Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (61 page)

The
sleep-tousled girl soon appeared from Kessa's bedroom, holding her
own robe closed. "M'lady?"

"Not
urgent, yet, but I'm sending for the bonesetter." Iathor went
for the stairs as Bynae frowned and hurried past.

Brague
was walking the halls, as he often did at night, with Jeck's oldest,
gray-muzzled hound. He turned as Iathor unshielded a Stone for more
light. "M'lord?"

"I
want the bonesetter. Kessa's cramping, and there's some blood. If
it's nothing, we'll still pay the man."

Brague
reacted to the unspoken
And if it's something, we need him
quickly.
"Yes, m'lord." He loped off.

Iathor
trotted back upstairs. The sitting roon's Incandescens Stones were
partly unshielded, and Kessa paced from side to side in front of the
hearth, with Bynae hovering. Iathor said, "Walking?"

Absently,
Bynae replied, "Mother says it eases the . . .
the tightness, the body's impatience." She added, "M'lord."

Kessa
paused and leaned on the mantle, one hand at her stomach. "Nngh,"
she objected.

"Breathe,
m'lady," Bynae urged. "Hold it in the lungs a moment and a
moment only."

After
a few measured breaths, while Iathor hovered as well and dared not
touch her, Kessa relaxed again. "I don't think walking is
helping, Bynae."

"Here,
try just a few more moments, m'lady. Mayhap you can rock the boy back
to sleep." Bynae held out her hands. "Perhaps m'lord could
get the clock working?"

Iathor
looked at the antique clock on the mantle. "I'm no imperial
clockwright to make it
work
 . . . I'll try to
get it started." As Kessa moved beyond, he stood on the hearth
and opened the device's case, prodding at the gears and pendulum till
it started ticking again.

Bynae
led Kessa around the room, Kessa reaching out to pat Iathor on the
arm reassuringly when they passed. After a few more circuits, the pat
turned into a painful grasp as Kessa stopped and leaned on him. He
said, "Breathe?"

She
puffed air at him, irritably, while Bynae . . .
watched the clock. Then the girl coaxed Kessa into walking again.
Iathor kept an eye on the device's pendulum. At the next cramping,
and the next, Bynae watched the clock. Then she had Kessa sit, though
Kessa insisted on a towel for the good chair. Iathor rubbed his
wife's shoulders; Bynae eyed the clock as an alchemy student might
eye a new geometry analyzer.

Iathor
watched Bynae, remembering the girl's mother had been a midwife. When
Kessa hissed in discomfort again, fingers digging into the chair's
arms, Bynae's expression went firm and grim. Iathor asked, "Bynae,
what is it?"

"The
hard times, they're not fading, m'lord. Not with walking, not with
resting. I think they're getting closer together. Lasting longer,
too."

"Perhaps
he's just ripe now," Kessa panted, one palm over her belly as
she leaned against Iathor's hands. "Big enough. Been kicking
hard enough."

"Mayhap,
m'lady." Bynae didn't sound convinced.

"Any
suggestions to tell him he's not full-brewed yet?" he asked,
trying for wry humor to fight the clammy concern that . . .
things weren't going well.

Kessa
yawned. "It's the middle of the night. He wasn't
planted
in the middle of the night. It was early in the evening." He
would've believed her casually grumpy tone if she didn't have both
hands wrapped over the curve of her midsection.

Bynae
tried her own off-kilter smile. "Perhaps we should prepare a
warm bath, so he'll get no relief from the heat out here, either."

It
worked enough to get a chuckle out of Kessa. "If you feel like
rousing someone, I'll not object. Or a cooler one for me, mayhap."

"I'll
go, m'lady. Shall I bring you some water, too?"

"If
you would?"

"Of
course, m'lady. M'lord, if you'd watch the clock?"

"Mm."
And keep the time of the pangs. "Yes."

