“Oh! Oh!” Irys shook her head. “Don’t you dare make me laugh … Lady Sahmantha!” she added a bit hastily.
“Best thing for you, actually, Your Highness,” the Pasqualate sister standing beside her bed said pragmatically before anyone could notice the delay. “These youngsters have their own timetable. They’ll get here when they get here, and anything that helps you pass the time while we wait is worthwhile.”
“I’m glad everybody else can be so … prosaic about this, Sister Kahrmyncetah,” Irys said a bit tartly. “It’s just a little more exhausting from my perspective.”
“Of course it is.” Lady Sahmantha leaned closer to lay a cool hand on Irys’ cheek. “As the Archangel Bédard said, ‘That which we obtain too easily, we esteem too lightly.’” The hand on Irys’ cheek stroked gently. “Trust me, you’ll never esteem these children ‘too lightly,’ Your Highness. I promise you.”
“I know.” Irys reached out with the hand that wasn’t clutching Mairah Breygart’s. She gripped Countess Anvil Rock’s free hand tightly, and Rysel Gahrvai’s wife smiled down at her, the streaks of silver in her dark hair glinting in the steadily fading sunlight pouring through the chamber windows. “I know, and I’m so glad you’re here!”
“I promised your mother I would be years ago, Irys. Just before she died, when we knew we were losing her. She’d be so proud of you, love. You and Daivyn both.”
Tears welled in Irys’ eyes for just a moment as Sahmantha dropped the formality she normally observed since Irys’ return to Corisande, but then a fresh spasm went through her, and she grunted in pain and panted harder than ever.
“You’re coming along exactly on schedule, Your Highness,” Sister Kahrmyncetah said reassuringly. “Trust me. You’re almost through transition now. I know it’s exhausting, but it always takes a little longer with twins, especially for a first-time mother, you know. Everything looks just fine so far.”
Irys nodded, even as she panted, and her hazel eyes glowed with gratitude for the reassurance.
The risk of complications with twins, she knew, was higher than with singleton births. Despite the deliberate limitations of the Holy Writ, however, the Order of Pasquale turned out superbly trained obstetricians and midwives. Pasqualate physicians might not know a thing about germ theory, but they knew all about the Book of Pasquale’s instructions for the consecration of hands and instruments with Pasquale’s Cleanser (otherwise known as carbolic acid), alcohol, and boiling water and they were well taught on every conceivable complication. They also knew how to abstract the natural antibiotic in fleming moss and scores of other effective drugs from dozens of Safeholdian plants, many of which had been carefully genegineered by Pei Shan-wei’s terraforming team for that very purpose. They even understood blood-typing and transfusions, and Pasqualate surgeons had at least as much knowledge of human anatomy as any pre-space doctor of Old Terra. There were still complications and conditions they couldn’t cure, simply because they lacked the tools, but however short of advanced technology Safehold might be, deaths in childbirth were extremely rare, and the infant mortality rate compared favorably with Old Terra’s mid-twentieth century. So when a Pasqualate midwife offered reassurance, she knew what she was talking about.
In this particular Pasqualate midwife’s case, however, rather more than the Book of Pasquale was involved. Captain Chwaeriau was going to be very upset when she discovered Princess Irys had gone into labor less than ten hours after her own current undisclosed but undoubtedly important—and highly secret—errand had taken her away from Manchyr, yet Irys had accepted it philosophically. No doubt she missed the seijin assigned to watch over her brother and her—Nimue Chwaeriau had become at least a much a personal friend and member of her household as Mairah Breygart—but in this case, Sister Kahrmyncetah made a satisfactory substitute.
No one seemed entirely certain where the sister had come from, and Lieutenant Hairahm Bahnystyr, the head of Irys’ personal protective detail, had made no secret of his initial qualms when she suddenly … turned up yesterday evening. It was obvious he would have felt much happier if Captain Chwaeriau had been there to vouch for her. Unfortunately, the captain hadn’t been available and he’d had to settle for a mere archbishop’s judgment.
To be fair, while Klairmant Gairlyng might not be a seijin and highly trained armswoman, he was the senior prelate of the Church of Charis in Corisande. That gave him a certain authority in the eyes of even the most suspicious bodyguard. Despite that, Lieutenant Bahnystyr might have felt a bit less reassured if he’d known Archbishop Klairmant had never met Sister Kahrmyncetah until six hours before the two of them turned up at Manchyr Palace.
By now, however, Gairlyng, like virtually everyone else in Corisande, realized there’d always been dozens of seijins working their hidden ways, discharging their hidden tasks, all about Safehold without anyone ever seeing them or, at least, recognizing them for what they were. Indeed, the archbishop had had rather more experience with seijins than most, and while Seijin Nimue hadn’t been around to introduce Sister Kahrmyncetah to Lieutenant Bahnystyr, she’d at least warned Gairlyng the Pasqualate was coming. And she’d made it clear, without ever quite coming out and saying so, that Sister Kahrmyncetah might also legitimately have been called Seijin Kahrmyncetah.
Under the circumstances, Archbishop Klairmant had felt no qualms about introducing Sister Kahrmyncetah to Father Zhefry, Irys’ attending physician. And if the sandy-haired, Siddarmark-born Pasqualate under-priest cherished any suspicions of his own about Sister Kahrmyncetah’s origins, he’d kept them to himself. He’d cheerfully accepted her assistance, and it had quickly become evident that she was one of the finest midwives he’d ever encountered.
Which I darned well should be, Sister Kahrmyncetah thought, touching Irys’ wrist lightly to monitor her pulse and respiration with an acuity even the best-trained, most experienced flesh-and-blood human being could never have equaled. Unlike Merlin’s, my high-speed data interface works just fine, and as good as the Pasqualates are, Owl’s medical files are a hell of a lot better! Irys’ pregnancy’s been almost textbook from the beginning, but no way is the inner circle taking any chances with this delivery!
“She’s right, you know, sweetheart,” another voice said in Irys’ ear. “I think I had an easier labor with Alahnah than you’re having, but there was only one of her, for Heaven’s sake!” A soft, sympathetic chuckle came through the invisible earplug, and Irys smiled, despite the exhausting pangs of birth, as she listened to the voice only she and Sister Kahrmyncetah could hear. “I wish I could’ve stayed for this,” Empress Sharleyan went on, “but you’re doing wonderfully, and Sahmantha’s right about how proud your mother would be of you. Of how proud I am of you!”
“I appreciate the encouragement,” she gasped—to Sharleyan, as well as those who were physically present—as the current contraction eased. She sagged back, breathing hard and soaked with sweat. “It’s just that no one warned me what hard work this was going to be!”
“Oh, nonsense!” Lady Sahmantha chided with a chuckle of her own. She disengaged her hand from Irys’ grip to change the cool compress on the princess’ forehead. “We did so warn you! You just didn’t believe us.”