MARPHA

"We go on foot from here," Cigyun said. She murmured something to the baby as she fixed his bindings, nigh perfect in all she did. That dastardly little fist of his escaped in spite of her skill, beating against her shoulder. It was a wonder none of them were bruised. Her eyes crinkled with a grin. "I suppose you can be carried."

"On foot?" both her and the lord echoed. He looked down, picking at his knee for a moment. "That seems inefficient." Lord Arvis slipped from his seat beside her, crossing the room to crawl up beside his mother on the small couch. The babe slept often, despite his cries for play, and the lord made sure to see him when he woke.

Couches and beds were a gift after these past few days, snug and comfortable in an inn. Lady Cigyun promised there was somewhere to rest at the end of this, and, while her faith was strong, she also wanted to lay down for a day. Every inch of her felt sore. When would she be well? "How far?" she asked.

The lord offered his hand to the baby. Each one of them was smaller yet, nested into the protection of another: Cigyun to Sunilda, Sunilda to the lord (perhaps interchangeable), now to Azel. All were gifts from her lady. "Until I know. I do apologize in advance. I don't think the cart will fit through the wood. You know how to ride, sweetie, don't you?" She propped her elbow under the baby's head to pinch her son's cheek.

"Yes, Mother."

"Good. You'll take Svan."

"Why," he didn't-whine.

"Do you trust yourself with the baby?" Doubling up? It made sense, over wrangling another horse into their party (not that she knew how to ride, or trusted herself). She'd rather ride with her lady, in honesty, settled against the strong dip of her waist for days, unlike the scrawny ribs of the lord.

"…no. When did you learn to ride?"

She smiled. "Your father had me taught." Ah. No surprise there. What lady of Grannvale couldn't ride?

(Cigyun doesn't mention the broken window or the shattered dining set, so she doesn't, lousy company she is. The duke sleeps late, wined, which leaves the duchy quiet; servants right the mess, and her lady keeps company on her arm. "We should've had you wed," she says distantly. "A Ritter, to take care of you. Quiet, calm, just busy enough you would still be mine but he could love you. I could be an aunt to your brood."

Sunilda doesn't have to think on this. "I don't want a husband, Ritter or not.")

The lord touched the baby's cheek. "Can I hold him?" he asked. Cigyun sought her eyes for permission, breath stuck in her chest. She nodded.

"Sit on the floor."

"I'm not going to drop him, Mother."

"I don't think you'd do it on purpose, but accidents happen, sweetheart." She did not make the lord sit grounded, she realized.

The lord complained once more, but complied. His lap fit the child just so—head on a thigh and stretched across, his palm against the baby's little cheek. "Hello again." The baby cooed, banging his open palm against knee. "You shouldn't hit. I'm your brother. You can call me Arvis. I don't mind." His giggle gurgled in his mouth.

Freed from one child, Cigyun sat back, covering her stomach with her arms. "We'll need a donkey, lest we give up more things."

*…*

Both lord and babe knocked out with dinner and a bath. A bath for the baby was a scrub with a rag. How he got so dirty doing nothing all day she did not know! Dirt under his nails, dirt on his neck, his round cheek, it clung to him like a second skin. She scrubbed him carefully, and when he was pink and cooing, stuffed him back in one of his frocks. Not quite white anymore, her nose was immune to the scent that lingered on their clothes. Since leaving Grannvale, they did not stay in one place long enough to launder anything. To scrub them, maybe, but then no time to dry if she wanted to eat and sleep, which she shamefully did.

The lord got his own private bath with his beloved mother—she was not privy to it; seeing him without socks was the most bare he'd been before her. Baby in her arms, she set him on her shoulder and let him look out the small window the inn had to give the lord privacy. The stars looked the same here if she tilted her head; she did not know all their names, so she pointed the ones out she did, handing over to him the names lay people used. Intrigued, or sleepy, his babbles went quiet. Once she heard the bed settle, she slowly turned around; no one told her to stop.

Tonight, Lord Arvis got as he pleased, sat back between his mother's arms as she brushed his wet hair out. His mood ebbed and flowed as always, but most of his complaints about returning to Grannvale were muted. Helped, perhaps, by the nights outdoor Lady Cigyun held him again. He could not sleep against her, separated by a blanket and his head only ever on her arm. Lord Arvis was not scared, never—men did not know fear. Clinging to his mother was natural.

Innbound, they'd decided that the little sir could have a third of the bed to himself. She set him down in his horseshoe of blankets square in the middle of the bed. Out of his basket and swaddle, he stretched long and hard. Poor thing. A big, sleeping yawn, before he ignored any attempt to put him on his back, slithering to his belly. Lady Cigyun tsked, rolling him back over, only for Azel to give an angry cry, eyes cracking open. She shushed him, letting him roll on his belly and petting his hair back.

