Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(112)

He nodded. "I know. So do you."

Their eyes met for a moment before he looked away. Why was she the only one who really understood? Or was she?

After another long moment, he asked, "Do you need anything else?"

"No," Ayrlyn answered with a faint and enigmatic smile. "The bread was fine. I don't need anything else to eat."

Nylan nodded again, and helped Ayrlyn to her feet. "I have to get back to woodworking."

"I know."

Again, he could feel her eyes on his back as he went down the stone steps to the lower level.





LXIV



ZELDYAN RESETTLES HERSELF in the large padded chair beside the bed, wearing a green silksheen dressing gown that, while it sets off her golden hair, barely covers her midsection. "He's active," she says, looking down and smiling. "I wish he weren't quite so ... strong."

"You always say 'he.' " Sillek stands up from the chair that matches the one where Zeldyan sits.

"You always question that. The child is a boy. Even if he were a girl, would it matter? We're young."

"It matters not to me." Sillek steps up beside her chair, bends, and kisses her cheek.

"But it matters to all the holders, and to your enemies." A touch of bitterness creeps into Zeldyan's voice. She shifts her weight in the chair. "I can't ever get comfortable these days."

"A lord is always captive to his people's perceptions." Sillek glances toward the window, beyond which he can glimpse the distant fields, half white, half brown.

"You mean the perceptions of the holders and those with wealth?" Zeldyan again shifts her weight in the chair and glances toward the corner that holds the chamber pot.

"I cannot support a large standing army. So I must have the support of the large holders. They want the succession of Lornth to be ensured."

"If either a son or a daughter could hold Lornth, there would be more stability."

"Not as they see it." Sillek reaches down and squeezes Zeldyan's shoulder. "Only men can be holders."

"Or warriors. Or lords." Zeldyan glances up. "Even your mother feels that way, and she understands more than most men. Yet she pushes and pushes for you to attack those women on the Roof of the World. Even enlisting foreign traders."

"Lygon ... he can't do that much, and we can make that work to our advantage."

"For now," she agrees. "But how can you put off .all these questions of honor that your mother raises or the idea that you are weak if you do not attack the Roof of the World?" Her lips tighten, and she forces them to relax.

"I can put that off for a time," he muses. "But not forever."

"I know. If you fail to strengthen Lornth"-she looks to the closed door-"Ildyrom will likely succeed in taking it. If you are successful, then all the holders will demand you reclaim the Roof of the World."

Sillek nods slowly.

"What real good is that land? Only angels or demons could live there. Was it worth your father's death? If a few damned women want to live there . . ." Zeldyan shakes her head.

"Some women have already deserted their households. One was caught; the others were not."

"Oh ... so the idea of a refuge where women are not beaten, where they can bear arms-that frightens the strong men of Lornth?" Zeldyan shifts her weight in the chair again. "I'm sorry, Sillek. It's not you. You've been fair and open. And, in his own way, so is my sire."

"I'm still Lord of Lornth, and the men have the power, and they look to me to put things right-as they see it."

"As they see it... what they see will be the death of us all."

"I am trying to work around that."

"I know. I know."

"I'll be back." Sillek bends and kisses her cheek again. "At midday?"

"At midday." Her eyes drift toward the chamber pot.





LXV



"IT HURTS ... NO one said it would hurt like this . . . damn you, Ryba! Damn you!"

Siret's words, muffled by the steps and the ceiling and floor separating the great room from the marine quarters above, were still clear.

Nylan looked at Ryba.

"Childbirth hurts," the marshal said, "as I'm going to find out firsthand before too long." She winced slightly as Siret yelled again.

The space across from Nylan was vacant. Both Ayrlyn and Jaseen were up with Siret. At the base of the table, Gerlich glanced quizzically at Nylan, then whispered something to Narliat. The former armsman raised his eyebrows and looked at Nylan.

Nylan could almost sense the pain rolling down from the upper level. Finally, he stood. "Maybe I can help Ayrlyn."

"You're not a healer or a medtech," pointed out Ryba.

"No ... but healing takes a sort of... field strength . . . and I can help there. Besides," he pointed out, tossing the words back over his shoulder, "I'm not good at standing around and doing nothing."

The silence behind him lasted but a moment, and the buzzing of conversations rose, louder than before, even before he started up the stairs.

Siret's face was red as Nylan approached the couch in the dimness of the candlelit third level. Ayrlyn was pale, and Jaseen glanced at the engineer as if to ask what he was doing there.