Many thanks to my advance readers, including Not_E and happyyy_, as well as to my editor LaRascasse.
Content warning
: depictions of childbirth, references to maternal and infant death
***
Bethaer awoke early the next morning, Litheian still in his arms. He watched her sleeping form awhile, the soft rise and fall of her body. He wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, whisper to her belly and tell their child how beautiful and strong her mother was, but he didn't dare.
At length she stirred and smiled when she saw him watching her.
"Did I walk?" It was the first thing she asked him every morning.
"No,
im-uvnya
."
Her smile broadened and she stretched. "Perhaps the sleeping draught is working."
"Perhaps."
Her face fell, and his stomach dropped. "I'm fine," she told him. "I just remembered I wanted to ask you. The man who helped me escape from the
rashd
, did he...."
Bethaer shook his head. "He did not survive."
She sighed and looked away. "My brother told me they tried for years to infiltrate the palace. And the whole time, I never thought...." She turned abruptly to look at him. "How many of my people suffered, trying to help me? To plant even one person in Jashil, how many died trying?"
He reached out and took her hand. "I will ensure he is returned to his family."
She nodded, her eyes gazing off into the invisible distance.
"Come back to me,
im-uvnya
," he said, reaching to cup her cheek in his hand.
She faced him again and smiled, holding her belly. "He likes your voice,
im-uvnyan
. Talk to him."
He leaned over to her large belly, scarcely believing she had invited him to do what he'd only just imagined. He caressed her gently, putting his face close. "Good morning, dear child. Is it true, what your mother says? Do you like the sound of my voice?"
"Ach," she huffed, wincing. "He kicks so strongly."
He brushed her belly, leaning closer. "You must be more gentle on your mother, dear child. She is doing her best to help you grow, so you must do your best not to trouble her." Sitting back, he asked her, "Have you thought of a name yet?"
"Marid," she replied. "Or Meakia."
"Meakia," he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "I have never heard it before. Where does it come from?"
"I found it in a history of the old empire, in your library," she said shyly. "I was so bored I would read anything. I thought it was only a list of families and parentage, but then I came across the story of a holy maiden who led her people across the desert to their new home. They called her 'the promise of light.' Meakia."
" 'The promise of light,' " he repeated, smiling. "That is a fitting name for a daughter."
"Isn't it?" she murmured, looking down at her swollen belly, her eyes full of love.
He watched her, enraptured by the tenderness of her gaze. It made a spring of warmth bubble up inside him, and he realized it then.
He loved this woman. The clarity of the thought was matched only by the pain of it, constricting his heart. He couldn't burden her with this, not when she had already given up so much for him and for their child.
"I will miss you," he said, more yearning in his voice than he'd wished to reveal.
She looked up, surprised. "That's why you must follow us as soon as you can," she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I will," he promised.
He wanted to stay here, in their bed, safe from the daylight curling through their windows. But the sun rose all the same, peeking through the shutters, summoning the servants who attended them.
Soon enough the room was emptied of her few belongings, the trunks lashed in place and the carriage ready to leave. He walked her to the main gate, her brother and father following behind. Her stepmother and maidservant were already inside the carriage, waiting for her.
Litheian pulled away from him and took his elbows in her hands. He returned the gesture, and they held each other, foreheads meeting in the middle.
"Be well,
im-uvnya
," he told her.
"You also,
im-uvnyan
."
He helped her into the carriage and shut the door and watched as she rode away from him. He followed them with his eyes until the road turned and they were out of sight, and would have stayed watching longer.
"Come," Leitham said, putting a hand to his shoulder. "We have much work to do."
Bethaer nodded and turned away, setting aside his fear and doubt. His people needed him.
Leitham's words were an understatement if anything. Anderar's finances were in shambles, his father having thrown everything into warring with his neighbors for ten straight years. The fields lay fallow and the cities were filled with peasant refugees and former soldiers. Bandits harried travelers on the roads, which the combined forces led by Berelthia's generals were dealing with as best they could. Bethaer worried it would take twice as long to set the kingdom straight as it had to ruin it. He yearned for his child to inherit a stable nation and threw himself into his duties.
The first thing he did was move the seat of government from Jashil to Kiridas, the old capital his father had eschewed. He established convoys to ensure safe passage for farmers back to their lands, temporarily appointing Berelthian commanders and their units to assist the local lords with protecting their domains.
This winter would he a hard one, he knew. Many of his people would starve, and they would need to borrow an enormous sum to buy out the extra grain from surrounding kingdoms. But Anderar was full of lush plains and great rivers, and he knew that if they could only hold on until spring, then this time next year would yield abundant crops once more.
