The alarm that had gripped him was replaced a moment later with realization as the sounds of retching issued forth from behind the bathroom door.
He rose quickly and dressed, waiting for her to return. After a few minutes had passed he walked to the privy and stood outside the door.
“Rhapsody? Are you all right?”
Her answer was weak. “Go away, please.”
“Can I get you something?”
“No. Go away.”
He ran a hand nervously through his red-gold hair. “Do you—”
“Ashe.” Her voice came through the door more loudly this time, still ragged but a little stronger. “Go away for a while, or I will have to kill you when I come out of here.”
“Oh. Well, since I don’t want to die just yet, I suppose I will go out on the balcony for a bit,” he said, his smile fighting with the furrows of worry in his brow. “If you need anything, just snap your fingers, and I will be there.”
“Thank you. Go away.”
“All right.”
“Now.”
“At your will, m’lady.”
The Lord Cymrian turned away from the renewed sound of retching and went out onto the balcony. Dawn was breaking over the city, coming to light over the red buildings and making them gleam with morning fire. Ashe took a deep breath, inhaling infinitesimal drops of moisture that had coated the air in the night, leaving it heavy, sweet.
In the streets below a crowd was gathering, larger than the crowds that had pushed into the Marketway to stare at the Bolg. There was an almost palpable violence mixed with the joy as the townspeople at the edge of the central streets, those who had obviously heard the news from those closer to the city square, shoved themselves forward, carrying jars and clay vessels for harvesting the liquid bounty that had returned in the night.
Ashe noted, lacking any genuine interest, that the Shanouin priestesses had been summoned; a thin corridor in the pressing crowd had been opened to allow a dozen or so of the veiled women in their pale blue ghodins into the town square where the fountainbed had already begun to overflow, spilling precious water onto the dry bricks of the streets. One among them seemed different, awkward in the ritual countersigns they were making as they approached the Fountain Rock; he might have thought it noteworthy if he cared at all, which he did not.
He stared at the wellspring; Entudenin had darkened, like wet clay, to a deeper hue of brown. Tiny rivulets of green and blue, too insignificant to be visible to human eyes yet, but within range of his sight, striated the clay; by the end of the cycle, the color would be starting to return to the Fountain Rock. There was something deeply pleasing about the knowledge of that. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the miracle a few streets away.
The element of water that formed the core of his soul sang within him; the waters that were issuing forth from Entudenin shouted in return. Ashe stood for a moment, lost in the silent song, then went to the sword rack and drew Kirsdarke, the ancient elemental sword that he carried as its bearer. His hand gripped the hilt more tightly than usual; the sword was more alive today, gladdened by the presence of the living water pouring into the streets of Yarim Paar.
He returned to the window and held up the sword in the light. The liquid blade, which normally ran in blue rivers from tip to tang, disappearing just above the wave-shaped hilt, was frothing like breakers rolling to the shore of the sea; it sparkled in the light of dawn, rejoicing in kinship with the fountain. Ashe could feel its power, enormously vibrant and strong, even at rest, surge and increase, celebrating now with renewed excitement, as if it were welcoming a child in this place of dry desert.
In his kinship with the sword, he could understand its thrill.
Soon he would welcome a child of his own, one who shared the same blood, the same history.
And love for the same woman.
The privy closet door opened with a slow creak and Rhapsody emerged. Ashe sensed her return and quickly sheathed the sword, then ran into the room from the balcony and took her arm. She was pale as milk and her eyes seemed to be struggling to keep a focus.
“I am all right, Sam,” she said, forestalling his query, “but I can’t see very well. Can you please help me to the bed?”
“You can’t see?” Ashe asked nervously, guiding her gently across the cold tiles of the floor. “I have never heard of that before.”
She squeezed his hand as a spasm shot through her, stopping where she stood, trying to regain her balance, then nodded when she had done so. “How many times have you witnessed a woman of human and Lirin blood who was carrying a wyrmkin child?”
“Never,” Ashe admitted, “but I didn’t think you would be ill so quickly.”
“Neither did I,” Rhapsody said, pushing back against the pillows as Ashe delivered her to the bed. “My mother carried six of us without missing a single morning’s chores. It’s frustrating to be so weak. And cold. I feel so cold.” Her eyes cleared for a moment, and she took Ashe’s hand and smiled. “But I am very happy.”
Ashe kissed her on the forehead. The skin was still clammy, beginning to burn with feverish heat. “Yes. As am I.” He looked down into her green eyes, which were beginning to cloud over again. “Tell me what I can do for you,” he said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, and the worry from taking command of his mind.
Rhapsody winced as her abdomen contracted again; she rolled to her side, trying to keep from groaning in pain.
“Take me home,” she said, her face buried within the pillow. “I want to go back to Haguefort.” Rhapsody had just reemerged from the privy closet when Ashe returned to the room. She was sitting in one of the chairs near the fire a few feet away, dressed in her traveling clothes, and looking as if she felt better, though still ghostly pale. Ashe came to her side, took her by the shoulders, and bent down, kissing her cheek.
“It should a fairly simple task to slip, unnoticed, from Yarim,” he said, running the back of his hand over her hair, still damp from the bath he had given her before he left to make arrangements for their journey. “Every man, woman, and child in Yarim Paar, it seems, is dancing in the spray from Entudenin, filling jars and being generally jubilant or disruptive. No one is paying attention except our own guard regiment.”
“Good,” Rhapsody said, clutching the arms of the chair as another spasm rocked her.
Ashe sighed in a mixture of frustration and sympathy. “I hope you will forgive me, but we will be traveling by coach,” he said, a note of humor in his otherwise-worried voice. “At the risk of having to brave your ire for being made to feel pampered, old, or ill, I thought you should be as comfortable and as contained as possible.”
“Thank you,” she replied, exhaling deeply as the tremor passed. “You have been most kind. At the risk of making myself ill again, can you answer the question I was trying to pose to you last night?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“When you said that we could, er, order my birthday gift, you commented something about it taking thirteen months to craft,” she said, her hands moving back to her stomach. “Why?”
Ashe winced. “Well, you are half Lirin, and the Lirin have a longer gestation than humans do,” he said, watching as the realization began to come over her face and trying not to laugh at the comic horror in her expression. “A child of a full Lirin mother and a human father generally is carried for about thirteen months, as you know. And that’s being optimistic. With dragon blood involved, it’s impossible to know how long this will take.”
“How long was your mother pregnant with you?” Rhapsody asked shakily.
“Two and a half years. Close to three.”
The Lady Cymrian stood up sharply, her hand over her mouth.
“Excuse me,” she said quickly, then lunged for the privy closet again.
Ashe waited for a moment, then went to the door and summoned the guard.