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  The midwife still waited, but Maryn could think of nothing to say. She shook her head.

  Siwell sighed. “Will you go back to your father’s house?”

  “I could.” She hated the thought, but what other choice did she have? Her marriage to Edrich had let her escape the hard life of endless drudgery that was a serf’s lot. Mother and Father had been so pleased. Their whole family’s labor in Lord Negian’s fields earned them only a tiny strip of land. It had produced barely enough to feed them in years past, even before her younger brothers had grown into hungry youths. “I guess I’ll have to.”

  “Maybe not, if you find a way to take care of yourself.”

  “Take care of myself?” Despair weighed heavy as the lead that sealed a coffin in Maryn’s heart. “How can I do that? I have nothing. Everything was in our house. My spinning wheel, my wool…it’s all gone.” No, she still couldn’t let her thoughts venture so close to where the ashes of the sleeping loft lay buried under wreckage. “I even lost the basket of diapers. Maybe I could find them.” The thought of scouring the woods for the pitiful little pile of cloths was so funny she broke into giggles.

  “Maryn.” Siwell’s sharp voice shook her back to sobriety. “Listen. I’m aware of an opportunity that could prove very valuable to you, if you choose to pursue it.” Her voice gentled. “I know nothing can come close to replacing what you’ve lost, but this could at least allow you to remain a freewoman, and independent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Siwell picked up the carved bowl from where it lay forgotten among the folds of the blanket. “Here. We can talk while you take care of this. Your breasts must feel miserable.”

  They did, though not nearly as bad as they had that morning. Maybe her milk was already starting to go away. Maryn untied the drawstring of her shift and lifted her breast free. She fumbled for a moment, but quickly remembered how to go about it. She let the rhythm of her motions and the hiss of the milk spraying into the bowl calm her as she listened to Siwell’s words.

  “A few days ago I received a message from the head of my order in Loempno. The stewardess of the royal household seeks a wet nurse for Princess Voerell’s coming child. Ideally she would like a woman between twenty and twenty-five, who gave birth less than a month ago, and has an ample supply of milk. But most important, she needs someone who has no ties to land or family to bind her.”

  Maryn blinked. “Are you suggesting I might—But I don’t fit that. I’m only eighteen. And Frilan is…was…” She had to stop and swallow, and search for words she could say. “Frilan was born more than six weeks ago.”

  “Yes, but that’s not too far off. And the other factors matter more. It’s rare to find a woman anywhere close to those criteria who’s free to give the full commitment they’re looking for.” Siwell looked gravely at Maryn. “I’m going to be blunt with you Maryn, because I believe you’re strong enough to handle it. The Royal Stewardess is looking for a woman whose baby is dead. Recently, so her milk is still abundant. And no husband, though the church would frown on one who conceived out of wedlock. But a widow is perfect.”

  Dead. Widow. The stark words stabbed into Maryn’s heart, releasing a gush of anguish. She squeezed her eyes shut against tears, and her hands trembled until her milk almost spilled and she had to put the bowl down. Siwell was quiet while she scrubbed at her wet cheeks and drew deep breaths, trying to regain her composure.

  Calm came more quickly than she would have thought possible. It was almost a relief to have the words out in the open. Their truth settled on Maryn, cold and empty and final.

  She picked up the bowl and concentrated on sending a few more jets of milk streaming into it, until she was sure her voice would not fail her. “I see.”

  “Have you ever nursed another child? A sister’s, a friend’s? One you were minding for pay?”

  “No. There was one neighbor, we had planned, after hers was born, that we might help each other sometimes, but she’s…” Most likely lost, along with so many others.

  “You’re quite sure? Not even once, not even a drop?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Why? What does it matter?”

  Siwell dropped her voice. “I mean to imply no slander, but I must ask…have any men tasted your milk? You can be honest with me; it would go no further.”

  Maryn’s face flushed hot. “No! Of course not.” She ducked her head, and blushed a little deeper. “Only…Only Edrich,” she muttered.