Bynae
bobbed to him and left. As her footsteps faded on the stairs, Kessa
reached up to pull Iathor's arms down, around her shoulders. He
didn't complain at the awkward position, and hugged her as best he
could. There was a dearth of things to say.
I'm worried
wouldn't help.
Are you worried?
was no better, if she was
trying to be brave.
You'll be fine
would only invite argument.
Finally, he asked, "Would it help if I rubbed your back more?"

"It
might." She sounded relieved. "Perhaps a pillow for me to
kneel on, and I can lean on the couch seat?"

Why
the couch?
Perhaps she worried there'd be mess? He fetched a
cushion, then worked on stroking her back and rubbing with his
fingertips while she sprawled her upper body against the
uncomfortable couch. He glanced over his shoulder now and again to
see that the clock hadn't stopped.

When
she whined, he marked the pendulum's swings, absently saying,
"Breathe?" again.

She
panted crankily at him till the spasm passed. "It's lasting
longer, isn't it?"

"I
think so," he admitted. "Still, the bonesetter should be
here soon. A quarter hour more, perhaps."

"Half
an hour, I wager."

"I'd
think he'd bring preparations that slow an early labor, at least."

"If
they work on me."

A
grim thought. Iathor stroked his hands against her stomach,
supporting its weight as he rested his head against her spine.
It's
not time yet.
A treacherous thought came to him that if the boy
grew any bigger, Kessa's fears might be more likely realized. To
choose between his heir and his wife . . . The
Princeps would almost certainly marry Iasen off eventually, or he'd
not've bothered keeping him alive. There'd be an heir, though one
likely indebted to the Princeps.
I am greedy. I want both son
and
wife.

In
the night, with hints of blood to Kessa's scent, Iathor could fear
elemental spirits seeking to punish his greed. Or harsh justice for
repudiating his brother.
I don't believe in spirits,
he
thought.
I believe in proven alchemy, and my wife's bravery. No
spirits.

Bynae
didn't return as quickly as he'd expected; he held Kessa through
another long spasm, feeling helpless and stupid. "I can't think
of anything to help . . . Hornflower paste?"

"Suppose
it couldn't hurt. It's in my bedroom. Permission granted."

She
didn't take a full spoonful, but did relax after a bit, sitting on
her leg and leaning on the couch. "Less sore between, at least.
Thanks."

He
set the jar aside. "You're right here, and I can hardly think
what to do," he said. "Where are my oaths now?"

Kessa
twitched her head so she could look at him through her hair, smiling
a little. "No one expects you to bear children for your wife,
Iathor. I recall a few oaths of my own."

"Will
you be the steady flame that warms and protects, and not the raging
fire that burns and destroys?"
the Sun priest had asked him,
man's element and man's vow. Perhaps the Earth priestess had made
some similar woman's question of Kessa. "Bad enough I've not
been there for you in the past," he said, aware it was a
grumble. "Now I'm here, and nigh as ineffectual."

She
laughed at him and put her head on his chest and her arm around his
side. "It's all right. I'm too tired to fret. It's the waiting
that strains my soul. If the boy's decided to come tonight, then
there's no more waiting. What happens, happens, and either way,
there'll be sleep at the end of it."

"I
suppose I'll fret for both of us, then," he said, trying not to
betray how terribly fretful he was. Better not to disrupt her peace,
however she'd gotten it, with worry over
him
.

She
chuckled, and might've even drowsed against him. By the time Bynae
returned with a mug of water, Kessa'd not had another tightening,
though it'd been longer than between the last ones. Iathor reported
the times, and Bynae eyed the hornflower paste. "I worry that
once the fields' streams have drained, the babe'll not have enough to
drink . . . But if it slows, it slows. More time for
the bonesetter to get here. Tania's awake now," she added.
"There'll be cool tea and fruit soon, as well as water, and
someone to change the bedsheets."

Kessa
roused enough to drink, then settled back against Iathor. Some few
minutes after, though, she had another spasm. She'd had three more –
and Bynae'd changed from nightrobe to a dress – before Brague
knocked at the door. "M'lord? I've brought the bonesetter."

