EVANS

The babe slept. He woke, stared deeply at her, latched his toothless mouth to her flesh, and slept again. He was good, she decided, wholly pure.

Lady Cigyun seemed to like him too; he was easy to gush over, her lady's (pretty) mouth given to him to tell him secrets. His head, the only non swaddled part of him, poked out, and Cigyun felt the need to tell him how chubby his face was becoming. He never said much, obviously, but he leaned into her touch. The lord seemed to like the baby, as well, opting to sit on the floor of the carriage with his grounded basket.

Ultimately, though, the baby wanted her. Her baby. He snacked from her and slept on her shoulder; his feet always escaped his swaddle and kicked against her forearm when she held him. He barely had a nose yet it so often made its home in her neck. He knew nothing but her breast and a carriage, and seemed none the hurt for it. Did he know what love was? Maybe not, but she felt like she did.

*…*

Cigyun left her sometime in the early morning.

They'd gone to bed together—the road was busy this time of year, and the inn had a sole room open, just on the edge of Grannvale. Rain did not help. Their (not hers, but her lord and lady's) guards were left crammed again in the carriage. So graciously Lord Arvis let her share the bed with Lady Cigyun between them. The woman rolled over at some point and wrapped her arm across her stomach; she'd stayed up through the snoring.

She woke to feed a whining baby, and under the slight sunlight, tripping her way to the bassinet, noticed the empty third of the inn's mattress. The lord's stocking clad feet poked out from the blanket. She laid her wanting heart to her chest, fumbling with him to lead him to latch. Would Lord Arvis know where his mother went? No need to wake him so soon and send him into a fit if he didn't.

Why was she worried? A cursory glance around the room told her enough; Cigyun's shawl laid across a chest, all of their belongings still in the room. Just hungry, perhaps (eating for two), or relieving herself. Her lady alighted from Velthomer, but what did she have to run from now?

Sunilda sat on the edge of the bed, kicking the curtain aside with her foot. Early yet; the air stuck to her neck, rain done. The lord had been up late, barely, wobbly when he undressed, and she made no move to wake him.

For her own joy, her lady returned, and to save her some grief, before the lord woke. She did not look happy, fumbling with her cloak and tossing it off. She knew her well, knowing she was up. "Sunilda," she started. She felt hungry. "Oh. You're both up." Lady Cigyun slipped her shoes off to be quiet, stepping to sit with her on the bed. She was slow to do so, and as she bent her dress stretched across the rounding dome of her stomach. As if Sunilda's dress was not partially pulled down, Cigyun touched his face, brushing his downy hair back. "You're being nice to your momma, I hope."

The baby grunted, beating Cigyun's wrist with a tiny fist. "He always is," she promised. His eyes cracked open, settling on her face. She wanted to kiss him, again, his soft skin and the warmth just in his veins. Was he blessed by Fjalar, or was the warmth his? No matter; it was hers, and in a town dozens of weeks away from Velthomer, from any heartache, he was hers. "Is everything alright, milady?"

"Of course, girl." The baby yawned, laying his head on her arm. She pulled her dress back up. "Just a final chat with our knights. I think they're as hopeless as you about romance."

"They can't be that bad." She could not help herself, ultimately giving him a kiss. He poked his tongue out. "What?" As if it was funny, he giggled for real, lips curling up into his full cheeks. Since he was up, she laid him between her and the lord out on his belly. He was quiet, at least, maybe a little angry, head bobbing.

"They're...it will be an interesting few months for them. You slept, correct?" Enough, at least. Cigyun did not snore all night. "Good. I would like to leave before too many wake up. We will very quietly enter Verdane, and it should all be fine from there."

Should be. "It's safe?" she asked.

"I did quite alright by myself years ago. Anything can happen, of course! But if you start nail-biting they will."

"I don't bite my nails."

"Well, the little sir cannot count, and Arvis' worrying is…well, that's when he gets all huffy." Sunilda moved her legs off the bed, toes almost tapping the floor. Cigyun took the spot, laying her hand palm-side up; the baby slapped his hands down on hers, head steady. His feet thumped against the bed.

Her whole hand covered the entirety of his frail, shallow back. "Your…brother's sleeping," she told him. Babies bore no concepts of family, or time, so he started his attempts at freedom. "There's really somewhere to go?"

