Jean Lorrah - Empress Unborn

But when she tried to put her husband out of her mind, the confrontation with Pyrrhus replayed itself, unbidden. No wonder the man was so brittle, bitter.

Aradia sat up in bed, her arms about her knees. If all she could do was think negative thoughts, perhaps she should go into her study and read. But she was very tired. She had not slept well recently.

Then she remembered something Nerius had taught her when she was a little girl and couldn’t sleep because she was upset over something she had no control over. “Make plans,” her father had told her.

“Make positive plans to correct something that is wrong. Remember, daughter, there are far more things in this world outside your control than in it-so worry about what you can do something about.”

It had always worked in childhood.

She had no control over Lenardo’s absence. She had no control over Pyrrhus’ burnt-out nerves.

But if she could not restore Pyrrhus’ Reading, perhaps she could do something for the ex-Reader and his loyal Wicket. “We’re in this together,” Wicket had said. What was “this”?

If they had a purpose, Aradia would try to help them achieve it.

If, as so many people did, they had come to Zendi seeking work, a better life, possibly she could hire them. She smiled. Tomorrow she would have to find out what, exactly, the two men could do.

On that positive note, she fell asleep.

And dreamed.

It began as a pleasant dream, one that was becoming familiar now. She saw her baby floating in the womb, as before not an infant but a fully formed young woman. Again the girl spoke serenely without opening her eyes, the same words: “After I am born, I will give you what I owe you.”

Aradia felt warm love for her child, and watched as the girl’s eyes began to open.

But as they did so, Aradia suddenly felt a sense of recognition. She knew this woman, but from long, long ago.

A childhood memory.

It was… her mother!

Fully open now, the eyes glowed with fury. The face was no longer the serene, doll-like face of Aradia’s daughter, but the mad face of her mother, screaming as she had screamed the last time Aradia ever saw her.

“You’re not my child! You’re evil! You stole my powers!”

The face twisted, and the woman suddenly held an upraised dagger, grasping Aradia by the throat with the other hand as she howled, “You stole my powers, witch! But you can’t control them yet-and I will have them back! Die, you sorceress! Die!”

Julia did not sleep well that night. She had restless dreams, but could remember only one, and that only in snatches. She was in a strange country, lost in a tangled woodland where unfamiliar animals snorted and howled.

Somewhere nearby, her father was held captive, but she could not find him. Every time she tried to Read in the direction she was certain he had been taken, her head would fill with pain, and-

— she couldn’t Read!

Julia sat up in bed, sweating and shaking.

She had been carefully taught not to Read in her sleep, and that stricture held her powers inactive just long enough for icy panic to seize her gut as she realized she was awake and not Reading.

Then the cobwebs cleared, her powers returned, and in relief she Read outward from her room to the early-morning streets of Zendi, where a steady rain was falling.

It was cooler than yesterday morning, autumn asserting itself. Julia pulled a long-sleeved dress from her chest. She had grown since the last time she had worn it; it fell well above her ankles when she wrapped a belt around her waist and bloused the top. But then, she had also grown a bosom since it had last been cool in Zendi-well, at least the beginning of a female figure- so it was not unflattering to let the dress hang unbloused, the belt knotted loosely.

Quickly, she braided her hair and wound it neatly at the back of her head, observing without her usual pleasure that the damp air curled the wisps about her face, so that she looked good even when Dilys and Blanche appeared bedraggled.

Julia’s mind was not on vanity this morning, with the single exception of annoyance that the hem of her white dress would get dirty in the wet streets. Once she achieved the rank of Magister, her dress would be edged in black, no longer subject to every hint of grime.

Or if she had Adept power, she could keep her dress spotless, the way Aradia did-but today she could not even maintain that train of thought. She was still feeling sick at the notion of the powers she did have being taken away.

It was earlier than she usually got up, but in Lenardo and Aradia’s household there was always someone in the kitchen, always food ready. Today hot porridge was cooking, and baskets of fruit and wheels of cheese lined the center of the long table.

The household staff had already eaten breakfast. Julia sat down, and Cook served her a bowl of porridge worthy of an Adept. “You didn’t eat much supper last night, lass. That’ll warm you up,” she said, pouring milk over the cereal. “You want some fruit cut up on it?”

“No, thank you, Cook,” Julia replied. “I don’t think I can eat all of this. Could I please have some tea?”

“Of course, lass,” said the motherly woman who had run Lenardos kitchen since he had first come to Zendi. When she set the steaming mug in front of Julia, she paused to feel the girl’s forehead, asking, “Still not feeling up to the mark this morning, young mistress?”

Julia couldn’t help but smile at Cook’s assuming she could discover the state of Julia’s health by touching her brow, when the girl’s environment swarmed with Readers capable of studying her down to her individual cells.

But she understood that the woman was truly concerned, so she reassured her, “I am not ill, Cook. There are just… things on my mind.”

She sipped her tea, knowing Cook was bound to ask what those things were-anything that prevented her charges from appreciating her cooking was something she felt impelled to investigate.

Julia was saved from trying to explain by the appearance of Aradia. “My Lady!” Cook exclaimed. “Why are you up so early? You need rest, for the health of the babe you carry.”

Aradia shook her head. “The baby is fine, and so am I. There are simply things I must do today. Julia, I will need your help.”

Aradia did not ask why Julia was up before her; she obviously knew what was preying on both their minds. “I’ll warrant Master Clement didn’t sleep much either,” Julia commented, drawing a wan smile from Aradia.

Aradia looked pregnant this morning. It was not just that her figure had reached the stage at which even loose, flowing robes could not conceal her condition. Today she was paler than usual, and lack of sleep had put circles under her eyes and given a puffy look to her face.

“Julia,” Aradia began, “I can see that you are also disturbed by what we learned yesterday-what Portia did to Pyrrhus. ‘

“Yes,” Julia replied. “It gave me nightmares,” she admitted.

“I don’t wonder,” Aradia agreed. “I had some, too. But it does Pyrrhus no good for us to suffer bad dreams. And I am certain he would not welcome our pity.”

“That’s why he never told Wicket,” Julia realized.

“Or anyone else, until he decided to use his condition as a weapon to hurt Master Clement.”

Julia nodded. “That was mean. But I can see why Pyrrhus blames Master Clement, too-if he can’t Read, how can he know that Master Clement really didn’t know what Portia was doing?”

Aradia nodded. “We have established that we cannot restore Pyrrhus’ Reading,” she said. “It does no one any good to feel guilty-especially you and I, who had no hand in what happened to him.”