The Gift
Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply
The day Maeve and Keely have their first spat since their reunion, Sinbad knows his sorceress is feeling better.
Not wholly. Not completely. She's not healed, and the substance of the argument he walks in on proves it: Keely has forbidden Maeve to put her red blanket back on her bed until it gets ripped apart and thoroughly cleaned, the internal feathers washed and left to bake dry in the sun. Maeve refuses, insulted that Keely considers the Nomad so filthy. That she even cares tells Sinbad she's still feeling physically weak and therefore insecure. He knows Maeve, and knows that under normal circumstances she wouldn't care about the blankets on her bed or the minor insult to his ship. He doesn't, though it does amuse him that a supposed barbarian is insisting his ship isn't up to her standards of cleanliness.
At first he's worried that this fight will be too much for Maeve. She's not well, and she's a mess emotionally because of it. The last thing she needs after believing her family turned their backs on her, he's convinced, is Keely's irate little self screaming in her face. She and Keely are famous for going at each other with vicious intensity, and he firmly believes the surges of emotion and the wasted energy they expend aren't good for Maeve or the baby within her. He's also afraid that this argument may turn sour, both sisters refusing to speak to each other once more. That's just not an option right now. Maeve needs her sister, both as a midwife and for the emotional support he knows she provides, though as he stands near the door and considers intervening, he's finding it hard to believe either one takes comfort from the presence of the other. Maeve can't rise, but that doesn't stop her angry shouts or the equally furious, higher-pitched shrieks from her smaller sister. It would be ludicrously funny if Maeve's condition weren't so serious, the sight of both women heavily pregnant and both probably in some measure of discomfort, screaming in each other's faces about something as ridiculous as the cleanliness of a stupid blanket. They're tired and anxious and worn out from worry, taking their frustrations out on each other, and Sinbad is sure that for so many reasons it's just not a good idea. He takes a step toward them, intent on breaking this up. They both need some space to calm down.
A hand catches his arm as he moves, and he halts his steps. Wren shakes her head firmly at him. "Don't."
He didn't even hear her climb the stairs. "I don't think this is good for Maeve. Or Fin." He doesn't bother to keep his voice down. Maeve and Keely are too caught up in their fight to notice anything else right now anyway.
"Keely would hold back if she felt it was necessary. She's capable of controlling herself, all evidence to the contrary. They both are." Wren deftly moves aside as Mia and Rory tumble down the stairs and rush headlong along the hallway, heedless of the adults in their way and the noise from Maeve's room. "Just let them be. Keely will never admit it, but she's sick with worry over Antoine and Nessa and terrified of losing Maeve, too. She's used to fucking away her tension, but she can't even do that right now. Let them yell. It may be the next best option."
It doesn't feel like it. Or sound like it. Sinbad isn't sure how all the anger in that room could possibly be good for either of them or their babies, no matter how healthy Keely and her son are. He's a big fan of fucking tension away and knows how incredible the aftermath of an angry fuck can be—even better than the aftermath of a won battle. The way Maeve and Keely scream at each other can't possibly compare. Is it truly helping anything? He knows they do it habitually, but nobody actually claims they enjoy it.
"Go on outside for a while," Wren says. Ignoring her sisters, she enters the room long enough to remove the offending blanket without either woman noticing. She heads for the stairs. "The weather will turn soon. Take advantage of the sun while you're able." Summer is all but over, and it may be the last he ever sees. The words hang unspoken between them.
Sinbad follows her down the stairs with only a little hesitation. Even though Maeve is feeling better, he still doesn't like to leave her. But if Wren says not to interfere with the girls' irate fight, he won't interfere. Wren knows what she's talking about better than he does. He knows his sorceress down to the bone, knows her tics, what sets her alight, but Wren knows them both.
A crash sounds from the cellar as they enter the kitchen; Wren ignores it.
"How do you keep your sanity?" Sinbad demands. "Everyone else is falling apart. You're holding this place together. I know Keely thinks she does, but it's really you. Why aren't you up there screaming yourself red in the face?"
"Different characters." Wren dumps the blanket on top of the scuffed worktable. "To me, all that noise is a waste of time and energy I'd rather spend differently. Maeve and Keel just don't think that way." She grins. Con is under the table, the handle of a long wooden spoon in his mouth. He's chewing on everything these days as his teeth come in, including people, which Sinbad discovered quite painfully yesterday. He still has the little punctures in his arm to prove it. "If you're not going outside," Wren says, "make yourself useful." She passes him a tiny knife. "Rip those seams. If I have to wash that thing, I want the feathers out in the sun before noon. They'll mildew otherwise."
"I don't know that this is such a good idea." He pauses, knife in hand. He knows it's customary to take clothing apart for washing, especially expensive fabrics like this heavy, soft cotton weave, but Maeve adores this thing. It brings her comfort, and he's not too keen on pulling it to pieces if she doesn't want it done.
"The only way to properly wash it is to take it apart first. Maeve knows that. I don't believe your ship is crawling with bugs, but it's better to do what Keely wants than argue with her. Maeve is easier to placate, and a little irritation isn't going to send her into early labor. At least not today. Keely wouldn't be screaming in her face if there was any real danger." She opens the door to the cellar. "Boys! Bring me up the laundry basin and stop crashing around. You're supposed to be readying the apple and root bins for harvest, not banging through the stores like wild animals."
"But I found another gremlin!" Declan's piping little voice protests from below. "I caught him. Can I keep him?"
"Good gods, no! You wouldn't keep a rat for a pet, and gremlins are ten times worse. I told you boys you can have a pup the next time one of the dogs in the village whelps, so long as you train it not to bother the sheep, but I'm putting my foot down at a gremlin. Go take it out to your father."
Declan emerges from the cellar filthy to his eyebrows, scowling fiercely, holding something wiggly by the scruff of its neck. It looks exactly like a mandrake root, vaguely humanoid but horribly misshapen, lumpy and pointy in all the wrong places. It screeches shrilly, protesting being caught. Sinbad doesn't doubt that Wren doesn't want her sons keeping that thing for a pet. He's not entirely sure it's an animal, but it moves around a little too much to be a plant. Is there something in between?
Brandon follows his younger brother up the stairs, dragging the heavy copper basin behind him. It thunks loudly up each wooden step, rattling the house. He's as dirty as his brother but not as sullen, and Sinbad suspects he doesn't want a gremlin for a pet any more than his mother does. He passes her the tub and submits to the kiss she places in his hair before escaping back down the stairs. Sinbad bows to the inevitable and begins ripping out the seams holding Maeve's blanket together. She won't be happy, but this isn't his ship and he's not captain here. Keely is, he supposes, though more and more he's learning that Wren actually keeps this place running. He wonders what that says about Keely's leadership—and his, for that matter. Does someone else secretly run the Nomad quietly from beneath him, as Wren does here?
Inside Maeve's blanket, the tiny grey and white feathers are tightly compressed from heavy use. She likes to wrap herself in its heavy warmth, winding it around her body like a constrictor snake, restrictive and tight. Why, he doesn't know, but he can see the result. Wren scoops the feathers into her basin without a word, sneezing as a few float free and rise into the air.
