City of Dragons

“I know.” Malta barely breathed the word. She didn’t want to think about what else the pessimistic old woman had said. She might be a skilled midwife, but she was also a mean and bitter old woman with no living offspring of her own. There were words so harsh she would not inflict them on her husband or his mother. “No right to try for a baby; his brother Bendir already has an heir. What need do you have of a child? You know the baby will be a monster. All your miscarriages and stillbirths have been monsters.” Such words were hard to ignore when the accusations were so true.



Malta held back a sob. Stop being silly. Everyone said that being pregnant made a woman prey to her emotions. Focus on the task at hand. Packing. She forced herself to fold the cloak and set it in the trunk. She was going to go to Cassarick with her husband. And his sister Tillamon was coming along, to visit one of her girlhood friends who had moved. It would be a pleasant afternoon boat ride up the river. A nice day to enjoy getting out of the house for a time and having Reyn’s company for a full day. Choose a warm cloak; it will be windy and rainy on the river.



Next to the red winter cloak’s hook hung another favorite, one that was black and embroidered with green and blue and red dragons in flight. It had been a gift from a weaver in Jamaillia in the days when she and Reyn had been guests of the Satrap of Jamaillia and honored by him as the “king” and “queen” of the Elderlings. Elderlings they might truly be; so Tintaglia the dragon had named them. But dragons were no more honest than humans and would say whatever pleased them at the moment. There were days when she doubted her Elderling status. Perhaps both she and Reyn and even Selden were simply changed by the Rain Wilds and merely more fortunate that in their cases the changes had imbued them with an exotic beauty. So Elderlings, perhaps. But never had they been king and queen of anything, save in the boyish Satrap’s fancy.



After their “great adventure” in the Pirate Isles, after she had saved Satrap Cosgo’s sorry life more times than she could count, it had pleased him to present Reyn and her to his court as Elderling royalty. At the time, she had relished the attention and luxury he bestowed on them. Several harsh years of hardship had left her starved for pretty trinkets and lovely clothes and extravagant parties. But his honoring of them had gone far beyond that. The Jamaillian nobility had showered them with gifts and praise. Songs had been composed in their honor, tapestries and stained-glass windows were created to commemorate their visit, and exotic dishes of supposed Elderling delicacies were contrived. It had been a soap bubble illusion, a few months of everything she had ever imagined her life could ever be. Balls and dinners, jewelry and feasts, perfumes and performances . . . it still startled her that she and Reyn had both eventually tired of it and longed to go home to be wed and begin their life together. She drew the cloak out and folded it softly over her arm. The faded perfume of a long-ago ball rose from its soft folds, sweeping her back into a memory of a wild whirling dance, of looking up into the handsome face of the young man who would become her husband.



The tears that had threatened her a moment ago were suddenly gone.



“There’s that smile, the one that made my boy fall in love with you,” Jani said fondly.



“Oh, I feel so foolish. One moment, my eyes are full of tears and the next I am floating with joy.”



Jani laughed out loud. “You’re pregnant, my dear. That’s all.”



“That’s all?” Reyn’s voice was full of mock outrage as he swept into the room, pushed along by a gust of wind. He slammed the door against winter’s chill thrust. “That’s all, Mother? How can you say that when for years, all we’ve heard is ‘That is everything! Make another little Khuprus, Malta dear! Replenish the family coffers with an heir or two!’ ”



“Oh, I am not that bad!” Jani Khuprus exclaimed.



“You make me sound like a brood cow!” Malta exclaimed.



“Ah, but such a pretty little cow! One that will make us all late if she doesn’t finish her packing right away and waddle down to the boat with me.”



“You, sir, are a beast!” Malta attempted outrage but spoiled it by laughing.



“Mannerless boy,” his mother rebuked Reyn as she gave him a fond push. “Don’t you tease her! She has a fine baby belly, something to be proud of!”



“And proud I am,” Reyn said, setting his hands gently to either side of the mound of Malta’s belly. His eyes gleamed with such tenderness that she felt a blush rise to her cheeks and his mother turned discreetly away as if what passed between them were too personal a thing for her to witness.