He conked out again. She laid on his right side, the small sliver of remaining bed for a slimmer woman, and the two bodies could have the other section, lord against the blanket wall. Sunilda did her best not to look, giving him his privacy, but even with the vague way he fit in her arms, his upset brow disappeared. Why the change of heart? While the lord fidgeted in bed with her, Lady Cigyun was all he wanted; he went to bed swiftly with her. The trip wore on her, and she was not a child.

Like the nights before, Lady Cigyun would not sleep just yet. Sunilda did not find sleep as easily, listening to her lady tramp about the room as she kept vigil with Azel. The tiny mountain of his chest as he breathed, his full cheek squished into the hay-filled mattress, the twitch of his foot already losing his sock. His parted mouth, gummy and pink, said enough, no fight as she put him on his back besides a puttering little breath as his own wrist slapped the bridge of his nose.

What was there even to do in a small room this time of night? She did not know, but she could keep the woman company for now. Due any day now, wasn't she? Not much slipped by her lady, a blessing like that, or the way she remained married to Velthomer. Her shoes were somewhere on the floor, toeing along the dark half of her room, untouched by the hearth.

She knocked her boots over, one way to find them, clattering on the floor. Lady Cigyun looked up from her...book? journal? at the window. Did Cigyun think she was Lord Arvis sneaking out? It didn't matter; her eyes edged on tired, then alert, at the sight of her.

As she groped around for her boots, Lady Cigyun stood up. As if she was a peasant (well?) the hem of her dress was muddy. "I am glad you're up!" Cigyun came to her, then gripped her by her hand, quick like that, fingers and knuckles knotting together. "Come. I'd like to speak to you. With you."

Distracted from her quest for shoes, pressing her thumb into the soft crest of her hand, there were two napping children. Closer to dusk than midnight, she was reluctant to leave her little bundle. "What is it?" They were alone, at least; no lord gripping her dress, no duke around a corner, no prince with his supposedly tender smiles.

Cigyun shook her head. "I - I do not wish to taint them. Come. We will be together for just a moment."

Several degrees of worried and intrigued, she followed when Cigyun tugged again. What could taint their children? What was so bad the mere mention of it would trouble the two of them? Did she know curses? Always something off about Cigyun. She left the door cracked. The inn was almost proper—rooms on rooms on rooms, going down past a few doors around a corner. Was this how she snuck around with the prince? Maybe in another time, they camped in a Grannvalean inn; her, her lady, and the babe; the lord would visit and leave protesting, but a boy's father was his father. She would wear her best servant's smile when the prince came to do uncouth things to her lady.

How unfortunate.

In a strange land where they all spoke the same language, Cigyun still felt the need to stand distractingly close to her. "I must tell you something, Svan," finally, the right name, "and you must not tell a soul. Not even to your boy. A grand secret."

Why could she not speak straight? A handmaid kept things—shopping lists, gift ideas, who went where and the meal of the night. Keeping secrets was easy. Sunilda tried to not think about the things people did to make children, or why they were here after all, nodding instead. Lady Cigyun's dazzling smile greeted her.

She was not particularly tall, barely taller than her lady, yet Cigyun stood on her tiptoes to find her ear. She leaned against her, pressing her against the wall; so warm it made her head spin. She laid a steadying hand on her hip, fingers almost arched on the subtle round of her belly. Shouldn't she be bigger? They were running out of time, by Cigyun's word. "Speak, milady. I'll keep it."

"Of course you will," she muttered. Her warm breath on her ear shook her. "You'll keep my babes too, wouldn't you? Deirdre for a little girl…or Diadora." Her child's name? Fair enough. They talked about her boy's name before he was even a boy. "I've yet to decide, but it's all the same difference. My grandmother was very peculiar about how our names end." She sounded tired. Was the amount of sleeping she did during pregnancy a failure on her part, or just the nature of carrying a child? Cigyun did not sleep enough, for what it was. "My boy will be Damhán. It's nearly a family name."

"Damhan," Sunilda echoed. Not an A in sight. How many names had they—she—gone through before Azel? (It's that prince's doing, isn't it? But how could it be, when the baby was a surprise to everyone but the two of them?)

"Damhán, sweetie." Sunilda tugged at their conjoined hands, accidentally splitting them, but it was not the worst thing to happen to her. She tilted Cigyun's head back, catching her tired eyes. "Once Arvis wakes we'll leave once more. I cannot imagine having the child anywhere else." She sighed. "I know this has been…a lot of moving. Truly I mean it when I say we are close."