"Bring me some water? I'm going to soak these in quicklime." She heaves the basin into her arms and bears it outside, where the caustic fumes from the lime won't harm the small children or incite them to investigate. It seems a little extreme if she truly does believe his ship is clean, but he refuses to argue with her about it. He follows her with two buckets of cold water drawn from the tap, pouring it gently over the feathers and the small measure of lime she shakes from a heavy bag. The cold water boils instantly on hitting the lime, steaming and bubbling, hissing as angrily as the two women he can still hear through Maeve's open window.
"You really do hold this place together." Sinbad frowns as Wren steps back into the kitchen. "You know that, right?"
"We all have our roles," she says with a deft shrug. "I can't help upstairs. I never learned to read."
Sinbad blinks at her. "You can't read?" The vast majority of people in the world can't, and get along just fine. Normally it's not a skill he expects of anyone he meets, but Wren lives in a library. He just assumed all of Maeve's kin were scholars of some degree.
"No." She sounds completely untroubled by this lack. "Niall tried to teach me when we first moved in, but it didn't take. Maybe I'm too old to learn, I don't know. I did try to help scribing, since I don't need to understand the meaning to copy out the symbols, but my hand isn't steady enough with a quill. Even Dex writes better than me, and he's seven." She rolls the two halves of Maeve's blanket into a tidy bundle and tucks them under her arm. "And I'm no leader. I fade into the background. That's probably why I survived the attack that took my clan. I was overlooked." She smiles wanly. "Sometimes it's a gift."
Sinbad doesn't think he's ever actually been overlooked in his life. He's good-looking, and a leader by nature. Not as big or as loud as Doubar, but people notice him. They listen. They're happy to follow. He doesn't know what it's like not to have that, and he doubts he'd enjoy it. Maeve, either. She's faced rejection in her life, but not disregard. She'd never stand for that. But Wren seems perfectly content as she is. She ducks under the table for a moment to check on her baby, who smiles up at her with his wide, drooling grin.
"Even still," Sinbad says. "I think Keely may take you for granted sometimes. I admit I don't know very much about sisters, but I'm learning. And Nessa introduced you to me as hers, not Keely's."
"Nessa was my first real friend after I lost my clan," Wren agrees, taking a cake of soap in her free hand. "Well, Niall first, of course, but after him. We were on our own for quite a while, trying to build a life from scratch. It's not so easy in Eire. On the continent I think things are less difficult. There's more room. Here, every clod of dirt belongs to one clan or another, and if you don't, you can't settle. With my clan gone and Niall a runaway from his monastery, we didn't belong anywhere. So we wandered. I had to teach him how to live off the land—he knows so much more than I do, but so many basic things were foreign to him. Young monks tend to live very bare lives, but they're very sheltered, too. Niall had to discard everything he knew and learn to become something else. A Celt, not a Roman. Then Bran came along, and we both had to learn to be something new." She smiles.
"Parents." It's a huge adjustment, one Sinbad is struggling to make himself. Fin isn't even born yet, but she's already the center of his world. He glances back at the house as they step outside, listening to the sounds of the continued argument upstairs. He needs to check on Maeve soon, but as long as he can still hear her and Keely going at it he's not worried. If they suddenly fall silent, then he'll bolt for the door.
"Aye." Wren chuckles as they head for the small, swiftly-moving stream near the edge of the forest. The basin of soaking feathers has stopped bubbling, but it still steams gently. "One of the Romanized settlements might have taken us in if I agreed to convert and baptize my children, but we weren't willing. Not after what we'd been through, and not at the price it would have cost. Niall's punishment for deserting his vows would have been severe. Probably not death, but likely a years-long pilgrimage of penance, and possibly castration or branding as well. And we would have been separated permanently, no matter what." She steps into the swift, cold water.
"Let me do that." Sinbad takes the waterlogged cotton and pushes her gently back to the bank. Keely was the one who wanted this done in the first place—it's not Wren's job, no matter how much she says she doesn't mind.
A trickle of amused laughter leaves her as he steps into the shallows, his boots immediately full of ice-cold water. Even in high summer the water here is freezing, one thing he very much does not like about the north. The children don't seem to mind, but then, they don't know any different. He wants to take Bran and Dex back to Baghdad and toss them in the Tigris, see their shock and delight when they realize the river is warm.
"Have you ever done laundry in your life?" Wren asks, watching him with great interest. "No offense. Niall will help if I ask, and Ant at least knows how. But you're a hero."
"Of course I have." He wets the pieces of fabric thoroughly in the stream. "Who do you think washed Con's linens every day when he was with us? Maeve sure as hell didn't. And how do you think we wash our clothes? Just dragging them behind the ship doesn't work—believe me, Firouz tried."
"I didn't think sailors generally washed, ever."
Sinbad chuckles. "Maeve's been spinning her tales, I see. It's not true. I mean, for most of us. Doubar would wear his shirts until they rotted on his frame if I let him, but he's an outlier." He clamps his jaws shut. Mention of Doubar brings pain, and he's not ready to confront this loss yet. He may never be.
"I guess I shouldn't be so surprised." She watches him soap the fabric and scrub it against the rock they obviously use for this purpose. Its surface is clean, free of the moss and lichen that coats the neighboring stones, rough but well-worn, like a millstone. "I've just never seen a hero do chores before."
"Sure you have. All of you are heroes, if you ask me. You kept yourselves and your children alive through trials that would fell most men, and now you're safeguarding your people's culture, their legacy, by rebuilding that library."
This idea pleases Wren; Sinbad finds that he's glad. He knows having Maeve and him here has made more work for everyone, and they're stretched thin already without Ant and Nessa and with harvest time upon them. Maeve is feeling well enough that he can leave her side for short periods during the day, which means he can pitch in a little, but he still feels somewhat guilty for the extra burden he knows they are.
"Is that how Nessa found you?" he asks as he scrubs. "Wandering, just like they were?"
"Aye." Wren folds herself to the bank and dips her bare feet in the cold stream. Declan appears from the direction of the barn, holding no gremlin but still wearing the scowl. "Bran was just walking. I was big with Dex and constantly starving, even though it was midsummer, when foraging is easiest. She found me eating clay from a riverbank and took me and Bran back to their camp. Fed me bitter dark greens that made me feel ridiculously better. Maeve was a teenager, sullen and suspicious—worse than most, but even she couldn't resist the baby. Keely and Ant were away for a few days; when she returned I received my first rant from her."
Sinbad snorts. "About what?"
"Not having children so close together. She says it's not healthy. She wasn't quite what I'd consider an adult herself yet, but it was obvious she knew what she was talking about. I've never questioned her vocation. The women she ministers to are healthier in the main than most I've known. She can't prevent all complications, can't guarantee a successful birth or a healthy child, but I trust her completely and so do our neighbors."
