She moved slowly to put the dirty tin plate by the flap of the tent. It wasn’t yet full dark, and Barilan was far too wound up to settle, but she longed to fall into bed and flee into sleep. Her anger had faded as quickly as it had come, leaving only despair. If Carlich guarded her like this all the way to Loempno, how could she ever slip away? She sat down on the cot and propped Barilan on her shoulder, rocking him and patting his back despite his vigorous protests.
So many people supported Carlich. Would he be able to prevail against Voerell, even though she was still regent? Maryn didn’t know what mysterious magical power the Kingship was supposed to offer, only that Carlich and Vinhor feared facing Voerell while she wielded it. But she doubted any magic, no matter how strong, could stand against the sheer overwhelming size of the army Carlich had gathered.
Barilan’s cries finally lost their angry edge and took on the pleading tone that told her he’d be receptive to nursing. She lay down on the cot and snuggled him to her breast. He sucked for a very long time, through many switches from one breast to the other, fighting every effort Maryn made to soothe him enough for exhaustion to overcome his resistance.
Even after he finally surrendered to sleep, Maryn lay awake, unable to quiet her circling thoughts. When Carlich won, when Princess Voerell was captured or dead and Carlich sat upon the throne of Milecha, Maryn would be doomed. He would kill her as soon as he had the chance. Barilan, too, when he contrived a way to get someone to do the deed for him. He’d have to make their deaths look accidental, but that wouldn’t be difficult.
And their personal fates would be only the beginning. Her homeland would be left under the control of a usurper and murderer. Wonora would be furious about the broken treaty and his accusation of Princess Dolia. Carlich would call on his friends in Hampsia for help. How long before her small country was crushed in the conflict between the two great powers?
A strident whisper roused Maryn. “Miss Maryn! Quick, I only have a moment!”
Maryn slipped her breast free of Barilan’s slack mouth and adjusted her clothing as she hurried to the tent flap. Her heart leapt when the stout figure ducked through. “Tior!”
He pulled a small object from under his jerkin. “Will this work?”
It was a glass bottle typical of those used to store perfume. The mouth was small, which would be a challenge, but it had a tight;-;fitting wax stopper. When she pried it open, a sweet floral scent wafted out. “It should do just fine. Where did you get it?”
Tior’s round face reddened. “I found it in a trash pile,” he mumbled.
Maryn was fairly sure he wasn’t telling the truth. No one would throw away such a pretty and well;-;made bottle. Not that she cared. “I can’t thank you enough.” She threw her arms around him in a quick hug.
Blushing even deeper, Tior muttered, “It was nothing.” He backed toward the tent flap, but then hesitated. “Actually…the perfume was mine. I keep it for when I have to deal with garbage, or bodies, that sort of thing. You know how I get queasy. After I helped clean up from the fire, I discovered that a little perfume on a handkerchief helps a lot. I just can’t let any of the other soldiers find out; they think I’ve managed to get over it. That bottle was nearly empty, anyway.”
The image of a rough soldier pressing a perfumed cloth to his face like a delicate lady struck Maryn as ridiculous, but she swallowed her laugh. She’d hate for Tior to think she was mocking him. “That’s a clever solution.”
Tior shrugged. “Yes, well, it works.” He looked at her earnestly. “I hope you manage to pull off whatever you’re planning. If you need anything else, just ask. I’m willing to help.” He ducked his head and studied the toe of his boot. “I’ve been thinking…You were right to call me a coward. I’ve been acting like one. I should have tried to smuggle you out of the Church guesthouse after all; it would have been easier there than here. We’re right in the middle of the camp, with the army all around. But if you want, I can try. ”
Maryn’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Tior. I don’t think you’re a coward any more.” She fingered the bottle. “I mean, you brought me this, just like you promised. Because of it, I’ve got a chance, now.”
Heart pounding, she pulled the tent flap open a crack and peered out. Soldiers and servants bustled everywhere. As far as she could see campfires dotted the fields, their soft orange glow illuminating rows of low tents. Reluctantly, she let the flap fall. “You’re right; it’s too much of a risk to try escaping right now. With any luck I can make my idea work, and I’ll be safe, at least for a little while. But could you please keep checking back with me as often as you can?” Her voice shook. “You’re the only one here I can trust.”
