Out of the Darkness

weren’t any dragons.”

Behind Pekka, the other theoretical sorcerers cheered and applauded. Somebody gave her a glass of applejack. She didn’t sip from it, but asked the officer, “What can you see of the island now?”

“Not forn. .” Waino caught himself. “Not much. It’s still covered in smoke and dust and steams. We will send men ashore for a further examination as things settle down.”

“Very well, Captain. Thank you.” Pekka nodded to the crystallomancer, who broke the etheric connection. After a pull at the apple brandy-now she’d earned it-Pekka said, “We can do this thing.” The other theoretical sorcerers cheered again. They had glasses in their hands, too.

Trapani, Pekka thought again as they walked out to the sleighs to go back to the hostel. Gyorvar, to teach Ekrekek Arpad a lesson he’ll never forget. Cottbus, even, if King Swemmel ever needs the same kind of lesson. She could feel the applejack, but the knowledge of power felt still more intoxicating.

As she always did, she rode with Fernao. The calendar said spring was here; the landscape wouldn’t listen to the calendar for another month, maybe longer. Fresh snow had fallen the night before. By the low gray clouds overhead, more might come down any time. A reindeer-drawn sleigh remained the best way to get around.

Though blankets covered them and kept the driver from seeing what they did beneath, Fernao kept his hands to himself. He hadn’t tried pushing things after Leino died. He knew Pekka well enough to understand that nothing would have been likelier to drive her away from him for good. And she’d stayed well apart from him on the trip out to the blockhouse. Now, for the first time since that dreadful day she got the news, she let her head rest on his shoulder. Maybe it’s the applejack, she thought. Even if it isn’t, I can blame it on the applejack.

Fernao’s narrow eyes widened. He put his arm around her. She discovered she was glad to have it there. She might not have been so glad had he tried to paw her, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything, either. A Kuusaman would have. Most Lagoans, she thought, probably would. He was wise to keep quiet.

When they got to the hostel, they went upstairs together. Pekka’s chamber was one floor higher than Fernao’s, but she left the stairway with him. He still didn’t speak, not till they stood inside his room. Then, at last, he said, “Thank you. I love you.”

Do I really love him? Pekka wondered. Do I love him in a way that might make my life whole again, or at least not ripped to pieces? Do I love him in a way that would make me want him to help raise Uto? Do I want to give Uto a half brother or half sister by him? I don’t know, not for sure. But I think I’d better find out.

“Before,” she said, “our first times were accidents. This won’t be. I mean it.” Was she telling him or trying to convince herself? She wasn’t sure of that, either.

Fernao just nodded. He said, “I’ve always meant it.”

“I know,” Pekka answered, and started to laugh. Men were supposed to be the ones who didn’t want to get tied down. Women were supposed to look for loves that lasted. She and Fernao hadn’t worked that way, though. Maybe we will now, she thought.

She stepped toward him at the same time as he was stepping toward her. When they embraced, the top of her head didn’t come much past his shoulder. That sometimes bothered her. Today, it didn’t seem to matter.

It mattered even less when they lay down together. Pekka wondered if she would, if she could, take any pleasure. She wouldn’t have worried if she hadn’t; sometimes having arms around her was enough. But Fernao took his time and paid what seemed like special attention to her. The only thing that could have kept her from eventually arching her back and moaning was. . She couldn’t imagine anything that could have. Certainly, nothing did.

As she lay with her legs entwined with his, she wondered how much that truly mattered. Well, she thought, lazy in the afterglow, it can’t hurt.

All around Krasta, the servants at the mansion bustled like so many scurrying ants, getting the place ready for her brother’s marriage to the horrible, bloodthirsty peasant wench with whom he’d unaccountably become infatuated. That was how Krasta looked at the match, at any rate, and nothing was going to make her change her mind. Hardly anything ever made her change her mind.

A wedding invitation wouldn’t have done it. She was sure of that. It didn’t matter, though; no invitation had been forthcoming. Skarnu and Merkela expected her to stay in her bedchamber by herself while they celebrated. They had their nerve, as far as she was concerned.

Worst of all was that they would probably get what they expected. Had she not been enormously pregnant, she might well have done her best to interrupt, to upstage, the ceremony she so despised. Being about the size of a behemoth, though, did put a crimp in such plans. All she wanted to do was have the baby and get it over with. She’d been feeling that way for most of the past month.

Even Bauska was pressed into the service of Skarnu and Merkela, which infuriated Krasta afresh. Her maidservant did show her a little sympathy when she had time to make an appearance, saying, “Oh, aye, milady, before I finally had Brindza, I would have paid anything to get her the blazes out of there.”

“I should say so,” Krasta exclaimed. She rested her hands on her enormous belly; her arms seemed too short to go round herself, though of course they weren’t. And she had something else on her mind, too, something Bauska couldn’t have dwelt upon: “And once this baby finally comes out, everyone will see it’s a proper little blond, not some nasty Algarvian’s bastard.”

Bauska’s mouth tightened. She left, even though Krasta hadn’t told her she could. Krasta snarled something vile under her breath. To her way of thinking, having a normal, Valmieran-looking baby would automatically wash her clean of all the times she’d opened her legs for Colonel Lurcanio. Anyone would be able to look at the child and see at a glance that, when it really mattered, she’d lain with one of her own countrymen-and a nobleman to boot.

Her womb had been tightening every so often for some weeks. She’d got used to it, though she found it annoying-it squeezed on the baby, which was uncomfortable to her, and it evidently made the baby uncomfortable, too, for the little brat always did some extra thrashing and wiggling after things eased up. Krasta didn’t like that, either; by now, the baby was big enough to kick and poke hard, and didn’t care what tender parts of her it abused in the process.

Three days before her brother’s wedding, the labor pains started in earnest. They were rhythmic, they were regular, and they were much more irksome than any pangs she’d known before. She cursed before calling for Bauska. She’d hoped the baby would wait till the middle of the marriage ceremony. If she’d started screaming for a midwife then, that would have taken everybody’s mind off the catastrophe befalling her family.

But no such luck. When she became convinced these pains weren’t going away, she shouted for Bauska. Her maidservant took her own sweet time getting there. When she did, Krasta demanded, “What was the name of that woman?”

“What woman, milady?” Bauska asked. Krasta had another pang then, and clenched her teeth against it. That told Bauska everything she needed to know. “Oh, the midwife,” she said. “She’s called Kudirka. Shall I have her summoned?”

“No, of course not,” Krasta snapped. “I just wanted to know her name for no reason at all.” And then, in case the maidservant was a fool or felt like pretending to be one, she made herself perfectly clear: “Aye, fetch her. This is going to be over, and I am going to show everybody what the truth is.”

Bauska didn’t answer that. She went away, which satisfied Krasta well enough. Presently, the carriage clattered down the walk and away from the mansion. After what was about an hour and seemed much longer, it came rattling back. By then, Krasta’s labor pains had advanced to the point where she hardly noticed its return.

Kudirka walked into the bedchamber without bothering to knock. She was as broad-shouldered as an Unkerlanter and had a face like a frog, but something in her manner got through even to Krasta. “Take off your trousers, sweetie, and let’s find out what’s going on in there,” the midwife said.

“All. . right.” Another pang seized Krasta before she could. Kudirka waited till it was over, then yanked the trousers off the marchioness herself. She proceeded to feel Krasta’s belly and then to probe her a good deal more intimately than any lover ever had. Krasta yelped.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Kudirka told her. “Your hips are nice and wide. You won’t have any trouble at all. A few hours of grunting, then some pushing, and then there’s a baby in your arms. Easy as you please.”