Sinbad begins the slow process of rinsing and wringing the harsh lye soap from the large, heavy pieces of fabric. The current is swift, drawing the suds quickly downstream. Maeve trusts Keely without question, too, which is why Sinbad does. Maeve doesn't trust easily, and he has faith in her instincts. He's learned through hard experience that they're usually right. Not always, but usually. Things often go badly for him when he doesn't take heed. "Why do you think she's so much better than other midwives? Maeve said she learned from them, picking up knowledge as they traveled."
Wren tips her head to the side, considering his question. "I don't know. Maybe it's the mix of true magic and traditional knowledge. Or maybe she has a special knack because of her blood. Plants have the power to heal, and she supposedly has a bit of tree-spirit in her."
"So I've heard." Sinbad would discount those rumors, except for that unmistakable, unnatural green of Keely's eyes and forelock. Something's going on with her; she's no regular human. He has questions, but he guesses it doesn't really matter. She's Maeve's sister regardless.
Dex approaches, still grumpy at the loss of his potential pet.
"Da says I can have some oatcake for catching the gremlin." He collapses next to his mother on the bank.
She wraps her arm lightly around his skinny shoulders. "Why aren't you happy, then, dove?"
"Rather have the gremlin."
His dark hair touches his shoulders, and the bangs cut across his forehead have grown too long, falling past his eyes. He won't sit still to let his mother trim them, so they continue to grow. Like shoes, this seems to be another battle Wren and Niall have decided isn't worth fighting. Wren hugs him from behind, ignoring the dirt. "You can have a wee pup within the year. Probably in the spring; I don't think anyone in the village has a bitch in whelp right now. And you'll have two new cousins before long. That will be exciting."
"That will be loud," Dex says. He doesn't sound pleased.
"No louder than that," Wren says mildly, nodding at the house, from which Keely and Maeve's shouts still echo.
Dex's scowl fades, and he laughs. "True, mam."
Sinbad snorts. The kid's not wrong. The house will be brimful of noise and chaos for a while, if all goes well. Lily and Conall are still very young, and Maeve and Keely's babies should come close together, since they were conceived during the same teas. With so many children plus two newborns, everyone's going to be run ragged for a while. Sinbad doesn't mind. He looks forward to the chaos, because it's the best of all possible outcomes. The rest are too painful to contemplate.
"I still think Keely may take you for granted," he says, draping one of the sheets of red cotton over the rocks, lifting the other free of the water. A sturdy wooden post has been hammered deep into the ground near the stream, and he twists the cotton tightly before wrapping it around the post, using it to help wring out all the water he can.
"And if she does sometimes?" Wren shrugs as she holds her son. He's uncharacteristically still for the moment, giving his mother a rare chance to hold him. "I remember how things were when it was just Niall and me. When we had nothing, including no clan. That's no way to live. Humans aren't cats. We're not meant to lead solitary lives. Our clan may be new, and small yet, but it's growing, and every night I put my boys to sleep in a bed, under a roof, which is something Niall and I would never have been able to give them on our own. We're better together, and better off together, so I don't mind things like laundry and the intermittent screaming. It makes no difference at the end of the day."
Sinbad pauses in his work, watching Wren with respect. She may not be educated, but she just proved she's smarter than most people he's met. Maybe smarter than her sisters in some ways, who he can still hear screaming at each other through the window. "You say Niall knows more than you. I think you may be wrong."
"Mam knows a lot," Declan agrees, but a moment later he jerks himself from her arms. He sits up straight as an arrow, like a watchdog come to attention. "Who's that?" He points toward the far treeline, where a little figure walks swiftly toward the house. It's a woman, Sinbad can tell, with a shawl loosely covering her head and draped over her shoulders. More than that is impossible to say at this distance. She walks with purpose and easy confidence.
Wren is on her feet instantly. "Go get your father," she says, her soft voice low and full of tension. "Keep to the treeline. Go!"
Declan is not very good at minding his parents, but even he doesn't dare question the strain in his mother's voice. He darts into the woods, heading for the barn but keeping out of sight.
"That's not one of your neighbors from the village?" Sinbad squints as the figure draws nearer.
"No. That village holds only a few extended families, and I know everyone in it very well."
Sinbad moves swiftly to intercept the woman before she can reach the house. Strangers aren't supposed to be on this island; he doesn't understand the magic that protects them, but he knows that much. And he's not taking any chances with Maeve and Fin so vulnerable. He's not wearing his sword—he never dreamed he'd need it here. He tenses his fists, wet boots sloshing as he strides toward the house, Wren close behind him. Niall isn't a trained fighter and Maeve can't even get out of bed, which means it's his job to protect everyone here. Maeve and Fin, yes, but also everyone else. They're his clan now, as Wren just said, and they're vulnerable, especially the little winged girls. The spells on the island are meant to protect them as much as they protect the books, but someone got past the magic, which means he's the next line of defense. As he tenses, prepared for anything, the thought flits through his mind that he really should start training the older children. They're not monks, and they need to be prepared for life off this enchanted island. That includes learning how to defend themselves. Rory and Mia are probably too young yet, but Cara and Brandon and Declan are not. Sinbad was brawling with other little boys in the streets of Baghdad by Dex's age.
"Hello," Sinbad says, planting himself firmly in front of the main door of the house. No stranger's getting inside unless he lets her. He folds his arms over his chest and eyes the shawl-wrapped figure. "Do you want to explain your business here?" He's not being friendly, and he doesn't care. He's not in the mood for surprises.
She pauses, and after a moment her hands rise, drawing her shawl off her head. Neatly plaited silver hair frames a face Sinbad recognizes instantly, and a wave of relief rushes over him.
"Cairpra."
"I trust you have a good reason for how long I've waited for news regarding the health of my first grandchild." She eyes him with disfavor.
A broad grin splits his face, and he can't resist. Though she hasn't offered her hand he takes it anyway, squeezing it gently in both of his. "No," he admits. "No good reason at all. You can scold me later."
"Don't think I won't," she says, but her severe mouth doesn't quite manage to hide the hint of a smile lurking at the corners. He's sorry, he truly is. Things just kept coming up, and Maeve has been too tired and sick to contact Cairpra herself or demand Keely do it.
"Is this your mother?" Wren says softly, inching her way around Sinbad's bulk now that the stranger has been revealed as a friend.
He laughs as he watches the younger woman search Cairpra's face, seeking a resemblance she will not find. "No. But she's kin just the same. This is...a very complicated clan."
Wren's confusion melts into a smile. "Not so complicated, really. Kin is kin, blood or otherwise." She doesn't protest as Mia and Rory slip through the doorway, their eyes wide as they encounter a stranger—possibly the only stranger they've ever seen at their door besides Sinbad himself.
"Well, aren't you the sweetest things." Cairpra touches Mia's little brown cheek. The girl beams, neither shy nor suspicious as she regards the strange woman dressed in brilliant peacock blue, her silver shawl draped loosely around her shoulders.
"Careful," Sinbad says quietly. "There are a lot more 'sweetest things' wandering around this place."
"Excellent. I was worried when I sent Maeve north that her sister wouldn't have the capacity to care for her, but I knew I certainly didn't." She eyes the sprawling house, Wren and the children, and Niall's form as he frantically pounds across the meadow, Declan just behind. "I can see that I had no cause to fear."