Leitham assisted him in liaising with the Berelthian forces, and his Sytheiran cousin did the same. The representatives of other kingdoms weren't so keen to cooperate, but Endorran applied a firm hand to his allies. It surprised Bethaer, given how cool his father-in-law was towards him, but he supposed the king had set aside his animosity in favor of ensuring his daughter's future happiness.
By contrast, Leitham had warmed to him, and they grew closer the more time they spent working together. They ate in the great hall, now, with the rest of the court, and Leitham made a show of friendliness by always inviting Bethaer to sit with him. They traded stories of their youth and their training, even sparring on occasion when their workload lessened. It kept his mind away from worrying about his wife, though he knew she'd arrived safely from the messenger pigeon they had received.
Bethaer awoke one morning to a bright white light peeking through the shutters, and when he opened them he found the grounds of the court covered in a dusting of snow. Now was the time, he knew. He needed to leave before the high mountain passes became too perilous to traverse.
To his surprise, Leitham volunteered to winter in Anderar in his stead, overseeing the plans Bethaer had labored over with his advisers. It relieved him, and he thanked his brother-in-law profusely, but the man only clapped him on the shoulder with a smile. Bethaer was less enthused to be traveling with his father-in-law to Lamath, but at least the weather was still good enough to ride horseback. It would have been painfully awkward sharing a carriage with him.
They set out on a clear, cold day, the air crisp and breezy. Bethaer rode behind Endorran, and their group slowly descended the switchback roads until they came to a natural pass. Bethaer slowed, gazing down at the low mountain ranges spilling out before them like waves in the sea.
"The Ritan mountains," Endorran said at his side, and Bethaer nodded. These were the mountains that guarded the southern border of Berelthia and would take weeks to traverse.
He wondered briefly how Igandrion had managed to make it all the way to Lamath without being discovered, hitting the palace with such ferocity that the royal forces were forced to flee rather than follow after him as he retreated with their princess.
Bethaer shook his head; there was no use in thinking about it now. Whatever weaknesses in Berelthia's defenses that Igandrion had made use of, his father-in-law had surely strengthened. So he kicked his horse into a trot, making his way down the pass.
Endorran set a brutal pace, clearly used to traveling hard over the difficult terrain. Bethaer, more familiar with the plains and forests of Anderar, struggled to keep up. Each day's ride exhausted him more than the last, but he forced himself to stay upright, to grip his horse by the legs and hold on tight. They switched horses regularly, and while Endorran did not display his banners, he flashed his signet ring quietly when necessary to procure rooms for the night. If there were no inns, they made camp by the road. It was more spartan than Bethaer had imagined the older man would tolerate, but then, he had spent the last ten years at war.
Each day felt longer than the last, though in reality the daylight shortened considerably as they journeyed onward. The mountains turned into ridges and the valleys widened. The trees turned bright colors, and the farms they passed were busy planting winter crops.
At last they topped the ridge overlooking Lamath, passing a guard post where the men saluted, clearly recognizing their king. Bethaer itched to set his horse into a canter down the long, straight road to the city, but he held back. Endorran sent a herald ahead to announce their imminent arrival, and Bethaer watched the man gallop off, Berelthia's blue-and-green flag snapping in the wind.
Nervously he turned the empty spot where his signet ring used to be. He had refused to wear his father's, commissioning two new rings for his wife and himself. He still had his father's medallion, though he was loath to wear it, especially here. He wondered if the people of Lamath would recognize him as they rode through the streets toward the royal palace.
He needn't have worried, for the crowds gave him nary a second look. Passing through the gate, only Endorran was announced, which Bethaer was grateful for. The king had donned his robes and kitted his horse in Berelthia's colors, while their escort attached pennants to their polearms. Riding through the main road toward the palace, the streets were lined with cheering city folk waving green and blue ribbons. They must have been elated already to welcome home their long-lost princess, and now their king had returned, victorious.
Bethaer kept his eyes ahead, on the great walled castle where his wife had been raised and would now bear her first child. To his impatient mind it felt as though it would take an eternity to reach the castle gates, but once they passed through, his stomach began to knot, his hands to tremble. What if the child had already been born? What if it had gone wrong and she'd lost the baby, or worse, her own life?
Surely the crowds would not have been so jubilant if that were so, he assured himself. Glancing over to his father-in-law, the man was stoic as ever. They headed straight for the stables, where Bethaer hung about awkwardly after tending to his horse. At last one of Endorran's men steered him toward the main entrance of the palace, where the king was being greeted by his wife and their various children, several daughters and a young son.