  “Thank you, dear. Obviously your husband, that’s to be expected. And…he’s not a problem.”

  “Why? Why should they care?”

  Siwell gestured to the bowl of milk in her hands. “Milk creates kinship bonds. If two children nurse from the same woman, they become siblings. So for instance, a boy and a girl, even if they have no other relationship, cannot later marry.”

  “Oh. That’s right. One of my aunts has a milk-sister that her mother took in when a friend died. She’s always been a part of our family.”

  Siwell nodded. “Under the law of Milecha, as well as the laws of nature and magic, they are in fact sisters, with all the legal rights and responsibilities that go with that status. So if any other person drinks of your milk, and the new heir also, that person would have a claim of kinship to the prince. You can see why they would want to avoid such entanglements.”

  Maryn shrugged. “I suppose. But it’s not like anyone would ever know if I had nursed some neighbor’s baby once or twice.”

  “They would find out. There is sorcery that can reveal kinship ties. They will settle for a woman with such a history if they have no other choice, and pay off any potential milk-siblings, but they would prefer not to take the risk. It’s enough of a burden that they must extend kinship to whichever wet nurse they choose. For of course, as milk-mother to the child, the same laws will apply to her. Not that they ever do more for the woman than the bare minimum, but still…Do you see why I think this could be such a good opportunity for you?”

  “I guess.” Maryn could understand the objective, logical reasons why she should leap to seize this chance. But her heart rebelled. She hated the idea of going to some strange city, of dwelling among people far above her in rank, who would look down on her as a lowborn and a burden, of permitting some other woman’s child the intimacy of her body that only her own deserved. Her anger flared. “Why doesn’t Princess Voerell nurse her own child? Wouldn’t that avoid any of those ‘entanglements’ they’re so worried about? Can she not be bothered?”

  “Maryn, a highborn woman is not free to do as she pleases. As the third child of the king, with two elder brothers between any child she might bear and the throne, Princess Voerell is not as constrained by her duties as many. But since neither of her brothers has yet produced an heir, she is still expected to contribute as much as she can to increase the royal family. If she were to nurse this child, it would delay the time until she could conceive again, perhaps as much as a year or two. She will not be permitted that option.”

  Maryn felt a pang of sympathy for the princess, but pushed it away. What need had that august personage for her pity? She possessed more wealth and power than Maryn could imagine. She enjoyed admiration and adulation from everyone around her, servants to tend her least need or whim, rich food and fine wine and jewel-encrusted gowns. She would undoubtedly be perfectly happy to send the child away with its nurse, free of any obligation to put her own pleasures aside to tend the baby’s needs.

  She pulled her blanket around her shoulders and turned away from Siwell. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Loempno is miles away. I have nothing, not even other clothes to wear while I wash these.” She brushed futilely at the sooty, muddy wreck of her skirts. “If I went before the Royal Stewardess like this she’d think a beggar had wandered in off the streets.”

  “I could help you. I have a little set aside that I could use to buy you what you would need. You could pay me back after you begin to receive your wages.”

  Maryn blinked. “You woul
d do that for me? Why?”

  “I like you, Maryn. I always hate to see a good person fall victim to the whims of fate, and I try to do what I can to redress the balance a little. You deserve another chance at life, and I’m willing to go out of my way to make it happen. I haven’t fulfilled my Obligation of Charity yet for the year; I expect the priests will rule this qualifies.”

  “I can’t possibly ask you to do this—”

  “I insist.” Siwell dusted her hands on her skirt and rose. “If you still want work to keep you busy, the healers are going to be moving our patients. Captain Tennelan has granted us permission to use a spare barracks at the fortress. The priests are anxious to get us moved out before the Sabbath. They’re going to be sending all the refugees away as well. If you like, I would welcome you in my home until we can send word to the Royal Stewardess and get you prepared for your journey.”

