swift, thorough examination and gave orders that would ease Palila’s suffering somewhat. Andrade had seen enough birthings to know that this one would take some time yet, but she did not mention this to Palila—who screamed loud enough to waken the Storm God for the winter.
“Oh, stop it,” she advised, not unkindly, as she sat on the bed beside the thrashing figure. “Don’t fight so hard. You’re using up all your strength in yelling.” Palila’s nails dug into Andrade’s arms and she philosophically added this new pain to the grotesque hammering in her skull. “Quiet down now. You’re doing just fine.”
“My Lady?” The murmur at Andrade’s shoulder made her turn, and she found Princess Ianthe, of all people. “Three more await you below,” the girl said.
“Three more?” Andrade repeated blankly.
“Giving birth.”
“Sweet Goddess!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I am,” Ianthe said, her lips quivering as she tried to suppress a smirk. “Besides, they’re only servants.”
“They’re women like you and me!”
Palila moaned, “Don’t leave me!” The terror in her eyes went beyond that of an essentially cowardly woman in labor. Her gaze was fixed on the princess, and Andrade surmised that hatred ran even deeper at Castle Crag than she’d previously thought.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she told Palila. “Ianthe, stay with her.”
“No!” Palila shrieked.
But Ianthe settled into a chair next to the bed and stroked Palila’s hand soothingly—having to hang onto it hard to create the pretty picture of solicitude, Andrade noted sourly. She shrugged off her uneasiness and left the cabin.
Down a steep, dark staircase she went, swearing under her breath as the barge’s gentle rocking made her stumble and threatened to deprive her of her dinner. She hung onto the rope rail, breathed with stern regularity, and refused to be sick. Following the sound of pain-weary groans, she arrived at a stifling little room where Princess Pandsala—of all people—had charge of the three women. One had brought her labors to a successful conclusion and held a newborn jealously to her breast. One was too deep in her pain to notice anything. But the third, a pale-haired woman with burning dark eyes, glared in silent loathing at the princess and held her swollen belly as if to keep the child safely within her.
Andrade knelt beside the new mother, fighting dizziness and renewed nausea at the stench of blood and sweat in the room. “Don’t tell me you delivered this child,” she said over her shoulder to Pandsala.
“Ianthe helped. It was very quick, really.”
“Small wonder,” the blonde woman hissed.
Pandsala shot her a vicious glance of warning. “She’s had a baby before—and so have you. Fine sons, aren’t they, back at Castle Crag?”
The woman turned her face away. Andrade, puzzled at the by-play, wondered if there was something she was missing. Her head hurt too much to chase down the idea right now. The new mother was doing nicely despite her inexpert assistants. Her infant girl was pink, healthy, and in possession of the correct number of limbs, fingers, and toes. Andrade had never been a mother herself, but there was a deep vein of maternal feeling in her that found its safest expression in admiration of babies in which she had no personal or political interest. She congratulated the new mother warmly, and moved to the woman beside her.
“Why does the Goddess make so many daughters?” Pandsala asked suddenly.
“There does seem to be an abundance of them at Castle Crag. Perhaps it’s the air.” Andrade eased the struggling woman into a more comfortable position, murmuring, “There, my dear, you’ll do better now. Only a little while longer, I promise.”
One born, three to go, Andrade told herself. It strained credulity that four women were giving birth on the same night at the same time, but what explanation was there other than bizarre coincidence? What matter if these servant women birthed their children the same night as Roelstra’s mistress? Andrade rubbed the center of her forehead where the pain had settled, and tried to put her wits in proper order. Most Sunrunners on water lost their ability to think as well as their dinner. But not this Sunrunner, she vowed.
“They say it takes longer to have a boy than a girl,” the princess went on. “Is that true?”
“I’ve no idea. Come here, Pandsala, and wipe her down. She’ll take a while yet. I’ll send one of the women down to help you.”
“Make it Ianthe,” Pandsala said quickly. “Those others give me the fidgets.”