Gail Martin - The Sworn

Kiara stroked Cwynn’s dusky fingertips. “You carry the blood of three kingdoms, little one,” Kiara murmured. “Are you heir to your father’s magic? How can so many fates rest on one small child?”

She nestled him closer, rocking him gently, watching his chest rise and fall. In the shadows along the wall, she could see the dim glow of two of the palace’s ghosts. Ula was a long-dead nursemaid to the children of one of Margolan’s former kings. She had never left Shekerishet, even after her death, and she continued to look after generations of new princes and princesses. Tris had told her that he remembered Ula’s ghost standing over his bed when he was a boy, and the soft sound of her humming, something only he could hear.

Seanna had been handmaid to Margolan’s queens for over two hundred years. Seanna had welcomed Kiara and been a ghostly companion, making Kiara’s transition to a new home in a new kingdom less lonely. Kiara was glad for the company, and she found the ghost’s presence comforting.

The door opened, and this time, it was Tris who entered. “You finally got him to sleep?” Tris whispered.

Kiara nodded, and Tris came closer, careful to move without noise. He looked down at Cwynn, and then at Kiara.

“Can you put him down and get some sleep? Have one of the servants hold him. Lady knows, none of us have slept much these past nights!”

Kiara sighed. “I know. But I’ve just gotten him quiet.” She watched Tris and frowned. “There’s something on your mind.”

Tris withdrew a packet from his doublet and handed it to her, untying the ribbon that bound it so Kiara could read the letter inside. “This arrived by messenger today from your father.”

Kiara caught her breath, and then froze as Cwynn stretched in her arms at her sudden movement. “Is he all right?”

Tris shrugged. “I didn’t read it.”

Kiara’s gaze scanned the familiar handwriting. King Donelan of Isencroft wrote with a bold stroke, pressing firmly enough that his quill sometimes punctured the parchment.

Kiara, my dear-

By the time this reaches you, your young prince will have been born. I pray to the Lady that both you and he are in good health. Please, take care. My seer has read mixed omens, and I don’t know what to make of her portents. I asked her to read the runes for the child’s fortune, and the runes refused to speak. I know little of magic, but I have never had the bones be silent. I hope that Tris with his magic will be better able to discern these meanings.

Don’t dwell overmuch on the signs and omens. Celebrate the coming of your first child. I know you’ve had a difficult pregnancy during extraordinarily difficult times. Much the same was your mother’s fate, but she rejoiced in your birth and loved you from the first time she laid eyes on you, as did I. I trust that soon you’ll have one of the court artists make a sketch you can send to me, so that I can see the boy for myself.

Your letter asked me to give you news of Isencroft and not hold back on account of your condition. I know my daughter, and fear if I were to do otherwise, you might arrive on horseback despite the birth, so I’ll be candid.

I don’t remember a time so bleak as these days. This year’s harvest was only marginally better than the last. More people will be hungry, and with the hardship Margolan is enduring, I know Tris has no surplus grain to send this year. I had implored Staden in Principality and Kalcen in Eastmark to send grain if they had any to spare, but they may not send wagons until the plague in Margolan has run its course.

The Divisionists have scattered, but we haven’t completely broken them, and grumblings about food and plague make fertile ground for unrest. I received a vayash moru messenger from Dark Haven a few weeks ago from Cam. He is on his way back to Aberponte via Brunnfen. Cam intended to see to the lands now that they fall to him, and to find out more about Alvior’s treachery. If it is true that Alvior left in a great ship across the Northern Sea, I also fear that we have not seen the last of him. Whether it’s the regent magic or just an old man’s intuition, I believe we’ll see war ere long. My dreams are dark.

Tice and Allestyr are well, and I keep them busy handling my affairs and running the castle. I’m well-recovered from my sickness of last year, and the hunt was good this year. We hunted more than usual to cull the herd. One bright spot is that we won’t lack for venison.

I’m anxious for Cam to return to Isencroft. I value his counsel and rest easier knowing that he’s at my back. I console myself with the thought that Isencroft has endured dark days before, and that we are a resilient people. I hear of Margolan’s troubles, and I grieve that you and Tris have come to your throne in such turbulent times.

Plague has not yet taken hold in Isencroft, but such things are just a matter of time. We can’t possibly police the entire border, and refugees fleeing Margolan are sure to bring the sickness with them sooner or later. We’re preparing as best we can.

I trust that you’ve heard from Carina, so I won’t repeat her letter at length except to say that she’s well and quite ready for her twins to be born.

I pray for Chenne’s favor on your child, and know that he’ll make a fine king someday. Please give my greeting to Tris, and encourage him. The weight of the crown is great.

I miss you. Send word when you can, and remember Isencroft in your offerings to the Lady.

With love

Kiara sighed and set the letter aside.

“Bad news?” Tris asked, coming back to her side from the window.

“Nothing more than the usual, but that’s enough.” She stroked Cwynn’s wispy hair and the baby stirred contentedly at her touch. “Some things I knew from Carina’s last letter, about Cam being recovered enough to travel, and that she’s feeling well despite the twins. But Father was honest in his other news, and it’s not good.” She handed the letter to Tris and was silent as he read it.

“Your father is one of the shrewdest kings in the history of the Winter Kingdoms,” Tris said when he had finished the letter. “If anyone can guide Isencroft through stormy times, it’s Donelan.”

Kiara nodded. “Maybe I just have a better idea now what the crown really means. When Father was sick, I ruled from behind the throne for months, with Tice and Allestyr to help. That was hard enough, but now that I’m queen in fact as well as function, I understand even more why Father often seemed distracted, and why he took to the hunt so hardily when he was free from his duties.”

Tris leaned down to kiss her head. “These times will pass. You’ll see. They’ll be just a bad memory by the time it’s Cwynn’s time to rule.”

Kiara turned away. “If it ever is.” She paused, and looked down at the sleeping baby. “He looks so perfect, but there are times when he wakes in a terror, eyes wide and screaming, as if he’s seen horrors. He won’t be comforted when that happens, no matter who holds him or what we do. When the fit takes him, he screams for candlemarks. Thank goodness for the servants!”

“Perhaps it’s poor digestion. If the healers can’t give you an answer, ask the cooks and the serving girls. They’ve got babes of their own and they must have ways to quiet them.”

Kiara looked toward the empty fireplace as if she might see an answer in its depths. “Perhaps. But I think there’s more to it than his digestion. Ula and Seanna can quiet him when no one else can reach him. He watches Ula as if he can hear her, and I swear he can feel Seanna’s touch, although she isn’t solid enough to hold him. Could he have your power so early?”

Tris shrugged. “I don’t sense power in him at all. Not that I’d expect to-he’s far too young. But when I touch him with my magic, he feels different somehow. It’s not what I feel from people without magic, or what I sense in other mages. It’s as if he’s blank to me. And I’ve set wardings around these rooms. If any ghosts or dimonns tried to enter, I’d know. Perhaps you’re seeing more in his tempers than what’s there.”