  Maryn nodded and scrambled to her feet, glad of the chance to lose herself again in hard physical labor. She still didn’t know how she felt about Siwell’s proposal. It wouldn’t be so terrible to go back to her father’s farm. But though she loved her family, she did not want to burden them, nor strain their meager resources. She had grown accustomed in the last year to being considered an adult, the mistress of her own household. It would be good to continue to provide for her own welfare.

  Still, the whole thing seemed ridiculous. She, Maryn Loesella, a poor serf girl, wife to a minor craftsman, living in the royal palace? Meeting, even if only as a servant, the princess, maybe even the king? Caring for the new prince? What if he were to become king someday? Nobles had been known to lavish great largesse on their nurses, the women who functioned in all ways but blood as their mothers. She couldn’t imagine herself in that role.

  But her options were so limited, and Siwell’s offer so generous, Maryn did not see that she had any other choice.

  Three

  The next morning dawned grey and leaden, matching Maryn’s mood. There was not even a moment of blessed forgetfulness as she emerged from sleep; the knowledge of her loss weighed heavy in her heart with her first awareness. She picked at the breakfast Siwell offered and followed the midwife’s every suggestion with dull compliance.

  They spent the morning doing errands. Siwell purchased new clothes for Maryn, sent a message by post to the Royal Stewardess, and arranged for Maryn’s passage to Loempno. Maryn watched with increasing dismay as Siwell handed over more and more coins. When she had accepted Siwell’s offer, she hadn’t fully realized how much it would cost. She felt greedy, taking so much advantage of Siwell’s generosity.

  “Siwell, is there anything I can do to repay you?” Maryn asked, as they emerged into the street from the cobbler’s shop where Siwell had bought Maryn new shoes. “You’re giving me so much. It doesn’t seem right.”

  Siwell brushed aside Maryn’s protest with a dismissive gesture. “You’ll have plenty of opportunity to repay me later.”

  “But I want to do something now.”

  Siwell tilted her head and regarded Maryn. “I have a few clients to visit this afternoon. You could come and help with any little tasks I might need.”

  The thought of seeing round pregnant bellies and hearing the mewling cries of newborns gave Maryn a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed.

  “No, what am I thinking?” Siwell took Maryn’s arm in a firm grasp and steered her toward the midwife’s home. “You need to rest. If you must do something, you can sweep the floor and put supper on.”

  Maryn threw herself into the work. By the time Siwell returned, the house was spotless, and stew simmered in a pot over the coals. She even managed a semblance of welcoming cheer when she greeted Siwell at the door and fixed her a cup of tea.

  Siwell regarded Maryn thoughtfully as she sipped. “I know you’re not ready for this yet, but it won’t get any easier. While I was out I heard talk that they’re letting people into the burned zone. There are a couple hours of daylight left, if you want to try to salvage anything from your house.”

  Every fiber of Maryn’s being rebelled at the idea. She felt as if she might vomit. But she hated the feeling of being in Siwell’s debt. Even if she were far more fortunate than she had any right to expect, and was actually chosen as the prince’s nurse, it would be many long weeks before she would accumulate enough to pay the midwife back for what she had spent on Maryn’s behalf today. She and Edrich had kept their savings in a little coffer under their mattress. The coins should have survived the fire. Maybe.

  “All right,” she muttered.

  Siwell studied her doubtfully for a moment. But when she finished her tea, she rose and led the way out.

  Barriers blocked the road where it entered the burned section of the south quarter, and a cordon of soldiers guarded the boundary. A line of people waited to be allowed through. Soldiers escorted parties in and out of the wreckage.

  Maryn and Siwell fell into line. It moved quickly; the soldiers managed the task with ruthless efficiency. When they reached the head of the line, one approached them, bored and gruff, obviously repeating words he had spoken many times already. “Your escort will take you to your residence. Any bodies will be collected by a cart for transport to the churchyard. Get in, get what you want, and get out. After sunset tomorrow, the Town Council has decreed that the quarter will be closed. Crews will start clearing it so rebuilding can start. Anything left will be forfeited to the town. If we find out you’re taking stuff that’s not yours, you’ll be tossed in the gaol. Understand?”

