Jennifer Roberson Cheysuli 6 Daughter of the Lion

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"Wet," she said succinctly, "and too long a time in the heat. But at least she
has Hart's coloring . . . with mine, she would be sunburned."
For a distinct, startled moment, all I could do was
stare. And then I turned on Hart. "You sent no word of a baby!"
Black brows arched in feigned innocence. "Did I
not? I thought I did . . ." He shrugged it away easily, seemingly unperturbed,
and then the grin came back.
"I wanted to surprise jehan."
"Jehan, me, everyone else," I agreed dryly. "I sup-
pose it is natural enough, but I think even you will admit you make an
unlikely father."
Ilse laughed, resettling the fabric-swathed infant.
"He is a fool for the girl, worse than I am myself
You would think he had borne her, the way he moth-
ers her."
Her Homanan was still accented, but less so than before. Because of Hart, I
thought, and wondered about his Solindish. Bedtalk, I had heard, was good for
improving language. His Homanan and
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Erinnish had always been superb.
"Is Brennan ?" he started to ask, but then jehan and the rest arrived,
laughing, exclaiming, asking questions, and I was no longer consulted. Hart
had others to talk with.
"Keely." It was Ilsa, climbing the stairs to stand beside me. "I have brought
the baby's wet-nurse is there a place we might be private?"
"Hart's of d rooms, perhaps. . . ?" And I laughed, marking the bloom in her
cheeks. "Aye, of course
the nursery. There is room for more than Aidan."
I led her there, Ilsa and her retinue, through halls and winding staircases,
conscious of change, of difference;
of the turning of the Wheel. But two years before, Homana-Mujhar had been full
of the Mujhar's children, each of us concerned with the passage of time in a
detached sort of way. Our lives had been the same for so long it was
impossible to imagine anything changing them, even though we knew it would
come. And it had, unexpectedly, when an
accident caused by the Mujhar's sons had resulted in the deaths of thirty-two
people.
Punishment had been swift: Hart was sent to
Solinde, Corin to Atvia. Aileen was summoned from
Erinn so that she and Brennan could marry.
And then Strahan had intervened. He had stolen each of my brothers and
practiced his arts upon them. That any of them had come out of the captiv-
ity with mind and soul intact was solely due to Corin, who had come of age in
Strahan's fortress.
They had changed, each of them, or had been forced to change in ways none of
them ever men-
tioned. Some were obvious: Hart had lost a hand.
But Hart had also gained Ilsa and the baby she held in her arms.
Not so different from Brennan . . . and yet nothing is the same.
"Here." I pushed open the door to the nursery and let all the Solindish in.
That, too, had changed;
once they were enemy, usurping Homana-Mujhar.
The chamber filled with women. Aidan's wet-nurse, his attendants, Ilsa and all
of her ladies. I found myself standing close to the door, recoiling from all
the noise, the chatter of women's concerns. Baby this, baby that; who wanted
changing and feeding?
It was nothing I had heard before, having avoided
Aidan's routine. Aileen had known better than to speak of such things to me,
since my interests lay most distinctly in other directions.
They stripped the girl bare and cleaned her, dis-
posing of soiled wrappings. Then swaddled her again, but not before I had seen
her. Not before I had seen tiny feet and tiny hands, the taut, rounded belly.
Such pink, soft helplessness, unaccustomed to real-
ity. Hostage to the world.
The wet-nurse bared a breast. I saw engorged flesh, swollen nipple, blue ropes
beneath fair skin.
But I ,also saw the woman's face as she put the baby to her breast.
Gods

how can she like it how can she shackle herself

to such binding, consuming service

?
But there was peace in her face, not resentment.
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An abiding satisfaction.
The baby is Lisa s, not hers how can she be so content?

Aidan also had a wet-nurse, but I had never watched him feed. I had never
asked anything of it, being disposed to avoid such things.
Ilsa looked at me. "Keely are you all right?"
The gods know what my face showed. "Aye . . .
aye, of course."
She smiled, setting the chamber alight. "When she is done, would you care to
hold her?"
The immediate response was instinctive. "Have you gone mad?"
Ilsa laughed. "If you fear you will drop her, be certain you will not. It is a
fear all of us have. You should have seen Hart the first time I put her into
his arms."
I shook my head. "I have no desire to hold her. It has nothing to do with
fear."
Ilsa said nothing at once, being more concerned with the baby. She tucked in a
fallen fold of linen, then traced the fuzzy black hair as the baby sucked
greedily. The wet-nurse murmured something in
Solindish, crooning to the child. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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