princess should be attending three servant women in their labors—”
The girl shrugged. “You saw upstairs how hopeless those others are. We have an obligation to our people, after all. Besides, somebody has to take care of them while we’re waiting for Father’s physician.”
Urival’s vivid description of the knife-fight came to mind. Roelstra would be twice as dangerous now—wounded animals always were—but Andrade savored the mental picture of Rohan’s blade slicing the High Prince’s flesh. A pity it hadn’t been his heart that had been cut, but Andrade doubted that such a thing could be found in Roelstra.
She turned at last to the blonde woman, examined her carefully, and nodded her satisfaction. “You’re doing excellently, my dear. Keep an eye on your friend, if you would. You can reassure her, since you’ve been through this before.”
“Please the Goddess, make my baby a girl,” the woman whispered.
Puzzled by the vehemence, Andrade replied, “Be easy, now. Boy or girl, you’ll soon have another fine child in your arms.”
“My Lady—please don’t leave me alone with her!” The woman clutched at her arm.
“She has more important concerns than you!” Pandsala snapped.
“Everything will be all right,” Andrade soothed, then gratefully escaped the strange, tense room and went up on deck, hoping the night air would cool and clear her head. The crew, unnerved as men always were by women’s hurryings during childbirth, stood about in clumps and speculated about the mystery of babies. Andrade spared a tired smile as she thought of Rohan waiting for his child to be born. Chay would get him so drunk he wouldn’t remember his own name, let alone how to worry about Sioned.
Chill river dampness began to seep into her bones, adding a new ache to those in her head and stomach. Roelstra would owe her for this, she promised herself, then staggered as a tiny wavelet rocked the barge out of the rhythm she had more or less grown used to. She clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified, and felt a strong arm supporting her.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, my Lady,” said a gruff, kind voice. “It’s expected of you faradh’im.”
A moment later her dignity became irrelevant. The sailor Gernius skillfully held her head over the rails as she lost her battle with the river. She struggled not to faint as well, and after he had wiped her mouth and given her a swallow from his pocket flask, the stars stopped spinning.
“There, now, my Lady,” Gernius said. “You’ll do better now. I’ve sailed with faradh’im before, and it’s always for the best to give in to it at once.”
Andrade nodded curtly, thanking him for his care of her with a complete lack of graciousness that only made him smile. She expected her head to crack open like a dragon shell any instant as she made her way back to the hallway outside Palila’s cabin. The door was blocked by women who were supposed to be inside assisting with the birth. Anger sent new strength rushing through her—and also set a whole new chorus of nerves screaming in her skull. “Why aren’t you in there?” she demanded.
“She ordered us out, my Lady! All but the princess.”
“Damn you, Ianthe!” Andrade swore under her breath. One princess attending servant women, the other helping the mistress they all loathed. She would understand this if it took all night. “Let me pass. Somebody send for the High Prince. Two of you, get down below and—”
A thin wail from within the cabin interrupted her, the unmistakable cry of a newborn. The women gasped and surged forward, jostling Andrade away from the door.
“It’s locked!” one of them called.
“Ianthe! Open this door!” bellowed Andrade, and winced at the volume of her own voice. But she knew the princess would literally have her hands full, and ground her teeth with impatience. The servants shifted nervously, and one of them suggested calling a few sailors to break the door down. Andrade was about to order that very thing when the door was flung wide.
Ianthe stood there, holding a violet-wrapped bundle in her arms and wearing a sweet smile. Andrade spared her a searching glance, then went past her to the bed.
“You’re all right?” she asked Palila.
“Hmm?” Dreamy eyes smiled at her. “Oh, yes. Yes! I have a son!” She began to laugh. “A son, Andrade! A son!”
“Goddess blessing,” she responded automatically, although her thoughts whirled as she tried to project the implications of this birth down a dozen different paths. She called Palila’s women, who came forward to