She had every cause. Maeve barely made it through, even with all the resources at Keely's disposal. Sinbad holds his tongue, lifting his arm to hail Niall as the man draws near.
"It's fine!" he calls, and Niall drops to a swift walk, trusting Sinbad's word.
Declan rushes to Sinbad's side, but his interest plummets when he sees Cairpra. "Aw, it's just an old lady. I was hoping for something exciting."
"Behave," Wren snaps, and lays a quelling hand on his shoulder.
"Mamó," Mia says unexpectedly.
Before anyone can attempt to translate, Cairpra beams. "Yes, little beauty. That's exactly who I am. Now, will you take your new mamó to Maeve, please? These adults are all quite useless, but I suspect you are not."
Mia takes her hand and leads her confidently inside. Her wings flicker at her back as she walks, but if Cairpra is surprised she says nothing. Sinbad follows, and is unsurprised to hear bare feet stomping down the stairs as they draw near. How Cairpra managed to get onto the island he doesn't know, but Keely clearly already knows a stranger is here and isn't happy about it.
"What the fuck is going on here?"
Yes, there she is. He watches, caught between amusement and worry as, already irritated from her fight with Maeve, Keely hauls herself down the last of the stairs as quickly as she can with her swollen belly hampering her movements. Maeve doesn't look nearly so unwieldy, but Keely is tiny and her son is big, and lately she's been waddling more than striding. She plants herself, round and angry and implacable, at the base of the stairs.
"Mia, get over here!" she snaps, reaching for her daughter. "Where's your sister? Everyone hold on just a goddamn minute. No one can just barge in here like this!"
Mia's little hand remains in Cairpra's. "Mamó won't hurt me, mama. She wants to see Maeve."
"Absolutely not! You have no grandmother, Mia, you know this. Sinbad, is this your doing?" Keely demands.
He opens his mouth to defend himself, but Cairpra is quicker. "It's mine. I grew tired of waiting, so took matters into my own hands. Had you bothered to contact me sooner, you could have spared yourself the interruption." She brushes past her and begins up the stairs.
"Is that your mother?" Niall pants, struggling to get his breath back. He and Wren stand uncertainly in the entryway, his hand cautious on Rory's curly head. Declan has wandered away, uninterested in the appearance of an old lady who poses no threat.
Why does everyone assume Cairpra must be his mother? "Not exactly. I told Wren, it's complicated. That's Maeve's mentor, the sorceress Cairpra."
"Mamó?" Rory asks, looking up at Sinbad questioningly. "We never had one of those before."
"Guess you do now. It's best not to question Cairpra." He himself doesn't dare. If she intends to claim all of Maeve's nieces and nephews as grandchildren, he just hopes she knows what she's in for. He tags along up the stairs, Keely furious as she struggles to keep up with Cairpra, to keep the stranger from Maeve.
"You can't just barge into my house like this!" Keely bellows, red in the face and panting. "Who are you? How did you get here? Do you have any idea how many shields are on this place? No one but family should be able to just traipse in and out at will!"
"I am family," Cairpra says, utterly unruffled by Keely's fury. "My husband helped shape the spells that keep you safe; I know perfectly well how they work. I mean no harm, I work no evil, and that's my granddaughter Maeve carries. Your shields are crafted to keep out danger, not interfering relatives. I don't know of any magic in the world that can do that."
Keely is stunned into silence. Sinbad didn't know that was possible, and until this moment would have bet against anyone who said it was. Mia giggles as they reach the top of the stairs.
Cara stands in front of Maeve's closed door, the little apprentice a terrible choice for a guard, but Sinbad doubts Keely had another option. She's shaking like a sail in a storm, biting her lower lip hard and pressing as far back against the latched door as she possibly can. But she holds her ground, which surprises Sinbad. She's terrified, but she doesn't break and run. The red of her terrible scars stands out starkly against her scared white face.
Keely exhales a swift, short breath. "Breathe, kid. Deep breaths. It looks like maybe it was a false alarm, and you know no one here will hurt you."
Cara's mind may know that, but Sinbad can tell her body doesn't believe it at all. Her mistress is angry and there's a stranger too close, even if that stranger is a little old woman Cara could probably physically overpower if she wanted to. It's all too much for her. Sinbad wants to tell her she can stand down, but she's not his apprentice.
"Brave child." Cairpra's voice is gentle. "You have nothing to fear from me. Maeve is mine, and I would never harm her. Sinbad wouldn't let me near if there was any fear of that."
Cara's head dips hesitantly as she acknowledges this. Everyone knows Sinbad will fight to the death to protect his chéile and the child she carries. He's just behind Cairpra and offering no resistance to her presence, which means there's no danger.
"Go on, kid," Keely says, still irritated but no longer irate. "Go on upstairs. You can clean the workroom if you can't settle down and concentrate well enough to study."
Cara is only too glad to go, bolting from the door as swift and silent as a loosed arrow.
Without waiting for permission, Cairpra steps forward and lifts the latch. Mia hugs her side.
Maeve can't rise, but she's propped up on her pillows as far as Keely will let her. Her tense face melts into an expression of pure delight when she sees her mentor, and Sinbad is instantly sorry that he didn't insist on bringing Cairpra north sooner. Maeve asked him to take her to Basra long before they left the Nomad, and he failed in this task. It wasn't the most pressing of his worries, but as he watches her embrace the older woman he knows he should have tried harder.
Cairpra settles on the edge of the bed and kisses Maeve's forehead. "There you are. You have no idea how worried I've been."
"I wanted to contact you. So much. But I don't have enough magic. It all went away, and it's only coming back slowly." Maeve's voice falters, and Sinbad can see the sheen of bright tears in her eyes. His sorceress has never been a crier, but lately that's changed. She hates it, even as she can't help it, and she blames Finleigh loudly every time she succumbs to tears. Sinbad still feels extremely uncomfortable when she cries, but at least he's learning how to handle it. Sometimes. He loves her desperately, but she's not always easy to read. Sometimes tears mean she wants to be held. Other times they mean she wants to fight, or wants one of her sisters. And sometimes they mean she's actually just hungry and her poor, overworked body is sending out the wrong signals. Right now, he suspects they're mostly happy tears, but with Keely standing irritated at the end of the bed there's really no telling.
"Hush, child. I'm not upset. Not with you, anyway." Cairpra pauses, and Sinbad knows that was absolutely directed at him. She clears her throat and continues. "I'm just relieved to see you. Alive, in this world." She grips her hand firmly. "I wanted so badly to bring you back to Basra with me, but you needed more care than I alone could give. Please understand that. I sent you away to save your life. My granddaughter's life." She rests a hand gently on the swell of Maeve's belly.
"I know." The threatened tears spill over. Maeve wipes impatiently at them. "And I...thank you. Just...thank you."
"You can thank me with a very full and detailed explanation. I still have no idea what you were doing there in the first place. You're an intelligent young woman; you know better than to try to travel without training."