  Maryn nodded dumbly. The stink of wet ash was undercut by a note of burnt meat. She felt faint. Bitter gorge rose in the back of her throat.

  Siwell peered at her. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. We can come back tomorrow, or I can go in alone, if you’d rather.”

  Maryn swallowed hard and shook her head. Tomorrow would only be worse. Better to get it over with. “No. Now.”

  Siwell frowned. “If you’re sure.”

  The soldier waved them over to another who was waiting, having ushered his last party out past the barricade. This soldier was young, not much older than Maryn, and stout. His face was pale and his shoulders drooped.

  “You holding up, Tior?” the first soldier asked. “I can relieve you if you need a break.”

  He straightened. “No, sir. I can manage.”

  His superior grinned. “We’ll make a soldier of you yet.”

  Tior led them down the street. In places whole buildings had fallen, and lay in piles of broken plaster and charred beams, but most still stood, blackened walls open to the sky. A thick layer of ash covered the ruins, and swirled into choking clouds with every gust of wind. The worst of the rubble had been pushed to the side of the street, but there were many places where Maryn had to watch her step carefully.

  Tior glanced back. “Where are you going?”

  Maryn tried to respond, but she couldn’t force her mouth to form the words. After a pause, Siwell said, “Nedry Street.”

  “This way.”

  It wasn’t far. Everything was so different that Maryn quickly became disoriented, but when Tior stopped she recognized the soot-stained, gutted shell that had once been her home. She balled her hands into fists and halted, frozen, before what remained of her doorway.

  Tior peered past her. “Do you expect to find any bodies?”

  Maryn’s legs felt wobbly and her head swam. She shouldn’t have come. She had thought she would be able to face what she must, but she couldn’t. She took deep breaths, trying to ignore the stench, and fought the urge to flee.

  Siwell pulled Tior aside. She kept her voice low, but Maryn could still hear. “There was a sleeping loft in the back. We have reason to believe a man and a baby were there.”

  Tior gulped, and his round face blanched a shade paler. “All right. I’ll signal the cart and take care of them for you.” He took a horn from his belt and blew a blast back in the direction they had come. He pulled a length of blue cloth from a belt pouch and
tied it to a projecting beam. “You two stay well back. I’ve been clearing bodies all day; it’s not a fit sight for a woman.”

  “Nor a man, either,” Siwell said sympathetically.

  Tior shuddered. “You have no idea. But I’ve got to show the captain I can take it.”

  They entered the building. Only the outer, plastered walls still stood. The wooden walls within, the sleeping loft, and the thatched roof above had burned away or collapsed. The remains covered much of the floor in broken, ashy heaps. Tior picked his way though the rubble toward the back, and began heaving beams and charred boards out of the way.

  Siwell put a hand on Maryn’s arm. “Maryn, where would anything of value that might have survived be? Maryn? Maryn, look at me.”

  Maryn swallowed and shook her head. She had to get control of herself, or Siwell would despise her as a coward and weakling. “What?”

  “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Come, let me take you home.”

  “No!” Maryn pulled away and forced herself to concentrate. “I’m fine. Let me think. We kept our money in a coffer under our mattress. The fire wouldn’t have hurt coins, would it?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. I’ll ask Tior to search for it.”

  “I can do it myself.” Maryn steeled herself and pushed past Siwell. Tior was at the big mound of wreckage that had been the loft, hauling half-burned boards from the pile. Maryn tried to go join him, but her feet faltered and slowed to a stop before she’d gone more than a few steps.

  Siwell caught up to her and pulled her aside. “No. You are not going back there. At least not until Tior is finished and everything is decently dealt with. What else can we look for?”