Duty-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book II ]

65

Matei sat in the empress's parlor, looking down at a cup of wine which had been placed into his hand a moment ago by Eovin. The lorekeeper was now busily pouring one of his own, an expression of barely-veiled anxiety tightening his features.

The sound of a woman's groan came to Matei through the closed door of the empress's bedroom. In anguish, he looked up at the door.

"I did not give that to you for decoration," Eovin said crisply. "Drink it, Matei."

"She sounds like she's in pain," he said. As soon as he said it, he realized how stupid a comment it was, but his mouth was already moving again. "She sounds like she's in pain."

Eovin sat down next to him, looking him in the eye. "She is, but no more than millions of women who have come before her. It's the way of things when children are born."

"Should I not go to her?"

"No; this is a time for women's mysteries, Matei. You shouldn't be in here at all."

Everyone around Matei seemed to be of the same opinion. When Madam Gella had come to him and said that the empress's labor had begun, he had rushed past her on his way to attend his wife, and Gella could not have looked more shocked had he kicked her in the knee.

When he'd arrived at the empress's chambers, the servants at the door had looked equally alarmed, but had had no choice but to let him into her parlor. He was the emperor, after all, and while his friends did not let that stop them from giving him a piece of their minds, the servants were usually another matter.

There, though, Matei's way had been barred. The young maid who had forbidden him entrance had trembled, but she had stood her ground. "Aun was very clear, Your Grace," was the girl's explanation. She would not meet Matei's eye.

Rhea had come into the parlor moments later with a fresh stack of linens in her arm, interrupting Matei's attempts to reason with a servant girl who was half his age. "Matei, my dear," Rhea said, her voice pitched high with elation. "It's begun!"

"Grandmother, I'll come in with you." He had reached out to take the stack of linens from her automatically, as he had taken hundreds of burdens over the years as a boy in her household. "Here, let me."

Raising her brows imperiously, Rhea had said, "Absolutely not. Believe me, child; you should wait out here. 'Twill be hours. The business of childbirth is not a quick one."

Gella had finally arrived, panting, with high points of color burning in her cheeks—exertion or fury, Matei could not tell. She had been unable to keep up with him as he ran through the halls. "Your Grace," she gasped. "This is most irregular. Might I suggest that Your Grace retire to await news of Her Grace's delivery?"

"Let him be," Rhea had said. She took the linens back from Matei and leaned up onto her toes; responding to the familiar gesture, he had leaned down, and they had kissed one another on the cheeks. Smiling at him, the old woman had nodded to a chair. "Sit you down, and don't worry. She's in good hands." And with that, she had bustled into Mhera's bedchamber, leaving Matei in the outer room with a flabbergasted former governess and a terrified maid.

He knew Rhea was right; Mhera would be in good hands. Aun was in there with her, and she'd served as midwife at dozens of births; and Rhea, who had borne a daughter herself and had helped other mothers during their labors was in there, too. Still, to sit on a velvet chair and take his ease with a cup of wine in his hand was impossible when he could hear his wife a room away in heartrending distress.

"It will be a long and weary wait," Eovin said. He had come seeking Matei after hearing the news and, although he seemed reluctant about their choice of waiting place, had apparently decided to keep Matei company. "Are you sure you want to stay?"