"We forget sometimes how cruel the gods can be!" Kari said bitterly. "To turn love to murder like that."

"You'd have to have been there," Micum said, staring up into the shadows cast by the fire on the hearth. "If you could have seen Nysander's face—It wasn't murder. It was an act of mercy, and love."

During the weeks that followed mixed reports came of the war; for the time being the Plenimaran army was held back in eastern Mycena, but their black ships ruled the seas, raiding the eastern coast of Skala as far north as Cirna, though they hadn't yet won control of the Canal.

Except for the absence of the young men who'd gone off to war, life at Watermead continued on largely unchanged. Gorathin followed Nythin, and then Shemin, bringing with it the lushness of high summer.

Gentle morning rains nourished the fields and strong spring lambs and colts bounded after their dams in the meadows.

Kari flourished with the land and her great belly swayed proudly before her as she went briskly about her daily work and the welcome tasks of summer. But she continued to worry about Seregil, though the only outward sign of trouble was his unusual quietness.

She knew Micum and Alec felt the same concern, yet none of them could see a way to help him.

He sought no solace from any of them, to be sure, but kept himself busy around the estate. Micum had made it clear that he and Alec were welcome to live at Watermead for as long as they wished, and Seregil seemed content to do so. From Alec, Kari learned that he'd sworn never to set foot in Rhiminee again.

If he'd been morose or self-pitying, she might have tried to cajole him out of it, but he wasn't. When asked, he would tell tales and play the harp. He worked with the horses, helped build a new stable, and spent his evenings devising clever devices to help Micum cope with his crippled leg, including a specially designed stirrup that let him ride again. Of late he'd even been able to bring himself to hold Luthas again, but left to himself he sank again into that inner stillness.

Alec, who'd endured the most abuse of any of them, was the quickest to recover. Farm labor agreed with him and he quickly grew brown and cheerful again. Kari saw him watching Seregil, however, trying to gauge the inner turmoil that underlay his friend's long silences and distant eyes.

At night they shared the bed in the guest chamber, but Kari could tell that no comfort was being found there either.

One morning in mid-Shemin Kari awoke just before dawn, too uncomfortable to sleep. No matter how she turned, her back ached. Not wanting to wake Micum, she threw a shawl on over her shift, checked Luthas, who lay asleep in the cradle by their bed, then went off to the kitchen to make tea.

To her surprise, the kettle was on the hook over the fire already. A moment later Alec came in carrying a basket of pears from the tree in the backyard.

"You're up early," he said, offering her the fruit.

"It's this wretched child." She frowned comically, kneading her lower back. "He kicks his mother and puts his knees and elbows in all the wrong places. What woke you so early?"

"Seregil was tossing around in his sleep again. I thought maybe I'd go hunting."

"Sit with me a moment, won't you? It's so peaceful this time of the day." Kari sat on the hearth bench to warm her back while Alec made the tea.

"Seregil isn't getting any better, is he?"

"You and Micum both see it, too, don't you?" he said wearily, pulling up a stool beside her. He held out one tanned, callused hand. "He hasn't once told me to wear gloves. He was always after me about it. Before."

He looked up at her and Kari saw the depth of unhappiness in his young face. "Now he goes out at night or sits up writing. He hardly sleeps at all."

"Writing what?"

Alec shrugged. "He won't talk about it. I even thought of stealing a look at his papers, but he's got them hidden somewhere. It's like he's fading inside, Kari, leaving us behind without going away. And I keep thinking about something he told me once, about when he was exiled from Aurenen."

He spoke of that to you? thought Kari. Even Micum knew almost nothing of that part of Seregil's life.

"Another boy was sent away with him then, but he threw himself off the ship and drowned," Alec went on. "Seregil says most Aurenfaie exiles end up suicides because sooner or later they fall into despair living among the Tirfaie. He said it hadn't happened to him. But the way things are now, I think maybe it has."

Kari watched his hands tighten around the mug he was holding. There was something else going on behind those blue eyes, something too painful to share. She reached to stroke his cheek.

"Then keep good watch over him, Alec. You two share the same blood. Perhaps in his sadness he's forgotten that."

Alec sighed heavily. "He's forgotten more than that. The day he found me again in Plenimar, something happened, but now he won't—" Kari flinched suddenly as a sharp stab of pain lanced down one leg.

"What it is?" he asked, concerned.

Kari gasped through her teeth again, then grasped his arm to raise herself. "It's only the eight-month pains. A walk in the meadow will ease them and we can keep talking." The pain passed and she gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't look so worried. It's just the Maker's way of preparing me for the birth. You know, I've got a craving for some of that new cheese. Run and fetch us a bit from the dairy, would you?"

"Are you sure? I don't like to leave you."

"Maker's Mercy, Alec, I was bearing children before you were even thought of. Go on, now." Pressing her fists into the small of her back, she went outside by the kitchen door so as not to waken the servants still sleeping in the hall.

Alec was halfway to the dairy before he realized he'd forgotten to bring a dish for the fresh curds.

By the time he found one, Kari was already out of sight around the corner of the house. Going around to the courtyard, however, he saw that the postern was still barred.

A deep groan came from behind him, and he turned to find Kari sagging against the stone watering trough near the stable. Her face was white, and the front of her shift was wet to the hem.

"Oh, Dalna!" he gasped, dropping the cheese as he hurried to her. "Is it the baby? Is it coming now?"

"Too early and too fast! I should have realized—"

Kari grabbed his arm, digging her fingers painfully into his wrist as another spasm took her.

She was a tall woman and too heavy with child for him to carry. Getting an arm around her waist, he supported her as best he could to the front door.

It was still barred and he kicked at it, shouting for help.

The door opened at last. Elsbet and several servants helped bring her inside.

Beyond them, Micum limped from his bedchamber. "What is it?" he demanded anxiously, catching sight of Kari in the midst of the commotion.

"It's the baby," Alec told him.

"I'll go for a midwife!" Seregil offered, halfway to the door already.

"No time," Kari gasped. "My women can help me. We've delivered a whole house full of babies between us. Stay with Micum, you and Alec both. I want you with him! Elsbet, Illia, come to me!"

Arna and the other woman helped their mistress into her chamber and closed the door firmly, leaving the men stranded in the hall.

"She's not so young as she was," Micum said, lowering himself shakily down into a chair by the fire. Kari let out a cry of pain in the next room and he went pale.

"She'll be all right," Seregil told him, although he was looking a bit green himself. "And it's not so early for the child. She was due in the next few weeks anyway."

They sat exchanging uneasy glances as her cries echoed through the house. Servants drifted in and out, listening nervously. Even the hounds refused to be put out and lay whining at their feet. At last Seregil fetched his harp and played to soothe them all.