"It was real, then?" Maeve asks. The words leave her in a rush; she wants these answers badly. So does Sinbad. He hasn't known what to make of Maeve's encounter with Scratch since she described it, and not understanding something Scratch does makes him very nervous right now. "When I woke up here, my memory was a mess. All of me was a mess. But my daughter was back inside me. I don't understand any of it."
"What is real?" Cairpra shrugs expressively. "When we start speaking of different realms, places or times divorced from our own, reality becomes a hazy concept at best. Dim-Dim sent me a warning that you were in danger. He couldn't go to you himself, but I could. Thankfully, you were strong enough and canny enough to hold on until I arrived."
"This is your southern sorceress, then?" Keely demands from the end of the bed. "You didn't say she was kin. We've never had any in-laws here, and I'm not really interested in that changing." She looks at Sinbad accusingly. Why everyone wants to blame Cairpra's appearance on him, he doesn't know. He didn't summon her and she's not his mother, though she is currently the wife of the man who raised him. He would have brought her to Maeve if he could, but he has no magic and no knowledge to do so.
"She's mine," Maeve says firmly, which overrides the need for any further explanation. Claimed kin is kin here, no questions asked. "She saved me from the darkness. I'm still not sure what happened, but I know that much."
Cairpra squeezes Maeve's hand firmly. "That may be all the explanation either of us get, unfortunately. Scratch is very powerful, and able to work more freely outside of this world. The game he played with you was cruel and unfair, and I was quite glad to stop it. I suspect his goal was to trick you willingly into his underworld. He had no claim on you so he could not have taken you by force, but deceit is, unfortunately, perfectly permissible. Think of Persephone and the pomegranate seeds. A different underworld, but similar rules." Her face, oddly smooth despite the years she carries, turns grim.
No. Absolutely not. Desperate anger churns in Sinbad's gut, and he sinks into the chair at Maeve's side, his hand reaching automatically for her skin. She's reasonably warm under his seeking fingers despite his absence—a sign that she's healing, however slowly. She was able to scream at Keely for a good while today, and did so without Sinbad and his bracelet in the room. It's an encouraging sign. He's still terrified, though. The thought of Scratch trying to lure his pregnant sorceress into his underworld is unacceptable. She and Finleigh are not just collateral damage in this fight between man and demon. They're living souls in their own right, and they deserve better than that.
And no one—no one—takes his sorceress from him. Not Doubar. Not Scratch. Not anyone.
"I would have gone, I think." Maeve's voice is small, soft as she speaks into the silence of the room. Niall and Wren have left to give them space, but Keely makes no such consideration and Mia seems permanently plastered to her new grandmother's side. "He said Dermott was dead. Nessa, too. He said that they were there. I don't think I completely trusted his disguise, the shape he chose, but if he offered me the chance to see them again, to speak with them, I would have taken it." Her voice hitches. She's hoarse from the unaccustomed shouting and Sinbad wants to bring her hot tea laced heavily with milk and honey as the children drink it, but he refuses to leave her side. He's horrified by this admission, but he also understands it. Maeve wants her brother back more than almost anything in the world. The weight of the guilt she bears over his disappearance is a crushing darkness she cannot escape. If a disguised Scratch, a form she didn't know to distrust, offered her that chance while she was off her guard, injured and reeling from Doubar's attack, he can't blame her for being tempted.
"What shape was he in?" Mia asks breathlessly, and Sinbad can tell from the gleam in her unnatural green eyes that to her four-year-old brain this is simply another tale, a story like so many Maeve and the rest of her family have told her. She can't separate truth from fancy, and honestly, why should she? Most of the stories Maeve tells really happened to them.
Maeve's jaw hardens, her teeth clamping down as she remembers. There's pain here, something tender she does not want to prod. Sinbad can see it in every line of her tense body, no matter how many blankets she's buried under. She's refused to answer some of Sinbad's questions about her ordeal, and he suspects she may refuse Mia, too. This is part of who she is. Antoine warned him ages ago. Keely talks. Maeve doesn't. She may be mouthy under normal circumstances, but there are boundaries within her, walls she refuses to bridge. This may be one of them, and if so, no amount of pleading on her niece's part will sway her.
Cairpra's head tips gently to the side as she regards the younger woman before her. "That woman was a shape you recognized, wasn't she?" Her voice is mild, tenderer than Sinbad has ever heard her speak. "Not just someone generic, a shape you would have deemed harmless. No. Scratch is crueler than that. Disturbingly so. He chose someone real. Someone he believed you would trust without question."
Maeve shifts uncomfortably against her pillow. She reaches for Sinbad's hand without looking; he gladly gives it. She's in distress and he wants to tell Cairpra to stop prodding this wound. But Keely isn't objecting, and if neither she nor Maeve protest, he feels he has no right to, either. He draws Maeve's hand to his mouth and kisses her smooth knuckles softly, happy he can do this, at least, if nothing else. She wants him here with her, draws comfort from his presence. He'll gladly be that for her whenever she has need.
"I don't know," she says finally. "Maybe. I assumed I remembered what she looked like. But maybe that was all in my imagination? Memories of stories Dermott told? I didn't recognize her. Not really." She swallows hard. "There was a twitch, but just a little. Like the memory of a dream."
At the end of the bed, Keely hisses sharply. "Your mother? That's despicable. How dare he?"
Whatever sibling intuition gave her this insight, Sinbad is grateful. He sure as hell wouldn't have grasped it from Maeve's fumbling response, but it makes sense. A form Maeve would trust—and a cruel one.
Cairpra's eyes are kind. She touches Maeve's cheek tenderly. "How old were you when she left you, child?" To Sinbad's knowledge, she's never called her that before. One of the reasons Maeve and Cairpra get along so well is because Cairpra does not pull rank, does not speak down to the younger woman despite the gap in years, experience, and skill. Maeve has never had a mother, and doesn't react well to anyone who tries to assume this role. Mentors she will gladly accept. Not parents. But, for whatever reason, she doesn't snap at Cairpra today. Her sweet brown eyes are wary and tired, but her hand in Sinbad's is steady.
"Three or so," she says with an uncomfortable little shrug. "At least, that's what Dermott thinks." She refuses to meet Cairpra's gaze. It's an automatic defense as she tries to pull away from the pain of these questions, things buried in her past she would rather not return to the light. This is the difference between Maeve and Keely, Antoine told him long ago. Maeve believes that all buried things should remain buried. She rejects the pain their resurfacing brings.
Cairpra nods as if this answer makes perfect sense. "Not too young to remember, but too young to retain details like the shape of a mouth, the color of an eye. No one could blame you for that, so if you say you blame yourself I will be very unhappy with you."
The sullen gleam in Maeve's dark eyes tells Sinbad exactly how much she does blame herself for not remembering her mother's face. Her mouth refuses to voice her opinion in front of Cairpra, though whether that's out of respect for the older woman or just weariness Sinbad can't say.
"I'm four," Mia protests, pulling impatiently on the old sorceress's immaculate robe with a dirty little fist. "And I remember my daidí. I remember auntie Nessa. I remember everyone who goes away."
