DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

“I don’t think he’s dead,” she answered, looking off to the side. “To be honest, I don’t know where he is. We had… a fight, before I knew about the baby, and he left.”

“Does he know about the baby now?”

This conversation had gone on long enough. “That’s not any-”

“If he doesn’t know, you should tell him. It might end your fight.”

Cresenne’s head was beginning to hurt. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. I need to eat . The baby kicked again, as if agreeing with her.

“Are you all right?” Kavi asked.

“Yes.” The gleaner opened her eyes and made herself smile. “I’m sorry about your Determining, Kavi. I shouldn’t have-” She stopped herself. Most children had no idea that a gleaner could make images appear in the stone. They assumed that like a Fating, a Determining came only from the stone and the god, as this one had. “I wish it had shown something different.”

Kavi shrugged. “That’s all right. Maybe you’re right: maybe it was the king or someone else.”

“Maybe. I hope so.”

She waited for the girl to stand and leave, but Kavi just sat there.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Cresenne said, “but I have more gleanings to do this morning.”

She nodded, but still she didn’t move. “I’m sorry for what I said about your baby,” she said at last, her hands twisting together in her lap. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“I know,” Cresenne said quietly. “I didn’t think you were.”

“But you think my mother is mean.”

“I don’t know your mother.”

“She’s not,” the girl said, her voice rising. “She’s not mean and she’s not a liar!”

Cresenne felt her anger returning and she almost responded with the first words that came to her mind. But once again her baby moved within her, and the gleaner realized that she would want her child to defend her just as passionately.

“Your mother must be a good woman,” she said instead, choosing her words with care, “if she can raise a daughter like you who loves her so much.”

Kavi eyed her suspiciously. “She is a good woman.”

Cresenne allowed herself a small grin. “I’m willing to say that I was wrong about her before, if you’ll admit that she was wrong about Qirsi babies.”

The girl smiled. “All right.”

“Now go. There are other children waiting.”

“Thank you, gleaner.”

For what? Insulting your mother or revealing your dire fate four years too early ? “You’re welcome.”

The child stood and walked to the tent entrance. Cresenne closed her eyes again, resting her head in her hands.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?”

She looked up. Kavi was still there, watching her from the tent opening.

“I’m just hungry. I’ll be fine.”

“Want me to get you some food?”

“No, thank you. I’ll eat later.”

“I don’t mind.”

Cresenne hesitated. It would be hours before she would be able to leave the tent, and the pain in her head was growing worse, settling at the base of her skull.

“Really?”

“Sure. What do you want?”

The gleaner dug into her pocket and pulled out two silvers.

“Anything you can find. There’s a Sanbiri woman on the west end of the commons who sells spiced breads and dried fruit. That would be perfect.”

Kavi took the money, seeming pleased to be able to do something for her, though Cresenne couldn’t imagine why.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Thank you,” the gleaner said, watching her leave.

She put her hands on her stomach, but the baby had grown still again, one of its feet pressed against the center of Cresenne’s stomach.

As she had so many times in the past few turns, the gleaner found herself thinking of her mother and the time they spent alone together after Cresenne’s father died, traveling with Wethyrn’s Crown Fair. There had been one night in particular when, after a performance in Strempfar, her mother offered to let her join the rest of the Qirsi gleaners and performers when they went to a tavern. Cresenne had just turned fifteen, and was reluctant to go anywhere with her mother, but tempted nonetheless by the thought of spending time with the older Qirsi.

“I suppose I could go with you for a little while,” Cresenne told her, trying her best to mask her eagerness.

“Oh, I won’t be going,” her mother said. “I’m tired tonight. You go and tell me about it in the morning.”

Only later, when she was older and her mother long dead, did Cresenne understand that her mother hadn’t really been tired at all. She had merely known her daughter well enough to see that Cresenne would enjoy the experience more if she was alone.

Her mother, it seemed, always knew exactly how to take care of her. It didn’t matter that her husband was dead, or that they had little money. She just knew.

“And I just told a twelve-year-old girl that she’s going to be a widow before her third child is born.”

She felt panic rising in her chest like a cresting river. What did she know about caring for a baby? What did she know about children at all? Aside from these gleanings she did every day, she never spoke to them. She didn’t know how they thought, or what they feared, or when it was time to treat them as adults rather than children. She wasn’t even certain what to feed her baby once it was weaned.

“I’m going to be a mother in less than two turns,” she said softly, gazing into the glowing stone. “I’m not ready.”

She could almost hear her mother’s reply, you have to be .

She took a long breath and looked down at her body, smiling at the changes she saw. Not only her belly. Her breasts had grown large and firm, so she knew the child wouldn’t starve. And even in the midst of her fear, she could feel as well that she already loved this child. Perhaps for now, until she found Grinsa, that would be enough.

At least I’ve found a name , she thought. Kaveri .

She stood, stretching her back and legs before walking to the tent opening. The other children were waiting, and she couldn’t look for the baby’s father until these gleanings were done.

Peering out from the tent, she saw that the line had grown longer since she started the gleanings. There must have been thirty children waiting now, some of them twelve, others sixteen. So many faces, so many expressions, so many shades of fear and wonder and excitement. Had their mothers been as frightened as she was?

“Is it my turn?” the girl at the head of the line asked.

Cresenne nodded. “What’s your name?” she asked, as the child stepped past her into the tent.

“I’m Sunya Kilvatte.”

The gleaner smiled, following the girl to the stone. Sunya. That was a pretty name, too.

Solkara, Aneira

Castle Solkara stood on a small rise of the southern bank of the Kett River, just downstream from Bertand’s Falls, a broad cascade that roared in the shadows of the Aneiran forest. The great red towers of the castle, bathed in the golden sun of late day, loomed above even the tallest oaks and elms of the wood. Banners, one of them red, black, and gold for House Solkara, and the other bearing the yellow and red sigil of the Kingdom of Aneira, flew from the towers above the east and west gates.

The city of Solkara sprawled on either side of the fortress, its formidable walls following the slow curve of the river and arcing back toward the forest to the south. Soldiers stood on the walls and in the towers that watched over each gate.

Sitting atop his mount just to the south and west of the city, Brail could not help but admire the scene. Solkara might not possess the land’s most beautiful castle-that distinction belonged to Bertin’s home in Noltierre, or perhaps the castle in Tounstrel. But there could be no denying that the fortress standing before him befitted a king.