Close to a vague home Cigyun rarely fully answered. What did she have left in Grannvale, let alone Velthomer, without lord and lady? "Well, why not lie with him? He likes it."

Cigyun smiled. It was not like the smile she gave the Chalphy lady, which meant she did not know how to react to it. What she wanted to do was not appropriate, stuck on the curve of her lip as she spoke. "Not yet. I will rest soon enough. Watch them, won't you? I fear I must bother our horses once more. Poor things might revolt."

I won't. I want you to lie down and eat and rest for a whole night. "I—" what? Leave the baby on his own? Let Lord Arvis wake to both of them gone? Lie to keep Cigyun in a room too small for two? "I will be waiting."

*…*

Lord Arvis, it turned out, was a liar. He did mind sharing the horse with her. Any progress they'd made from their travels from Velthomer did not matter. He sat petulant on the horse's back, mouth crammed with a roll. He did not even let her brush the crumbs off, far too tall now. "Where are we going, Mother? Why sell the carriage when we will need it to return to Grannvale? What will the guards drive?"

Plainly, Cigyun ignored him. "Sunny's too delicate to ride a donkey, sweetie, not that there's any room."

"Delicate?"

Cigyun dabbed something on Azel's head. Fat and happy, Azel watched. Their final spot was not even a dot on the map. He'd need to play, feed, and let people know his opinions. How far was far? Sunilda kept the thought in her heart, but Cigyun's we are almost there was stretched to its max.

The lord haughtily hiked his chin. "Why haven't you hired a guide?" A bed, a proper soak, a warm meal, and no darnable horses. Her and the little sir, laying in comfortable silence, no hooves or wheels to bug her.

"I do not need one." Liking the thought, she kissed his cheek. She held him for a few minutes close to her chest. He could know the future babe's name the moment they were born, she told herself. Her and her darling boy. Cigyun easily pulled herself up on her horse; she touched her stomach briefly, before offering her arms for little sir to join her.

Plainly, he was not happy about being confined, but realizing where he was, so close to a woman's heart, put him at ease.

*…*

Lord Arvis got over it. He let her mount with him, shared his roll of bread, and when they slept briefly in the afternoon into the night, he fondly kicked her shin. He even let her hold the lantern as he lit it.

She did her best to give him space, feeling him stew, yet he leaned back against her. "Sunilda," he tried. The reins knotted his fingers. His hair stuck to his temples again. Another bath. Here, in the dark green forestry, his hair stuck out more than usual. Alone, she still wanted to stuff him in a hooded cloak and yank it over him, but he liked the one with the loose collar too much.

"I know as much as you do, milord." Sunilda looked behind them—Lady Cigyun murmured something to Azel, who presently beat her breast. His hand looked bigger today.

"Why does she know where she's going?"

"You think I am privy to her thoughts?" Yes, yes she was; she lied to a worried child. She'd buy the lord something nice (for her money).

For a dark, impregnable forest, it was quite homely. For all her time spent scared, the forest was...serene? Sunilda did not know words. Certainly something dangerous lurked—it always did—but Cigyun, born of Verdane, was unbothered by any kind of doom. Deirdre. Damhán. Children weren't doom, but the only one who worried about returning to Grannvale was Lord Arvis—the loose shape of a duchy, his father (not to mention the prince). His foot dangled freely, bumping back into hers.

Reins slack, "Have you noticed how heavy her steps are?" Pregnancy would do that, tiny bump or not. "Did you ever meet my grandfather?" he asked suddenly. She hadn't; he passed sometime when the lord was a tot. Sunilda laid her hand on his hip as he jostled. "He had heavy steps, then he—"

"Your mother will not go anywhere." She leaned down, finding his ear. One little secret while Cigyun, undoubtedly, gave the world to her little sur. "I promise. What can get her here?" (The babe?) "I know I am lacking, and not the best of company, but I have faith in your mother here. Would you like to know something?" Was this hers to give? Probably not, but Cigyun would have to bear it all soon. "Lady Cigyun is not of Grannvale."

"Agustria. She's pretty." Agustria? Maybe once. She was good at cards. Born in Verdane, but between the edge of the world and Velthomer, places for Cigyun to find trouble were endless. "My lady mother is not from some backwater-"

"If she was?"

Lord Arvis yelled, yes, but never at her. Ripe to be told shut up, he did not. A big boy with a scary father. She'd fold if he did. He shifted forward away from her. "One day in this country was too much," he snipped. "We could eat cold treats in Friege, and we are here."

"And we are here."