Cairpra casts a swift glance at Keely that Sinbad cannot read. It's not pity. It might be respect for the woman raising her children without their father. "I've no doubt you do, my beauty," she says, drawing Mia close. She's apparently taking this grandmother job seriously, no matter how much it irks Keely. "But four is so very much bigger than three, yes?"
"Yes," Mia agrees, nodding her head earnestly. "Duncan is almost three, and he's very little. I'm big."
"Just so. Of course you remember everyone who goes away, but Maeve's mother left her so very long ago, you see, and as we grow older our memories grow fainter. You won't understand until you're as old as Maeve is, which won't be for a very long time."
"A very long time," Mia concurs. "She's very old."
Maeve snorts lightly. Sinbad squeezes her hand.
Cairpra holds Mia as her gaze once more finds Keely. "You have an exceptional child. Are you aware?"
"Very," Keely says tightly. She doesn't order Mia to her side; that's not who she is. But she's not happy, and her unnatural green eyes watch the old sorceress's movements closely.
"Cairpra, what about Dermott?" Maeve asks. Her voice shakes, which is wholly unlike her. Sinbad can't blame her. This is the fear that has plagued her ever since her encounter with Scratch. She was unnerved by the separation from her unborn child, and by the appearance of Scratch in the form of her mother. But her brother's welfare has plagued her the most, perhaps because this is the most realistic threat Scratch made. Fin is alive and Maeve's mother dead, the future and the past firmly in place where they belong. But Dermott? Nessa? Nobody has been able to answer these lingering questions.
The old sorceress's gaze is gentle. "I have not seen him, my child. Not since the last time you left Basra. As for Scratch…" She shrugs expressively. "He is deceptive by nature, but he will tell the truth if he thinks it will benefit him. You know this."
Maeve's eyes fill with tears again; Sinbad watches her struggle as she blinks them back. She hates crying, hates how helpless it makes her feel. He squeezes her hand, unable to help in any other way. She wants her brother so desperately, and this is something he's been unable to give her. He'll search for Dermott until the end of his days if Maeve wants to, but like Antoine searching for Nessa, he has no clues and this is a very big world. Even if he is alive they may never find the little hawk, especially if he doesn't want to be found.
"I know," Maeve says, forcing back the pain as she so often does. Sinbad is convinced it's not healthy, but ordering her to knock it off will get him nowhere. "But he's my brother. He can be mad at me forever if he wants to, I just need to know that he's okay."
Or not. One way or another. She needs to be able to move on, and she can't. She can't grieve him if she doesn't know he's dead, but hoping each day to see his familiar silhouette against the blinding sky was killing her, too. Sinbad presses his mouth to her fingers, feeling her distress as his own. "Scratch is dishonest, and if he was trying to lure you as Cairpra said, Dermott was the obvious bait. I don't think you can trust anything he said. He tried to make you leave Finleigh behind, after all. Used your mother against you."
"Mm." Cairpra watches him, but there's a distracted glint in her eye. "He did. And yet...I wonder." She looks at Maeve. At Sinbad. Back at Keely. Sinbad has never seen that look on Cairpra's face before but he knows it very well. Firouz wears it often. She's puzzling at a problem, something she doesn't quite understand yet, and she's not willing to let it go. "Maeve, I want to try a small experiment. Will you indulge me? It will only take a moment, and none of your magic."
Maeve nods without hesitation. She's tired and Sinbad would rather she rest, but she trusts her mentor. And she wants some answers. Sinbad can't give them, so he will not interfere. She's not in pain, her energy not dangerously overtaxed, and Finleigh is in no distress so far as anyone knows. Stepping back is not in his nature but he makes himself. He's overprotective, but he can control himself. Sometimes.
Cairpra rises from the edge of the bed with smooth grace. "I'll need a conjuring bowl and clean water. I usually make no presumptions about magic when I visit anyone, but your house is crawling with it. I assume you have something adequate for use?"
Keely scowls, but after a glance at her sister's pleading face she heaves a defeated sigh and stomps from the room. Cairpra follows, utterly unruffled by the younger woman's mood. Sinbad plucks Mia from the ground and settles her on the bed with Maeve. "Keep an eye on your aunt. I'll be right back." He doesn't want to leave her, but Keely's furious and her temper is volatile. She may snap at any second, and Cairpra is old. He needs to be there to step in if necessary. Cairpra can handle herself magically, but he's not confident in anyone but Maeve's ability to handle that furious little Celt when her anger erupts. Even Ant used to say that the best thing to do was stay out of her way.
Out in the hall, the tension is palpable. Sinbad closes the door behind himself, attempting to size up the situation. Cairpra looks calm, her spine straight and strong as a poker, her face giving nothing away. She gleams in peacock-blue satin and her silver shawl, heavy but delicately crafted gold and sapphire earrings dripping from her earlobes. They're both small women, Cairpra hardly taller than Keely, but she has a quiet self-possession and grace the Celt lacks. Keely is her usual self, a sight Sinbad has become very used to: small and round, wearing the stained, undyed linen smock she's adopted since trousers became impossible to fasten over her growing belly. She's barefoot, rumpled, very pregnant, and unmindful of all of it as she stands before Cairpra's smooth calm. She's controlling herself, but only for Maeve's sake. She doesn't want this stranger in her house, and she doesn't care who knows it.
"Listen, lady. My sister wants you, so you're here. Fine. But don't push me. I've got too much to deal with already, trying to keep this place running and my family alive. I don't need anyone putting that in jeopardy."
Cairpra nods slightly, a decisive little jerk of her chin. Instead of the rebuke Sinbad expects, she says something else entirely. "I assume a midwife was sent for?"
"I am a midwife!" Keely snaps, drawing back, her shoulders bracing as she readies for a fight Sinbad hopes to all the gods does not begin. Maeve doesn't need this hostility swirling around her right now, and she wants Cairpra here. "I'm the only midwife within two days' hard travel so if you want someone else you're out of luck."
"What I want," Cairpra says coolly, "is my husband's apprentice safe and my granddaughter healthy. Ideally Sinbad out of danger as well, but let's take things one at a time. I can see I was right to send Maeve to you. She was afraid to come, but I knew her family occupied a Breakwater and was therefore perfectly positioned to give her the care and protection I could not. It doesn't surprise me at all to learn you are a midwife, not with your gift, the magic your daughter obviously inherited." She tips her head to the side, watching Keely with undisguised interest. "But you have your own heartaches right now."
"Which are none of your business." The words grate out through tightly clenched teeth. Keely narrows her eyes at the sorceress with dangerous intent.
Cairpra ignores the warning. "When did their father die? Less than a year, quite obviously. I'm sorry. You're not the first woman to raise your children alone, but I realize that's no solace."
"He's not dead!" Keely scowls. "Why would you assume that?" To Sinbad's surprise, she falters. Her breath catches, and she reels back on her heels ever so slightly. "At least, he wasn't. How the hell should I know now?"
