Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

43. A Face in the Crowd

By the time Ondrey and I left for the birthing retreat in the countryside, Ondrey managed to win my manservants' approval, if not Kozima's. He could barely get on the wagon for all the whispered suggestions and talismans stuffed into his hands and hung over his thick neck.

Kozima's troubled eyes lingered on me. I had to mimic a cut to the throat a few times to keep him from running his mouth. Yes, my mother had died from birthing fever. I wasn't her, despite her fate coming more and more to mind as my time approached. But... the Divines favored me. Right?

I wished I could have Kozima there after I delivered! All his dark sighs, all my wandering from window to window, looking at the hills changing color from midnight to sunrise and from sunrise to midnight, proved unnecessary.

The infant they put into my arms had blond fuzz over her skull, tight red fists and a pig-headed determination to scream until her needs were catered to. I could have birthed my tiny empress in a barren field knee-deep in snow. Then I could have forged right on, like all those heroines of the Primordial times the Tenets extolled.

My daughter's--we called her Marezhka, after Ondrey's first wife--will to live was so clear that I almost had a change of heart. It seemed moronic to leave her behind. She clearly had a liking for me.

However, one look at Ondrey cradling her, his eyes closed in bliss, impervious to the baby's wailing—and I chased this stupid, dangerous ideas away. Every High Scribe who had ever written on childbirth--

Ah, Phedoxia had shipped me a small library of selected works copied in her angular handwriting. I couldn't imagine why she had those references at hand! And why I read it all so diligently!

Anyway, every Scribe had been adamant about the miraculous influence countryside air had on infants. The babies had far better chances to survive their first name day when removed from the fumes of the cities, the High Scribes said, and to grow big and strong.

So I handed Marezhka to the wet nurse, endured binding my milk-swollen breasts, and left my two darlings in the care of the stern widow who ran the place.

"Don't worry and don't look back," the widow ordered, marching me to the stables.

No wonder the staff of the estate called her Her Maxima behind her back. She did remind me of Commander Nashila more than a little. Perhaps, those who deal with births must have as much steel in them as those who dish out deaths.

"You're full of horseshit, Mistress," I told the widow and winced, vaulting into my saddle. It's been eight weeks, but the tender parts of my anatomy jiggled loose, while my chest struggled against the tight corset.

She held my stirrup. "How many women do you think followed this advice in my reckoning?"

The rolling hills around us turned golden with the fall's dying bloom. The sky overhead would make the artists weep with its perfect shade of azure. The breeze carried the fragrance of hay and autumnal flowers.

"None," I said, giving the hillside panorama a wistful sigh.

She nodded sagely. "That's right, none. And how many useless tears wouldn't have fallen, if they had listened! Your daughter was bonded to your body for nine months. Now it's your husband's turn to bond to her. Their fate is in the eyes of the Divines. Are you a Divine?"

"No."

"Then you can do no more."

I bit back a curse.

"Go!" she ordered.

And I charged into the golden hills and under the azure sky. Or would have charged, if the horse I requisitioned in Ratne was anything like my Breva. Luckily, she was the opposite. As she plodded along the dusty track towards the main road, I could twist in the saddle a few times to catch glimpses of Ondrey who had reclaimed Marezhka.