"Do you think I was born straight from the ground? Yes, dear. That village is not going anywhere, but you're hellbent, sir! We'll get you something to play with. You'll be in your basket for a bit. Once we get home you'll be free as you want." He hadn't gone far by the wiggle of his hips, but he was trying. Letting go of Lady Cigyun's hands, he pressed against the mattress. Dramatic for him, perhaps. "I…" Lord Arvis rolled onto his belly too, blankets snared awkwardly around him. "It's a very nice village, I think. I hope you'll stay."

Hope? She was moving from what little she knew. "Why wouldn't I?"

Cigyun smiled. "No reason, no reason. I just speak too much without thought."

*...*

Little Sir had enough. Not far from his starting position, he gave up with a cry. Most of it was his poor, tired little self, scooped back up into her arms, quieter as he took his usual spot. Opinionated, yes, but not crying. He stayed there through the morning, snoring softly, completely unaware of the world.

Again, she was once more with Lord Arvis. Just as the inn was crowded, so was anything resembling breakfast. Her appetite was missing, but the lord needed to eat, lest he got crabby. So she took him outside to do so, tugged off to the side out of the way; he held a sandwich in his hands, chewing quietly. And, since they were alone, "Svan."

"Yes?"

"Is Mother acting odd to you?"

Yes. "Odd?" Little Sir yawned grandly in his sleep.

He nodded; his eyes were on the baby. "We have no reason to go to Verdane. None at all. Why send the drivers ahead when they can wait?"

"I don't-"

"-know. You never do." For once she did, yet he'd have to think her stupid for a few weeks more. In his rude defense, she was still stupid withs everything else. "She will get herself in more trouble with Father, and then what will we do? I doubt he has forgotten what happened."

"Because you remember?" She wiped crumbs off his chin; his face scrunched. The duke was too wine-muddled to remember anything. "The duke doesn't bother you."

"He does bother Mother." Bother. She knew it well. A gentle word for the red cheek Lady Cigyun sometimes hid and those long counts. "Why do you sleep so much?" he suddenly asked. Enough of his father (thank goodness).

Little Sir did not take his criticism to heart, ignoring it to press his nose into her neck. His butt was slipping from her arm, moving it to keep him secure. "He's a baby, milord. It's how he'll be big and strong like you." Like the lord, and no one else.

*...*

Little Sir hated the carriage now. She did not notice a change, save the way Lady Cigyun sat with her knees to the side, but the moment he was tucked into his basket and the carriage wheels lurched, he cried, filling the small space of the cabin with it. He wailed in a way she did not know he could even manage, face twisted up. Her quiet, happy baby now howled.

"What?" she asked. She was hesitant to remove him from the basket for his own safety, and it never bothered him before, so it must have been the seven-year-old and the however-many-old woman driving. "You're okay," she promised; he did not want to hear it. His feet kicked, much as they could. She pulled the blanket down, easing her fingers into his swaddle. "Too tight?" He was fine, she told herself, just a little upset. Babies got upset. Babies spent most of their days swinging between joy and distress, right?

Still unhappy, he kicked her hand. He wasn't strong enough to hurt, but her heart cracked. "I know, I know," she tried. By the back of his knees she pulled his legs up and out of the swaddle. His frock fell back onto his belly as he bucked wildly.

Dry butt, no burp, freed legs — still crying. She offered her knuckle, which he did not want. Not hungry. Bouncing in her own seat, she could not imagine being the size of her arm and putting up with this. The basket was for him, not against him. He wanted no reasoning, or thought, or anything; he wailed as she cautiously laid her head on his tummy; his blood pumped beneath her, and she heard his gut moving. The closest she could get to holding him now. He took a pause in his fussing; what to say to a baby? She loved him. Life was cruel for someone so young. The great trouble of his life: crying during play, crying without it, moving his head from side to side. Continuing his storm, his small hand smacked her shoulder. "What, baby? You ain't even got room to play." Surely not the point, but he barely heard her anyway.

Who drove? Perhaps they could swap, or maybe he would be happy at the reins. Did he miss the sun?