Cairpra's fine eyebrows draw together. "No? I know what your daughter is as well as you do. Sìthichean do not abandon their families; that's a purely human vice."
"I know that!" Keely glares, her bitterness returning. "I spent most of my life with them, so don't you dare try to tell me what I already know. He went chasing off after his lost sister, which tells me exactly how he defines his family. Thanks so much for pointing it out."
Cairpra's gaze softens with sympathy. This is a wound Sinbad has not dared to touch—he and Keely don't have anything like the sort of relationship that would allow it. They respect each other, and get along for Maeve's sake, but they are not close. Sinbad doubts Keely will let anyone but Maeve and maybe Wren touch this pain—not even Niall. And for the first time, Sinbad feels a little guilty for not trying harder with Maeve's sister. She's difficult, but she bears the same wounds Maeve does. As she said, they came through the fire together. Now they've lost Dermott, Nessa, and Antoine together. Keely's good at hiding her pain but Cairpra found and named it almost instantly. Keely will never admit to the injury, but that doesn't erase the hurt.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know anything about the situation when I sent Maeve to you. She said you were fighting; I told her this crisis would supersede any argument there may have been between you. But if it's all too much, I will take her back to Basra. I know her care is an added burden, and you don't need more right now."
"You try it," Keely seethes, "and I'll kill you. I don't care how powerful a sorceress you are. She belongs here, with her family."
"She can't be moved, anyway," Sinbad says, stepping cautiously into the fray. He's grateful for Cairpra's offer, but going to Basra would be disastrous. He has no doubt she would do her best, and he misses the comfort of his homeland in a way he never has before, but Maeve needs to stay here. She needs the magical protections that cloak Breakwater and she needs her sister, no matter how much they scream at each other. "It's too risky. You were right the first time. She belongs here until Samhain at the very least."
"Until spring at the very least." Keely glances at him. He can feel her irritation but at least she's not threatening to kill Cairpra anymore. "I don't know how she thinks she's going to fight Scratch in her condition, but after Samhain, no matter what happens, she's still going to be very pregnant and very sick. She's going to have to prepare to give birth while recovering from whatever that fucking Protocol requires of her, and then she'll have a newborn to nurse and care for. I'm not sending her back to that fucking ship like that. I'm not sending her back ever, no matter what you say, if that brother of yours is still hanging around."
"I have no brother anymore." Sinbad bristles. "I told you that. The danger is gone." It's not, so long as Talia and Doubar remain with Firouz and Rongar, but he refuses to argue this point right now. Talia is flighty; she won't stay long, and if she wants to take Doubar aboard her ship as crew that's her problem, not Sinbad's.
"There's no need for all the bickering," Cairpra says, resting a quelling hand on Sinbad's arm, just above his glowing bracelet. "I have no real wish to remove Maeve from the only shields in the world that have been proven to keep Scratch at bay. I made the offer because you are clearly struggling, but she's better off here and no one could deny that. What's wrong with her? I don't want it coated in honey—tell me the truth. I can see with my own eyes that she's not well, but I haven't your training and experience."
Keely crosses her arms over her chest, but the appeal to her vocation seems to be the correct tactic. She's not happy, but she's calmer. "She's getting better, believe it or not. Much more slowly than I'd like, but I can't do anything about that. Ordinarily I'd intentionally cause a miscarriage in a woman as sick as she is, to better her chances of survival. But she's too far along to do that safely and Maeve would never forgive me if I did, considering what's at stake." She glances at Sinbad. His jaw clamps down, but what can he say? Keely loves her sister, and she warned him very clearly not to get attached to his unborn daughter. It doesn't really surprise him that she would make such a choice. As a midwife, she probably has before. A miscarried child is a sorrow, but a dead woman will never conceive again and may leave other children motherless besides.
"No," Cairpra agrees, "Maeve would not stand for that if you suggested it. Best not to. But what's wrong, exactly?"
"The consequences of too much dark magic and not enough care," Keely says, and though Sinbad feels a surge of guilt at this concise and devastating summary, nothing in her voice or manner says it's aimed at him. She blames Rumina. Scratch. Doubar. Possibly even Maeve, a little. But not Sinbad. "She has nothing left physically as she enters the end of her pregnancy, and a child that should be growing rapidly but isn't. At first I was afraid the baby would die in the womb, but she's tougher than I figured. Now I'm trying to guard against an early birth. She's not ready—neither of them are. But I'm seeing signs I shouldn't. The child is positioned head-down and hasn't flipped in weeks. She dropped the other day, though Maeve and I were able to reposition her higher up again manually and she hasn't done it again. Maeve has been spotting off and on even though she's following orders and lying as still as she can. All this tells me the baby is preparing for birth, but it's too soon."
Cairpra glances at Sinbad. "Is it possible she's further along than you thought?"
Sinbad wishes that were the case, but it isn't. Unlike most couples, they know exactly when their daughter was conceived. "There's about a two-week window," he says. "The teas we participated in, and ten days before. Anything earlier just isn't possible."
"The teas was quite a neat solution to your dilemma," Cairpra acknowledges, "and provides a very clear timeline besides." Her attention shifts to Keely. "Is there anything more we can do? I'm not well-versed in healing magic, but my power is at your disposal if it can help."
"I wish," Keely says, and Sinbad can hear in her voice how much she wants this to be an option. "If there were a way to tell that kid to stay where she is, I'd do it. I'd keep her there longer than nine moons, because she's too small and Maeve needs more time to heal. But I don't know of any magic that can thwart nature so blatantly. I stopped Maeve from miscarrying the first time by healing the rupture and calming her contracting muscles, but once things go past a certain point that doesn't work anymore."
Sinbad watches as Cairpra absorbs this information. None of it is a surprise to him. He was there the afternoon Keely straddled Maeve's legs and together their four hands pushed and prodded Maeve's exposed belly, gently resettling Fin higher in her abdomen. He's seen the streaks of pink and red that appear periodically when Keely checks for them—not often, but often enough that Keely worries. But Fin is active, moving vigorously inside her mother, which Keely promises is a good sign, and she's slowly starting to grow now that Maeve is finally eating as Keely says she should. The signs aren't all bad, though they're not all good, either. Both he and Maeve acknowledge this. He still believes his Fin is strong, and she's going to make it. He's not capable of believing otherwise.
"So all we can do, you're saying, is keep Maeve still and calm, and feed her as much as she'll hold?" Cairpra considers the woman before her.
"Aye," Keely agrees. Her spine loosens slightly. Sinbad watches with amusement. She may not like Cairpra, but the older woman's respect for her knowledge and experience has softened her at least a little. "I want that baby as big as possible before her waters break, and I want to delay the breaking for as long as I can."
Cairpra nods approvingly. "Thank you. That's everything I needed to know. I am not a midwife, and I would never tell you how to do your job. I can see, however, that you need more hands than you currently have. Why have you no servants? You clearly could afford them."
Keely shakes her head firmly. "We're not that sort of people, and I don't trust anyone but family in my house right now. Maybe after the battle with Scratch is over. Maybe."
