Prince Vasilko of Nishevatz, up in the Chernagor country, had been like that when he rose against his unloving and unlovable father. He saw all the things Vsevolod was doing, and didn't care where he looked for help to overthrown him. If men who backed the Banished One would help him overthrow Vsevolod, so much the better. And if they – and the exiled god – gained ever greater power in Nishevatz and then in the rest of the Chernagor city-states… well, Prince Vasilko hadn't worried about that. He'd gotten what he wanted, and nothing else mattered nearly so much to him.
Overthrowing him and others whom the Banished One had seduced had cost Avornis years of fighting. It also cost Grus the chance to take advantage of the civil war among the Menteshe for all that time. (Of course, the civil war down in the south cost the Banished One the chance to take advantage of Avornis' being busy in the north. Things evened out – except when they didn't.)
Would Ortalis lean toward the Banished One if he saw that as the only way to get what he wanted? Grus eyed his son again. He'd had that worry before, had it and dismissed it from his mind. Should he have? He didn't know. And asking Ortalis what he'd do would only put ideas in his mind – ideas that might not have already been there. Grus sighed. Nothing was as simple as he wished it were.
Ortalis, for his part, was glancing at Lanius. He didn't proclaim that Marinus was the rightful heir not just to him but also to the Kingdom of Avornis. If he had, he would have had trouble on his hands right away. But did the gloating look in his eyes say what Grus thought it did? He couldn't see what else it was likely to mean.
What Ortalis did say was, "It's a good thing the kingdom has another prince." He didn't say Lanius should father more children. If he had, Lanius couldn't have been too unhappy. As things were, Ortalis made it sound as though Prince Crex was liable to be in perilous health. If he was, Ortalis was all too likely to be the one who made his health perilous.
"Maybe it is," Lanius replied, in tones that couldn't mean anything but, You must be out of your mind.
"Can we see the baby?" Grus asked. That seemed harmless enough.
"If the midwife lets you." Ortalis rolled his eyes. Grus had all he could do not to laugh out loud. Ortalis and Limosa were no doubt using Netta, the midwife who'd also come when Sosia was brought to bed. She was the best in the city of Avornis. She was also probably the toughest woman Grus had ever met. She took no nonsense from anybody. Even Ortalis had figured that out. If he could, anybody and everybody could.
Sosia had given birth in a special palace room reserved for queens. Limosa, only a princess, had had to do it in her own bedchamber. They'll need new bedclothes in there, Grus thought. Ortalis knocked before presuming to go inside. He waited till he heard a gruff, "Come in," too – only then did he open the door.
He came out with Marinus in his arms. Like any newborn, his son could have looked better. Marinus' head seemed misshapen, almost conical, and was much too big for his body. His face looked smashed. His eyes were squeezed shut. He was redder than he should have had any business being. Netta had put a bandage over the stump of the cord that had connected him to his mother.
"Isn't he handsome?" Ortalis said, proving all new fathers are blind.
"Congratulations." Grus held out his hand not to his son but to his new grandson. Marinus' tiny hand brushed against his forefinger. The baby clung to the finger with a grip of sudden and startling strength. Grus laughed himself then. He'd seen that with other newborns. It faded after a little while.
Ortalis looked down at the tiny shape in his arms. "A boy. A son. An heir," he said softly. Grus would have been happier if he'd left out the last two words.
Gossip about Limosa's back and the scars on it had quieted down in the palace. It revived even before the midwife left. Naturally, a couple of servants had been in there with Ortalis' wife and Netta. They blabbed about everything they'd seen. By the way the news sounded to Lanius, they blabbed about quite a bit they'd made up, too. He didn't think a person could have as many scars as they said Limosa did and go on living.
Naturally, the servants paid no attention to his opinion. The scandals of their superiors were more interesting and more entertaining than the possibility that a couple of their own number were talking through their hats. He'd seen that before. It didn't bother him. It was part of palace life.
That evening, Sosia said, "You can sleep in the bedchamber – if you feel like it." Her voice held an odd note of challenge. She'd made it plain he wasn't welcome there ever since she found out about Oissa.
"I'm glad to," Lanius answered. He paused. "Are you sure?" His wife nodded. She didn't hesitate before she did it. He found himself nodding, too. "All right."
When he came to bed, she was already under the covers. That didn't surprise him; the night was chilly, and braziers did only so much to fight the cold. "Good night," he said, and blew out the lamp on his night table. That was all he did – she'd invited him to sleep in the bed, not to sleep with her. But when she slid toward him, as though for a good-night kiss, he almost automatically reached out to take her in his arms. He jerked back in surprise when his hands found soft, bare flesh.
Sosia laughed a brittle laugh. "It's all right," she said. "You can go on – if you feel like it." The challenge rang stronger now.
"Why?" he asked. "What made you change your mind?" "Two things," Sosia answered. "If you don't do it with me, you will do it with somebody else. Even if you do do it with me, you may do it with somebody else – but you may not, too." She clicked her tongue between her teeth; that might have been too bald even for her. After a moment, she went on, "And we really ought to have more than one son – especially now."
She wasn't wrong. Marriages for reasons of state sometimes held love. Theirs had, on and off. Whether love was there or not, though, duty always was. Not getting out from under the covers, Lanius wriggled free of his nightshirt. "I'm glad to," he said as he embraced her.
He wasn't even lying. He'd never stopped enjoying what the two of them did together, not through all his other liaisons. He didn't think she understood that or believed it, but it was true.
Now he took special care to please her, kissing and caressing her breasts and her belly for a long time before sliding down to the joining of her legs. If she was angry enough at him, of course, nothing he did would bring her pleasure. But she sighed and murmured and opened her legs wider. He went on until she gasped and quivered. Then he poised himself above her and took his own pleasure.
When they lay side by side again, she asked him, "Was that as good for you as it was for me?"
"Yes, I think so," Lanius said, adding, "I hope it was good for you."
"It was, and you know it was," Sosia said, which was true. After a moment, she went on, "If it was good for you, why do you want to look anywhere else?"
"I don't know," he answered, and muffled his words with a yawn. Sosia made a small, exasperated noise. Pretending he didn't hear it, he got up, used the chamber pot, and then lay down again. Before long, he was breathing deeply and regularly. Men had a reputation for rolling over and going to sleep afterwards.
But, reputation or not, Lanius wasn't asleep. He lay there on his side, not moving much. Sosia muttered again, more softly this time. Then she started breathing deeply and regularly. Maybe she was pretending, as he was. He didn't think so, though. He thought she really had dropped off.