child from the river and claimed her as her own sister. The Silverwing gave life and, like any river in its occasional rages, could take it away. The Ravers had come for Rivergrace because of her Vaelinar blood as if they had scented her on the wind.
She braced herself in her chair, a rocking chair, and glared at the hitching rail. Her father and Keldan had built it for Hosmer, now a captain in the City Guard, with a proud horse of his own to tie to it. Not a mountain pony which suited the shorter stature of the Dwellers more, nor a hot-blooded tashya from the Vaelinar herds, but a long-limbed Kernan horse, as befit the city patrol. Hosmer patrolled the city street in front of the farmhouse now to replace Lariel’s guards until new ones arrived, his horse inside the stable.
Nutmeg shifted one hip and felt the baby roll slightly inside her. She thought that the child would be like its father, tall and rangy. It was hard to think that any of her blood might show in the child’s heritage. She thought of it as Jeredon’s child, hardly ever just . . . hers. “Do you think Tressandre ild Fallyn sent the killers?”
“That bitch.”
Nutmeg’s jaw dropped as she whipped her head around to stare at Lily Farbranch. “Mother!”
Her mother’s mouth tightened momentarily. “I can think that. Say it, too.”
“City ways are rubbing off on you.”
“Is that not the truth?” Lily sat on the hitching post railing with a little bit of a hop. Her feet did not touch the ground once she perched her body on the precarious seat. “I weave fine fabrics for them and sew gracious tailoring and I hear what they say, some of it to my face but most of it behind my back. There are many who carry the venom of envy in their words. There are many who are as deceitful as any of our old tales would have them. Yet my daughters have befriended the Warrior Queen. What should I think, then? And what should I think when they send assassins?”
Nutmeg cradled her stomach for a moment.
Lily took a deep breath, as if to shake off her mood. She leaned down. “Do you wonder who it is you carry?”
“Boy or girl? Aye, of course, Mom! It’s strong and feisty, that I know.”
Lily laughed softly. “Shall I swing a ring for you?”
“Like we used to do when we were just villagers? Before we moved to this great city?”
Nutmeg sombered a bit. “I would, very much. I thought of asking you, but it seemed . . .”
“Meg. Never doubt that we love this baby as much as we love you. And we are not disappointed. Do you hear me?” Lily hid the glimmer of a tear in the corner of her eye as she roughly tugged off her wedding ring. “Let me get a bit of string.” She felt about in the pockets of her apron to come up with a long piece of embroidery thread. “This will do.” She affixed her ring to it and held the ring in the air over Nutmeg’s swollen belly. “Now. Both of us need to be quiet for this to work.”
“Tell the baby that,” Nutmeg muttered before pressing her lips together tightly.
They watched the ring hanging still from its thread. It did not stir, not even in the growing breeze that always came as the day moved toward evening. Nutmeg fidgeted one foot, and bit the corner of her lip. Long moments passed. Then . . . did it move? Just a tad? Before she could open her mouth to exclaim that it had, the ring began to swing back and forth in an undeniable arc. A circle would have foretold a girl, but this—most emphatically—heralded a boy.
“A boy!”
“So it seems.”
“Jeredon would have loved either.”
“And you?” Lily looked down at her with a gentle expression on her face.
“I fancied a boy. I wanted to see him, somehow, I guess.” She closed her eyes, briefly, seeing Jeredon and wondering how she’d see him in their child. And a lingering echo of Bistel’s “Pass it on to your sons.” He’d known then, somehow. She took a deep breath to watch Lily unfasten her ring and slip it back on her
She braced herself in her chair, a rocking chair, and glared at the hitching rail. Her father and Keldan had built it for Hosmer, now a captain in the City Guard, with a proud horse of his own to tie to it. Not a mountain pony which suited the shorter stature of the Dwellers more, nor a hot-blooded tashya from the Vaelinar herds, but a long-limbed Kernan horse, as befit the city patrol. Hosmer patrolled the city street in front of the farmhouse now to replace Lariel’s guards until new ones arrived, his horse inside the stable.
Nutmeg shifted one hip and felt the baby roll slightly inside her. She thought that the child would be like its father, tall and rangy. It was hard to think that any of her blood might show in the child’s heritage. She thought of it as Jeredon’s child, hardly ever just . . . hers. “Do you think Tressandre ild Fallyn sent the killers?”
“That bitch.”
Nutmeg’s jaw dropped as she whipped her head around to stare at Lily Farbranch. “Mother!”
Her mother’s mouth tightened momentarily. “I can think that. Say it, too.”
“City ways are rubbing off on you.”
“Is that not the truth?” Lily sat on the hitching post railing with a little bit of a hop. Her feet did not touch the ground once she perched her body on the precarious seat. “I weave fine fabrics for them and sew gracious tailoring and I hear what they say, some of it to my face but most of it behind my back. There are many who carry the venom of envy in their words. There are many who are as deceitful as any of our old tales would have them. Yet my daughters have befriended the Warrior Queen. What should I think, then? And what should I think when they send assassins?”
Nutmeg cradled her stomach for a moment.
Lily took a deep breath, as if to shake off her mood. She leaned down. “Do you wonder who it is you carry?”
“Boy or girl? Aye, of course, Mom! It’s strong and feisty, that I know.”
Lily laughed softly. “Shall I swing a ring for you?”
“Like we used to do when we were just villagers? Before we moved to this great city?”
Nutmeg sombered a bit. “I would, very much. I thought of asking you, but it seemed . . .”
“Meg. Never doubt that we love this baby as much as we love you. And we are not disappointed. Do you hear me?” Lily hid the glimmer of a tear in the corner of her eye as she roughly tugged off her wedding ring. “Let me get a bit of string.” She felt about in the pockets of her apron to come up with a long piece of embroidery thread. “This will do.” She affixed her ring to it and held the ring in the air over Nutmeg’s swollen belly. “Now. Both of us need to be quiet for this to work.”
“Tell the baby that,” Nutmeg muttered before pressing her lips together tightly.
They watched the ring hanging still from its thread. It did not stir, not even in the growing breeze that always came as the day moved toward evening. Nutmeg fidgeted one foot, and bit the corner of her lip. Long moments passed. Then . . . did it move? Just a tad? Before she could open her mouth to exclaim that it had, the ring began to swing back and forth in an undeniable arc. A circle would have foretold a girl, but this—most emphatically—heralded a boy.
“A boy!”
“So it seems.”
“Jeredon would have loved either.”
“And you?” Lily looked down at her with a gentle expression on her face.
“I fancied a boy. I wanted to see him, somehow, I guess.” She closed her eyes, briefly, seeing Jeredon and wondering how she’d see him in their child. And a lingering echo of Bistel’s “Pass it on to your sons.” He’d known then, somehow. She took a deep breath to watch Lily unfasten her ring and slip it back on her
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