The
bonesetter, Didil Jobonen, was a flaxen-haired, clerk-like man in his
guild's green and red, short enough to be noted as such, even as
Iathor was. He knew enough of alchemical treatments to find favor
with Iathor, but Kessa'd taken a mild dislike to him and only
tolerated limited poking of her belly. Once, Didil had said Kessa was
growing too big, too fast, and suggested to Iathor that the
conception be halted and they try again later. Kessa or Bynae'd
overheard, and Kessa'd had strong and probably irrational things to
say later.

Still,
Didil had his case of potions and tools, and was skilled enough that
Master Peran, who ran the hospice, spoke for him.

Kessa
and Bynae both eyed Didil warily as he set his case on the good
chair's seat. The bonesetter asked wearily, "Will I be allowed
to examine the inner parts of the birthing channel?"

Firmly,
Kessa said, "No."

Didil
sighed. "Don't know why you call me . . . What's
been happening?"

Bynae
stood. "M'lady's waters have broken the dam of her fields, with
light blood. The sheets are here . . ." She led
the way toward the bedroom. "Also, her belly's become tight for
some twenty or thirty swings of the pendulum. Was every quarter hour
and lessening, but she took some alchemical thing, hornflower
paste . . ."

Iathor
stopped paying attention as Kessa began panting. She'd settled again
when Didil and Bynae emerged. The girl had a set, prim expression.
The bonesetter's thin face was grim. "Master Kymus, if I might
have a word with you?"

"All
right." Iathor untwined himself. Bynae knelt beside her mistress
as Iathor followed Didil into the bedroom.

Didil
murmured, "Master Kymus, I'm concerned for this timing. Is there
any way the child could've been planted earlier than you've said?"

Iathor
shook his head. "No. Believe me, I know when the conception
happened. She used her own blood in dry tea."

Didil
ran a hand through his hair. "It's too soon, then. The
child . . . It may seem perfect on the outside, and
even perfect on the inside, should it be examined, but they often
don't
breathe
enough. They turn blue, they die. I'm sorry,
Master Kymus, but the babe's going to be large enough that I can't
guarantee your wife's safety – especially as she'll not let me
examine her – and it'll be Wind's own miracle if the child
lives."

At
least he didn't say,
I told you to halt this conception.
Nor
even sound as though he thought it very loudly. Iathor asked, "Is
there a way to slow the labor?"

The
bonesetter looked to the bed. "Your maidservant's right: the
waters have fled the fields, and more quickly than I'd have thought
likely. If I could place my fingers at the dam, mayhap I could tell
you how dry the womb's become. The dryer, the more dangerous to the
child. Besides, buying a day or three or even five won't help so much
as the child needs. And, Master Kymus, if it grows any further . . ."

If
I must choose . . . I choose to keep one, lest I lose
both.
He closed his eyes, trying to find another way, any other
way . . . "Why can't the child breathe, if it has
the air-sacs?"

"Would
that I knew, Master Kymus. They just can't, though they've lungs in
proportion to their size. Might as well ask why green apples are sour
instead of sweet, though they've all the parts of ripe fruit. Those
born too early are just . . . not old enough."

Not
old enough.
For a moment, this seemed an insoluble thing, a force
of nature. Iathor rubbed his face, trying to awaken his mind enough
to sort through hundreds of possible brews. For once, it worked.
"Vigeur elixir. What of that?"

"That's
used to chase age, is it not?" Didil said, then his eyebrows
went down. "Wait, it cannot grant youth beyond a certain point,
and children who take it . . ."

"Girls
may bleed early. Boys may grow a beard. The elixir draws the body to
its ideal state, and for a child, that's
adulthood
. And Vigeur
works even on the immune." The satisfaction of finding a
possible answer was twinned with the elation of possible salvation.

"It's
a stress on the body, though. The child might not survive either
way."

"True,
Vigeur's not gentle, but a smaller dose . . ."
Iathor's thoughts jumped to a small jar, yet in his workroom: the
product of the journeyman Lairn's ill-sponsored genius, a powder that
could smoke tea and make it into a youthening substance. "I've
an idea. An experimental brewing. If the child cannot breathe . . .
He's nothing to lose."