Bertrice Small - The Twilight Lord

I do not know, my child. But given your bloodlines I would expect that he will have some magic about him.

Poor Magnus. Lara giggled softly, and Ethne chuckled again.

As her belly swelled Lara drew closer to her children. Dillon was shooting up into a giant of a boy. He was his father’s image and gave evidence that he would one day be as tall as Vartan had been. He longed to leave Terah and attend the school of the Shadow Princes. Even without training his powers were growing. Lara found him in her private chamber one evening playing Herder with her half brother, the faerie prince, Cirillo.

“How did he get here?” she demanded to know.

Both boys looked nervously at her.

“Do you want me to speak to Mother?” she asked Cirillo who paled.

“I brought him,” Dillon said quickly. “It’s an easy spell, Mother.”

“You are not to cast it again,” Lara said sternly. “If you want to visit with your uncle I will bring him to you, Dillon. I am astounded that both of you would be so cavalier as to use magic when neither of you has been properly trained. Magic is not just words, and you, Cirillo, should know that better than Dillon, for you are faerie. Go home!” She waved her hand strongly at him and Cirillo tumbled over himself as he disappeared. Lara put an arm about her son. “I understand, Dillon, I truly do, but you must be patient.”

“It seems so long until next autumn,” he sighed.

“Patience is something you should learn to cultivate, Dillon,” Lara told her son. She ruffled his dark hair. “You are not to come in here again without my permission,” and he sighed again, causing Lara to smile over his head.

Anoush seemed to grow up a little bit that icy season. She was tall like her brother and slender. She had Vartan’s dark hair and blue eyes but her profile was delicate. While she didn’t look quite like Lara, it was obvious she was going to be beautiful one day. She kept the magic beginning to grow within her well masked for she was not yet certain that she even wanted it, and of course the choice would be hers.

As for Lara’s littlest daughter, Zagiri, she was a mischievous and adventurous child who seemed to need far more watching over than her siblings. With her dark blond hair and her turquoise eyes she was her father’s child in every way. Lara worried that when Magnus Hauk’s son was finally born Zagiri would find herself relegated to second place. She was not a child who liked being put aside and she adored her father. Zagiri was quick and like her siblings excelled at her lessons. She was plainly Master Bashkar’s favorite student for she had the habit of rhyming and making up stories, and her tutor, being Devyn-born, appreciated her talent, especially when she composed music to accompany her tales.

The Icy Season set in. Terah’s trading ships were all in port, for the Sagitta was not a hospitable place at this time of year. The vessels would be refitted and repaired over the coming months in preparation for the next trading season. In the villages the Terahn folk crafted the goods that would go to Hetar. In the warm weather they would tend to their livestock and gardens.

When the Icy Season was half over, the time came for Lara’s child to be born. The Dominus’s mother, Lady Persis, had traveled from her own home up the fjord and through the snows to be there when her grandson arrived. She arrived wearing the beautiful fur cloak that Lara had given her when Lara had wed the Dominus. Because it had been fashioned through magic, the fur cloak always appeared as if brand new. The Dominus’s mother loved it dearly. Lady Persis was not a woman to mince words but she was in awe of her faerie daughter-in-law.

“So, at last you are giving Terah an heir,” she said as she settled herself into a comfortable chair in the great hall of the castle, accepting a goblet of rich wine.

“I have already given Magnus one child,” Lara replied, amused.

“Zagiri is a female and cannot rule Terah one day,” Lady Persis said. “This is not Hetar, where I hear the women of the land are suddenly involving themselves in how it is governed. Ridiculous! We all know what we are good for and governing is not it.”

“Why not?” Lara asked. “Government affects women. Why should we not have a say in how it is run?”

Lady Persis sniffed. “Ridiculous!” she repeated.

“I agree with my lady wife,” Magnus Hauk said, surprising his parent.

“What? You would have women telling us all what to do?” his mother cried, shocked. “I cannot believe that you said that, my son. This is the influence of your faerie wife, I fear. The Great Creator help us all!”

“Some changes must come to Terah if we are to survive successfully,” Magnus Hauk said. Lara’s eyes were bright as she listened to him. “Our family has always produced benevolent rulers, but we have ruled without any council from our people. I would create a ruling council to advise me and I will want women’s voices in it, Mother.”

Lady Persis shook her head. “Terah will not stand for such a thing,” she said.

“I think they will. Every village has its leader and I know, though it is not spoken of aloud, that the women of the villages advise their men. It is time for the women to speak for themselves. After our son is born I intend implementing my plans to do just that,” the Dominus said. “In the New Outlands the women sometimes lead.”

Lady Persis said no more but she did send a fierce glare in Lara’s direction.

And it was at that very moment that an odd look crossed the Domina’s face.

“Are you all right?” Lady Persis asked Lara.

“Aye, but I believe the child has decided it wishes to be born,” the Domina announced. “Mila,” she called to her body servant. “I think the time has come now for me to go to the birthing chamber. Someone send for the midwife.” And arising slowly from her chair, Lara left the great hall, her hand on her great belly.

The birthing chamber had large windows that ran all around the room, and the view of Terah’s green mountains and the fjord below was spectacular. It was believed that, be it day or night, the newborn should greet the world into which it had come. The room had a small fireplace to bring warmth into it should it be needed and this night it blazed with a rosy fire. There was a large wide comfortable birthing chair of sturdy ashwood with a padded back. The seat was also padded with soft material so that the infant slipping from its mother’s body through the hole in its center into the hands of the midwife would not be harmed in any way. There was water, swaddling clothes and a woven willow basket with comfortable bedding for the newly born child set upon a table. There was a decanter of sweet frine and goblets. Everything was in perfect readiness for Terah’s heir.

Lara was already naked and seated upon the chair when the royal midwife, Aminta, arrived. She smiled broadly at her patient. “Greetings, Domina!” she said. “So the time has come, has it, for our next Dominus to make his entrance into our world? Let us see how far along you are. Mila, elevate the chair, please.”

The seat of the birthing chair was cranked up by the serving woman with a strong arm, and Aminta stepped under to inspect Lara. Her small size was her greatest advantage to her chosen profession. Most of the midwives had to crawl beneath an elevated birthing chair. Aminta just had to bend slightly.

“Ah, my lady, you are well along, but then this is your fourth child, isn’t it?” she remarked as she withdrew. “The pains are regular now?”

Lara nodded. She wished it were her fourth child-and not her sixth-but few knew that, of course. She pushed away the thoughts of her last delivery and labor, and concentrated upon this child. The pains grew stronger. She kept Aminta informed, and finally the midwife knelt beneath the chair and told her when she might push.