“I will. And I’ll keep my eyes open for anything I can do.” Tior bobbed his head at her. “I’d better go, before the other guard gets back from the latrine.” He backed out of the tent.
Maryn stared after him, clutching the little bottle in her hand, struggling to cope with the rush of suddenly reawakened hope and all its accompanying fear. She half;-;wished she could stay resigned to despair; it would be easier than this constant rise and plunge of emotions. There was so little possibility her plan could actually work. But she pushed the thought away. A small chance had to be better than no chance at all.
She opened the perfume bottle and rinsed it with water from her washbasin until she could no longer taste any trace of the bitter flavor of the perfume. She tried to express a little milk into it, but had no luck. Both her breasts were thoroughly drained by Barilan’s long nursing session, and she could get only a few meager drops. At last she gave up in frustration. She could try again in the morning; her milk was always most plentiful when she first rose from bed. She’d be sure to wake early enough, before the servants brought breakfast or Carlich called her to renew his spell. Barilan usually roused to nurse at least an hour before the sun rose; she’d do it then.
But Barilan chose that night to sleep through until dawn. Maryn was so worn out by the journey that she slept deeply also. She woke to the shouts of officers rousing their troops and the bustle of servants distributing breakfast.
She had to risk working Siwell’s spell under her covers, using Barilan’s eager nursing as an excuse not to rise while servants hustled about her tent, packing all the furnishings into neat bundles and bearing them out to the waiting wagons and pack mules. She finished barely in time. The guard who came to escort her to Carlich’s tent was forced to wait, tapping his foot, while she pulled her skirt and bodice over her shift.
Carlich’s tent was much larger and more elaborate than hers. The prince sat at a small table, picking at a bowl of porridge. He dropped his spoon and came to stand before her, gesturing for the guard to leave them alone.
Maryn’s eyes darted past Carlich to where a lazy curl of steam rose from his bowl. She forced her gaze away. If only she’d been able get milk into the bottle! She could feel the hard lump between her breasts where she’d tucked it down the front of her shift. She couldn’t imagine that Carlich would leave her alone in his tent long enough for her to squirt in a little directly from the source. Although maybe, if Barilan was nursing, she could pop him off for just long enough. She shifted the baby in her arms, wondering how he would react to an offer of another nursing so soon after the last.
But she could do nothing while Carlich’s eyes were on her. He drew his knife and beckoned for her arm. She balled her hand into a fist as she held it out to conceal the scabs that studded the corners of her fingernails. She hoped it looked as if she were merely prone to biting her nails. Who wouldn’t be, after all she’d been through? But she didn’t want to give Carlich any chance to become suspicious.
She should be used to the stroke of his knife by now, but if anything, each time hurt worse than the one before. Maybe it was the anticipation of pain that made her clench all her muscles, try as she might to relax them. Carlich completed his spell with precise efficiency.
He pointed to the tent flap. “Go on. The guard will escort you back to your tent. Get ready; we’ll be riding within the hour.”
Maryn risked a question. “Will we reach Loempno today, your Highness?”
He frowned, but answered. “No, that’s not my intent. We’ll camp tonight a short distance from the city and come to the gates at midmorning tomorrow.”
Maryn fought to keep her shoulders from slumping in relief. She would have one more day and night to try and establish the milk;-;ties that would keep Carlich from killing her.
Several times that day she tried to snatch a few minutes alone to express milk into the little bottle, but it was impossible. The only times she wasn’t closely guarded were when she was allowed a moment of privacy to take care of her bodily needs. She had to use that time to renew Siwell’s strengthening spell, lest her will weaken and allow her to fall under Carlich’s control.
Barilan was especially clingy and needy, wanting to spend many hours nursing. Her breasts labored to keep up with his demand, let alone produce extra. She thought he must be having one of those periodic growth spurts babies were prone to, when all they wanted to do for several days was nurse and sleep, and came out the other side an inch longer and a few pounds heavier than they’d been before.
She didn’t get an opportunity to express milk all that day, and that evening she had as little success as the night before. But this time her determination and fear won out over her exhaustion. Even though Barilan again slept through the night, Maryn roused a full hour before sunrise and crawled from the cot.
