come. “Thank you, Ilumni. In your light I walk.” Then he began to laugh, low in his throat at first until he bellowed with joy and thumped the floor where he sat.

“Go to your father, children,” Thania said.

Stefan held out his hands, but neither Anton nor Celina moved. They both still held fast to their mother’s dress, eyes wide and bewildered. A stab of pain built in his chest. If only he’d been there for them since their birth. If only he’d been there to see them born.

A rustle of movement from Thania made him look up at her. She was clutching the charm, and her eyes narrowed for a moment. Stefan knew she was Materforging.

A moment later, an image sprang to life next to her. Standing a foot taller than her, lean and broad-shouldered, dressed in the crisp uniform of a newly promoted Knight, it was Stefan’s exact likeness of the pendant down to his dark green eyes. His hair was a little longer and his face had the vigor of youth, but it was him all the same.

The children giggled and as one said, “Da.” Their gazes went from the image to Stefan, their eyes twinkled, and the next moment they were leaping into his arms. The image winked out.

Tears streamed down Stefan’s cheeks. Before he could stop, he was openly sobbing with joy. He hugged his children tighter, reveling in their smell and warmth.