Did he want his name? Four days shy of a month old (three on three on three on three until she got dizzy), but who would know? Why not tell him? He wouldn't hear it anyway. Sunilda sat back up, staring at his ruddy, blotched cheeks. Poor little thing! She rubbed her thumbs into his calves as he thrashed. "Little Sir." He did not listen, so stubborn already. "Where can you go? You cannot sit up!" He needed her for those monumental things— to sit, to sleep, to find his belly at all—and he wanted her just to do so. He had her, every inch, and whatever she could find in her new home, his only. Everything. She liked the name Adelaide, some part of her, but he was a boy and would take a boy's name.

"Azel," she tried. Maybe Adel when no one was listening, "My sweetie Azel," ...no, no. Adel skipped in a way Azel did not.

His cries muted into sniffles, cracking his eyes open. Red from crying. Did any piece look like her? "Yeah, baby. That's your name. Azel." She brushed his scant fuzzy hair back, stomach sleeping as his chest rose in normal patterns. His tiny head fit between both of her hands. "Do you like it? Azel. My baby Azel."

The fit took it out of him, hopefully. His brow relaxed, hands coming up to curl around her wrists. "No need to fuss like that. You'll get your way soon. I promise. Take a nap, huh? Then we'll have a snack and see what we can do about getting you on your tummy." His heavy eyelids bowed to his cheeks and struggled to rise again. "It's okay, Azel. Trust me." Lower lip jutted out from his round face, she kissed his bump of a nose. To her relief, he giggled, his little breaths puttering out against her chin.

*…*

During her spat with Azel, she missed the cross into Verdane. His eyes fluttered open again just as the carriage stopped, his escape efforts renewed but not nearly as violently, complete with an iron grip on her finger. His morning stretch.

"Azel? Here I was hoping for Arthur!" Azel did not like Lady Cigyun's suggested name change, flashing his gums as he went to her arms. "Hush. Either name suits you."

She stepped out of the carriage, legs wobbly. First, she scanned for the lord, missing him in the fall of the sky, yet her eyes stuck on Verdane herself: dark, lush, the air sickly sweet and caught on her lips. They were just off the road, hidden along the edge of a forest that broke and then tightened in on itself. Sun shining bright over head, it warmed her head and the back of her neck, almost enough to tempt her to undo the button that held it shut.

"Ridiculous," she heard the lord say, his hand on the neck on an untacked horse, sleeves rolled back to his elbows. Would her lady want her gown undone? Placed into a lighter one? Her gowns were thicker, the wife of a rich man, but this was her first home. Did it bother her?

Sunilda glanced at Cigyun, brow raised. Troubled already in such a beautiful land? Fitting for his fluttering heart. "You missed it during your spat with the little sir. Getting into Verdane is as simple as crossing a little bridge! Arvis is a bit-"

"I take it back. I will not talk to a horse."

"-stumped by it. I couldn't tell you the name of the king or his kin here, really. My," the horses held Lord Arvis' attention, up on his toes as it snorted, "people largely exist on our own. I've never had the mind for politicking." Lady Cigyun knew the name of Grannvale's prince and more, but she kept that to herself.

She caught Azel's hand as he swung it to-and-fro. A redheaded child always looked happy in her arms, even the poutiest of them. (What did a prince look like there?) "I don't either," obviously. She barely shopped by direction, let alone gave them.

She smiled. "Half an hour to let the horses rest, then we push forward. We are too far past Evans to turn tail, and Genoa is off tonight's path. There should be a village just south of us, assuming it still stands. Then to Genoa, and the final push to Marpha. Even with a saint's blessing I do not think we could make the trek in one day, which is...well, let us not worry! I will worry for the three of you."

"Don't," Lord Arvis said, back in his mother's side. How could he leave it? A boy with a Cigyun-shaped hole in his heart and no other. "There is nothing to worry about if we turn and winter in Friege. I hear it's mild. Colder than Velthomer, but nothing poor."

When did Cigyun plan on telling him? There was a limit — the child in her stomach played a dual role as a clock, ticking down each day until the bell rang. Curiously enough, for having his father as a father, he gave little indication of knowing what pregnancy looked like. His mother's first was him, and while they kept him away from the others, he was not always with them. "I am your mother, Arvis! I will always worry about you. Lets get a bite of food in you. You're looking a bit pale."

He looked fine. Azel's foot dangled down, drifting back and forth in a shockingly graceful motion. Where were his socks? Woods held bugs. "Azel wants to play. It's what we fought about."

Cigyun squished his nose beneath a finger. "You may. And then you must keep your mother company for me. I wish I could do it myself."