Her breasts were full and heavy, and her milk flowed easily in response to her coaxing. Many full streams squirted out. Though much milk missed the narrow opening of the bottle, soaking the lap of her shift and spraying the rug around her folding stool, she managed to fill the bottle well before the rest of the camp began to stir.
She stoppered it, triumphant. Now the only thing that remained was to get access to something Carlich would eat or drink. If he followed the same pattern as the day before and summoned her to his tent, with any luck his breakfast porridge would again be there. She’d have to distract him long enough to pour a bit in. She pondered various schemes, trying to decide which Carlich would find least suspicious.
The damp folds of her shift clung to her legs. Siwell had said milk didn’t attract specters the way blood did, but the memory of those horrors made Maryn loath to take any chances. She murmured the words of the cleansing spell. Showers of blue sparks exploded from her shift and the ground around her. Vibrations buzzed up her spine and into her teeth.
Maryn looked at the sparks and wondered. Maybe she could have used the power stored in the milk to fuel Siwell’s spell instead of having to chew yet another painful sore on her finger. She’d never heard of milk being used that way. But if it released that much power when cleansed, it stood to reason she should be able to harness it instead of only burning it up.
It was too late to try this time. She went ahead with the familiar process of drawing a few drops of blood and worked Siwell’s spell.
Maryn hoped Tior would be the one to escort her to Carlich’s tent, but the guard was another stranger. Her heart fell when she saw him. The best plan she’d come up with involved Tior creating some sort of commotion that would draw Carlich from the tent. Now she’d have to use a different ploy, one she feared would be less likely to succeed.
As soon as she stepped inside the tent, her eyes went to the table. A bowl of porridge rested there, just as she’d hoped. It looked as if Carlich hadn’t touched it yet. Far across the tent, he peered into a small polished bronze mirror, adjusting the way his richly embroidered surcoat fell over his chain mail tunic.
A servant stood beside him, holding a long scarlet cape trimmed with gold. At Carlich’s curt gesture, he helped fasten it to the prince’s shoulders. Finished, the servant stepped back and inclined his head. “Now, your Highness, you must eat. Priest Vinhor bade me remind you that you’ll need all your strength today.”
Carlich waved him away with a snarl. “I’m not hungry. Leave it there; maybe I’ll manage to choke down a little later.” He turned, the cape swirling around him, and looked over his shoulder into the mirror. “That will have to do. Leave us.”
“Yes, your Highness.” The servant bowed and brushed past Maryn out of the tent.
A few quick strides carried Carlich to Maryn. He held out his hand. Maryn’s heart pounded in her ears. She made her voice strained, as if she were fighting the dregs of his spell. “A—a moment, your Highness, please?”
“What?” He scowled at her.
She didn’t dare meet his eyes. “Please, your Highness, would you look at Fril—I mean, Barilan, for me? He seems so different since we worked the spell to bring Frilan’s soul back. I can’t believe Princess Voerell won’t notice right away. What if she realizes we’ve done something to him? I’m afraid she’ll try to hurt him.”
“I won’t let her do that.” But Carlich accepted Barilan when she held him out.
“Just take him over there, and I’ll go over here where he can’t see me.” Maryn walked across the tent, stopping next to the table. “See if anything about the way he acts seems strange to you. If you can’t tell it’s really Frilan, I’m sure Voerell won’t be able to either.”
“I don’t have time for this.” But Carlich stepped to the far side of the tent and held up Barilan at arm’s length. The baby laughed as Carlich swooped him from side to side. “Well, little one? Will your mother—your other mother—be able to tell you’re not really hers any more? I need her to believe you are, at least for a short time. I can win the day by force if I must, but it will be far better if she surrenders without a fight.”
As soon as he turned his back, Maryn snatched the little bottle of milk from her bodice. She fumbled the stopper free. Only a few drops, or Carlich might taste the difference. She dribbled milk into the bowl; more than she intended sloshed out, puddling on the surface. Maryn corked the bottle and shoved it back into its hiding place, then grabbed the spoon and gave a few quick stirs. It seemed the milk would never incorporate into the thick porridge, and she despaired that she had used too much, but just in time she became satisfied that it was mixed in enough to be undetectable.