“How are you this morning, milady?” Bauska asked.
“Sleepy,” Krasta said around a yawn. “Very sleepy.” She gave the yawn full rein. “Funny-I didn’t get to bed all that late last night, or the night before, either.” She yawned again. If she wanted to go back to bed, who would stop her?
But her maidservant, annoyingly, persisted: “How are you feeling today?”
Bauska’s question had a certain eager avidity to it. No matter how tired Krasta felt, she noticed that. “I already told you,” she snapped. “Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?”
“Aye, milady. Shall I bring you some tea, to help you wake up?” the serving woman asked.
“No.” Krasta shuddered. “The cup I had yesterday tasted most shockingly bad. I know there’s a war, but the blenders will simply have to do better than that, or they shall hear from me.”
“Aye, milady. Of course, milady.” Bauska’s nod was obsequiousness itself-or so Krasta thought, till her maidservant asked the next question: “When the baby comes, do you hope for a boy or a girl, milady?”
Krasta’s jaw fell open. All at once, she wasn’t sleepy any more. She’d just begun admitting that possibility to herself, and she still didn’t care to think of it as more than a possibility. “How did you know?” she blurted.
“Milady, I handle your clothes,” Bauska said patiently, as if to a foolish child. “Do you think I don’t notice what happens-and what doesn’t?”
“Oh.” Krasta couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to Bauska in such a small voice. She hated the feeling that Bauska had the advantage of her, but couldn’t very well escape it.
Her maidservant went on, “Does Colonel Lurcanio know yet?”
“Of course not!” Krasta exclaimed. Bauska raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Krasta’s face heated. She hated the idea that other people knew more about her life than she wanted them to or than she thought they did. But then, still unusually subdued, she changed her answer: “I don’t think so.”
Bauska’s nod was businesslike. “I’m sure he’ll look after you and the baby very well,” she said, “as long as he’s in Priekule.” Krasta glared at her for that addition. Bauska’sCaptainMosco had been very attentive to her-till he got sent to Unkerlant not long before her little bastard was born. From that day on, Bauska had never heard a word from him.
“I’m sure he will, too.” Krasta did her best to sound sure. It wasn’t so easy as she wished it were. Conceiving by her Algarvian lover would prove inconvenient any which way; she was already sure of that. What she wasn’t altogether sure of, and what could prove worse than inconvenient, was whether she’d conceived by Lurcanio or byViscountValnu. She’d thoroughly enjoyed her infidelity, and hadn’t worried in the least about consequences. But if she had a consequence growing somewhere behind her navel-she was vague about such details, although she supposed she wouldn’t be able to stay vague much longer-that could end up complicating her life more than she wanted.
Whatwould Lurcanio do if she bore a child who looked nothing like him, nothing like any Algarvian? It was a mild spring morning, but Krasta shivered anyhow. She didn’t want to think about that.
To keep from thinking about it, she said, “I’m going down to breakfast.” And, to keep Bauska from nattering at her any more, she chose a tunic and trousers without any help from her maidservant. Bauska seemed content to stand back and let Krasta do things for herself. Of course she does, the lazy slut, Krasta thought. If I do the work, it means she doesn‘t have to.
When she got down to the breakfast table, Lurcanio was already there. He sat sipping tea, nibbling on a roll he kept dipping in honey, and reading a news sheet written in Algarvian-Krasta couldn’t make out a word of it. Punctilious as usual, he got to his feet and bowed. “How are you, my sweet?” he asked.
“Still sleepy,” Krasta answered, yawning yet again. She sat down and accepted a cup of tea from the hovering servitor. Even if it didn’t taste good to her, it would help her wake up.
“What else would you care for, milady?” the fellow asked.
“Something that will stick to my ribs,” Krasta answered. Valmierans ate more heartily than Algarvians were in the habit of doing. “A ham and cheese and mushroom omelette, I think.” She nodded. “Aye, that will do splendidly.”
“Just as you say.” Bowing, the servant took Krasta’s request back to the kitchen.
“Is the news good?” she asked Lurcanio, pointing to the sheet she couldn’t read.
“I’ve seen it better,” he answered. “But, on the other hand, I’ve also seen it worse. These days, one takes what one can get.”
Krasta could hardly disagree with that. She’d taken what she could get- and had got more than she’d bargained for. Thinking of Captain Mosco and his journey to Unkerlant-did he even remain alive these days, or had he given everything he could give for King Mezentio?-she asked, “How does the war against King Swemmel go?”
Lurcanio shrugged. “Largely quiet right now. The good news is that we aren’t losing any ground. The bad is wondering why it’s quiet and what the Unkerlanters are building up for.”
“And what you’re building up for yourselves-you Algarvians, I mean,” Krasta said.
“Of course.” Lurcanio seemed a little taken aback at the suggestion, but he nodded. Then he said, “Here comes your breakfast. How you Valmierans can eat such things day after day and not turn round as balls is beyond me, but you do seem to manage, I must admit.” He dipped his roll in the honey and took a small, deliberate bite.
Krasta was not in the mood to be deliberate, especially since the tea hadn’t tasted right despite more sugar than usual. No matter what the dealer says, the blend is off, she thought. It’s on account of the war. Everything is on account of the war. Without the war, Lurcanio wouldn’t have shared a breakfast table with her, that was certain. He wouldn’t have shared a bed with her, either. And certain other consequences… might not have ensued.
Not caring to dwell on that, Krasta attacked the buttery omelette. She gobbled down three or four bites before she paused to listen to what her body was telling her. She gulped. Spit flooded into her mouth. The room seemed to spin.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Lurcanio asked. “You look a little green.”
“I’m fine,” Krasta said. More cautiously than she had before, she ate another couple of bites of egg and ham and cheese. That was a mistake. She knew it was a mistake as soon as she finished-which was a bit too late. She gulped again. This time, it didn’t help. “Excuse me,” she said in a muffled voice, and bolted from the table.
She got where she was going barely in time to keep from making the disaster worse. When she returned to the table, her mouth still burned and tasted nasty in spite of her having rinsed it again and again. She looked at the omelette and shuddered. She wouldn’t have one again any time soon.
ColonelLurcaniogave her another bow. “Are you all right?” he asked again, this time with more concern in his voice. Krasta managed a wan nod. Lurcanio waved to the servant. “Bring your lady some plain bread.” The man hurried off to obey. Lurcanio’s gaze swung back to Krasta. “I take it thisdoes mean you will be having a child?”
“Aye,” she said dully, and then, “You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not,” he answered. “Not after I noted the way the veins stand out so much more than usual in your breasts the other night.”
“Did you?” Krasta said-after letting out a small, indignant squeak. Everyone around her paid more attention than she did. She hadn’t noticed any changes in her breasts, except that they were more tender than usual.
“I did indeed.” Lurcanio raised an eyebrow. He waited for the servant to give Krasta the bread and depart, then said, “Tell me-is it mine?”