medicinal tea I left with you. And be sure she's not disturbed by any wild playing,' Minna added, with a meaningful glance in Kitiara's direction. 'I would move her into that small room there, if I were you. Give her a little peace and quiet.'
At that moment, Kit, trying to juggle the two infants, looked more like a harried homemaker than a potential troublemaker. She turned her back on Minna, shielding baby Raistlin from the midwife's prying eyes.
The room Minna pointed to was the only other room in the cottage besides the common living space. Branching off the north wall, it was a small space that had been used by Rosamun periodically over the years as a place to work on the sewing she sometimes took in to make extra money for the household. Gilon saw the wisdom of Minna's advice, and assented with a nod.
'You know my sister, Yarly, don't you? She'll be checking in on Rosamun for the next few days so I won't have to bother you with my opinions. After that I reckon you can get by on your own.'
Minna had sidled over so that she could peek around Kitiara's shoulder at Raistlin. Kit turned so that she faced her, staring fiercely at the meddling midwife. Pointedly Minna looked down at the frail baby, sniffed sympathetically, then cast a glance over at the robust one contentedly sucking on his bottle in the cradle.
Raistlin's complexion was still pale, his grip on life hardly secure. All morning Kit had tried not to think of what Minna had said about weak-spirited second babies.
'Hmph,' said Minna, turning away
Pulling Gilon aside, she brought something out of her bag. Briefly, she showed him how to fashion a leather sling that would hold one of the babies next to his body while freeing hands for another chore. After that, Minna said a brusque good-bye, and she and Yarly went away.
'Well, now,' said Gilon, after an inconclusive moment of silence. 'It was nice of her to stop by.'
Kitiara muttered something under her breath in response.
'And this is a handy contraption,' Gilon added good-naturedly, holding up the leather sling. 'Let's see if we can fit it onto you.'
For the next three weeks, Kit wore the sling constantly, using it to keep Raistlin near her at all times. The baby's breathing improved, but still it was not strong or steady. At any given moment, Kit might have to drop everything to rub the bottoms of his feet in order to stimulate his breathing and circulation.
Most nights, Kit dropped fully dressed into bed, stone tired. Most mornings, she woke up still wearing Minna's sling and ready to take Raistlin out of Gilon's tired arms and begin the routine again.
On the morning of the first day of the fourth week, Kit woke up realizing she had overslept. Jumping out of bed, she climbed down the ladder and looked around. Caramon was kicking energetically in his cradle, but Raistlin was still sleeping, curled up in another wooden cradle that Gilon had hurriedly carved and assembled.
Kit glanced in the direction of the small adjoining room and saw that her mother, too, was still asleep. Rosamun had remained bedridden since her difficult childbirth, barely stirring on most days, unable to speak on many others. She had to be watched as conscientiously as Raistlin. Turn your head for a minute, and Kit's mother would be sitting straight up, eyes open, wailing in fright. She had begun pointing to things nobody could see and speaking absolute gibberish.
Next to her big bed was a straw pallet on which Gilon usually slept. It had become his job to make the cups of strong tea that sometimes helped calm Rosamun. Even with the soothing tea, however, there was no telling how long one of her wild trances might last. Kit's stepfather looked at his wife more and more sorrowfully these days, for the gentle woman he had once loved had been replaced by an unpredictable stranger.
Today his pallet was empty, and Gilon had already gone. In the weeks since the twins were born, he had been staying home from the forest too much. The household could ill afford the loss of his income as well as of the meager sums Rosamun earned from mending and sewing. Kit had insisted to Gilon that she was more than willing to devote herself to taking care of the twins if he went back to work.
With Caramon, the job was easy. As long as you didn't let his diaper get too wet, he was fine. Loud, restless, perpetually hungry, but fine.
Raistlin was a different story. Kit had to watch him closely, be alert to his breathing and coax him to eat. The young girl found that those tasks were not nearly so exhausting as the time she spent thinking of the infant, willing Raistlin with all her might to grow stronger.
As she began making breakfast this day, Kit heard a slight noise and looked around. To her amazement, Rosamun was standing-wobbly, but standing-in the doorway of her room. If Kit hadn't looked into her eyes, she would have thought her mother was fine. But Rosamun's gray eyes were eerie, out of focus.
When Gilon returned home well before dusk, Kitiara greeted him at the door. They had agreed that upon his return Kit would be allowed an immediate escape from the confines of the cottage. Rather than sitting down to eat supper right away, the eight-year-old girl played outside until total darkness descended, usually practicing her swordplay with a furious intensity, as if cramming her childhood into a few short hours.
'Mother wandered around the cottage a lot today,' Kit informed Gilon this day as she got ready to leave. 'I had to tie her to the bed at one point.'
Gilon raised his eyebrows in surprise, then looked into the small adjoining room. Wearing stained bedclothes, Rosamun was sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, moving her hands as if she were knitting, only she had no needles or yarn.
'I don't know what the twins made of their mother, but she didn't pay any attention to them,' Kit told Gilon with some satisfaction just before she shot out into the warm summer evening.
When the twins were six weeks old, Kitiara came home from her evening's play to find Rosamun seated at the kitchen table, holding Raistlin and cooing down at Caramon in his cradle. While Gilon must have helped her to bathe and dress herself, Kit's frail mother still looked like a wraith after weeks of illness. Yet her face was shining, as was that of Gilon, who stood nearby, observing the scene with proud pleasure.
Rosamun turned away from the twins when she heard Kit at the door and warmly beckoned her daughter toward her. She set Raistlin down in his cradle so that she could put her blue-veined hands on the girl's sturdy shoulders. Rosamun attempted to pull Kit toward her, but her daughter held back.
'I want to thank you for all that you have done. Gilon says you have been… indispensable,' Rosamun said while gazing at the raven-haired young girl with a mixture of love and uncertain respect.
Kitiara looked down at the floor, confused by her own feelings of gratitude and resentment. As she started to pull away, Rosamun stood up and put her thin arms around her daughter in an awkward embrace. Kit held herself stiffly, then broke for the door the minute she felt her mother's grasp loosen.
Rosamun sank heavily back into her chair, while Gilon hovered nearby, not knowing what to say. Rosamun's eyes clouded with tears as she watched her daughter race back into the summer night.
'Your father would have been proud of you,' Rosamun whispered after Kit's retreating figure.
Chapter 3
Thanks to Gilon, there was always plenty of good, slow-burning oak ready to heap on the overnight fire. But the flames usually died down in the middle of the night, and especially on the worst, most forbidding nights, no one wanted to get up and tread across the cold floor to replenish the blaze.
Kitiara preferred to sleep in her own quarters, though they were farthest away from the heat. Up a ladder and divided from the rest of the cottage by a thin muslin curtain, the loft at least gave her some privacy. The price for that privacy could be a bit high. More mornings than not in the long winters, she woke up curled into a tight ball and shivering.
Gnomes had a saying about Solace winters, which were notoriously harsh: 'Three layers not enough, and noses always stick out.' The winters seemed never-ending, yet practically overnight, when everyone felt at the breaking point, spring would arrive, catching even the most vigilant of the Solace citizenry by surprise.
On this particular morning, twelve-year-old Kitiara was still sleeping. She wasn't curled up-a good sign of the