"In that case," Cairpra says with a decisive breath that lifts her shoulders, "you've brought this on yourself, I'm afraid. Mamó is moving in for the duration. Now, I believe we were searching for a conjuring bowl?"
Keely is murderously silent as they return to Maeve's room, her silver conjuring bowl in Sinbad's hands half-filled with water. She does not want an interfering in-law in her house, no matter how powerful her magic. She doesn't want anyone disturbing the equilibrium of her world, already thrown so wildly out of balance by the disappearance of Antoine and Nessa and the addition of Sinbad and Maeve. Sinbad understands, but he's also grateful for Cairpra's willingness to do this. They can use an extra pair of hands and more magic, even if Keely doesn't want to admit it, and he'll take any help he can get in the fight to keep Maeve healthy and his daughter alive. He doesn't even care anymore about his war with Scratch, the brand that still marks his skin like a wound that will not heal. This isn't a fight for his soul, but a fight for his daughter. She needs to stay where she is as long as she can, not because he needs a pregnant woman to fight Scratch but because early babies do not survive.
The sound of laughter greets him when Keely opens the door, revealing Mia sitting cross-legged next to Maeve on the big bed, her hands gentle on the bared curve of Maeve's belly.
"Fin has the hiccups, mama," Mia says, giggling. "See? Feel there."
Sinbad looks at Keely cautiously, but she seems unsurprised. "That's normal, ladybird. Your brother gets them, too. Maeve, once you're feeling better I'm going to kill you for having the gall to find yourself an in-law." She crosses her arms over her chest and stands near the end of the bed.
Maeve isn't afraid of this threat. She's tired, but her sweet eyes glint with amusement as she looks at Cairpra. "What did you do?"
"I'm staying." Cairpra lays a gentle hand on her head. "Nothing in Basra is more important than this."
"Thank you." Maeve's smile is tremulous but bright. Her hand rubs over her bared belly as Mia pets near Fin's head and chatters to her. "I don't know what good it will do, but thank you."
"It made you smile, and that may be enough." Cairpra smooths her hair gently, then removes her hand. "Now. I promise this won't touch your magic or take anything out of you, my lamb. Sinbad, the bowl, if you would?"
He hands it over, one side of his mouth quirking as he settles in the chair at Maeve's bedside. "I don't think anyone's ever accused you of being lamblike before."
"Never," she agrees. Beside her, Cairpra smiles. "It's because I can't get up, I'm sure of it. Nobody takes me seriously when I look like some indulgent princess lounging in bed."
He chuckles. "No one with half a brain would dare call you indulgent. The work your body's doing now is the most important it's ever done."
"I know," she agrees. "That's why I'm putting up with this shit. People think lazing around sounds great, but it's really, really not. Everything hurts, no position I'm allowed is comfortable, Fin gets heavier every day, and I swear her favorite thing to do when she's awake is pummel my guts. It's not fun, and just so you know, I am never doing this again. I refuse. Next time you find yourself in mortal peril and need a pregnant girlfriend to save your ass, you're out of luck."
"Noted, firebrand." She's said this at least twice a day for the past week, and Sinbad doesn't blame her. In fact, he agrees. He wants Finleigh desperately, but she's going to remain an only child if he has anything to say about it. His nerves will not survive another round of this, and he refuses to put Maeve in such danger a second time. Fin has plenty of cousins; she doesn't need siblings. That way she'll never have a brother to betray her, he thinks darkly.
"Oh, come on," Keely says from the foot of the bed, a dry smile touching the corners of her mouth. "The first one's always the hardest. After the second or third, my clients all stop saying they'll never do it again. They're resigned."
"No," Maeve says firmly, and Sinbad believes her. From the small, amused smile on Cairpra's face, the older sorceress may not.
"We'll see what you say in a year or two." Cairpra settles once more on the edge of the bed. "For now, give me your hand. We'll be using my power, not yours. All I want you to do is dip your fingertip in the bowl, close your eyes, and picture the form Scratch took. Can you remember it well enough to do that?"
Maeve nods.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Sinbad asks warily as Maeve's hand slips into Cairpra's and she rests the fingers of her other hand on the edge of the bowl.
"I wouldn't let her if there was any danger," Keely says, frowning as she comes to stand next to him. She's still irritated at Cairpra but allows her to continue unimpeded. "So long as they don't use Maeve's magic, there's no risk."
"You can use my magic," Mia offers, holding out her hand.
Cairpra gives it a squeeze. "Thank you, but not just now, little beauty. Look in the bowl with me and tell me what you see."
Maeve closes her eyes and concentrates, the tips of her fingers dipping in the water. A soft, pale blue light surrounds the bowl, and a moment later a face appears. It's not old, but worry has carved lines prematurely around the corners of the mouth and eyes. It looks nothing like Maeve, and it glows with a cold grey light Sinbad doesn't like at all.
A startled hiss leaves Keely's mouth. "That's not your mother," she says, her voice high and tense. "She's mine."
Maeve's eyes blink open and the image dissolves. She looks to Cairpra, seeking answers, as the older woman squeezes her hand and sets the bowl aside. "What does that mean? That's the form Scratch took. I may not have been feeling too well, but I remember that much. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it." She swallows hard, and Sinbad rests his hand gently on her shoulder. "And I remembered her. Sort of. There was...something."
Keely exhales a swift, irritated breath. "Because she looks like me, you dope. Or I look like her. Whichever."
Sinbad considers the woman standing next to the bed. She doesn't look like the image he just saw reflected in the water, not really. Or, not completely. Not enough that he would have made the connection on his own. Like her daughters, Keely must primarily take after her father. But there's something in the shape of her mouth, the way her skin rests against her cheekbones, that does resemble the older woman. They were not cut from the same cloth, but they might have been painted with the same brush.
Maeve's arm curls around her bare belly, cradling Fin sweetly. "I don't understand."
"All it means," Cairpra says, placing her hand over the younger woman's, "is that Scratch made a mistake. How much that mistake cost him, we may never know. Had he chosen the correct form, the form of a mother your heart recognized, you might have been more open to his suggestions. Then again, you might not."
Maeve's face is troubled, her mouth tense, her brow wrinkled, but she slowly shakes her head. "No," she says slowly. "No, I don't think so. He wanted me to leave Fin behind. I don't think I could have done that for anyone, no matter who asked. Not even if he took Dermott's shape, which is what he should have done if he wanted me to follow him."
The minute she says it, Sinbad knows it's the truth. Scratch may have spent moons whispering to her without her knowledge, but he doesn't know her as well as he thinks he does. Not only did he choose the wrong dead mother, but he chose the wrong bond entirely. A mother is usually any person's deepest tie, the bond that tugs hardest at the heart, but not for Maeve. Hers has always been her brother. Keely and Sinbad have her heart, but Dermott is her sibling and her parent and her pet, a confusing and contradictory mix that has turned him into both her protector and the one she protects. Scratch aimed to cause pain by taking the form of her dead mother, but he miscalculated badly. Dermott's shape would have hurt far more, and might have made her agree to leave this world behind. That mistake may have cost Scratch this war.
But only if Fin survives.
