THREE
Alaia hugged her mother and father goodbye one last time, with some difficulty as she was holding Izar and Naia in her arms, and Zuzen was strapped to her back. “Stay safe,” her father said, gripping her shoulders. “And write often. The prince has promised to have your letters delivered to the temple. I will fetch them every other week.”
Alaia nodded, though she could hardly imagine having time to write. She wondered if she would ever return. Whatever her misgivings about Zorion and his marriage offer, the moment she turned toward the carriage and saw him standing there, waiting for her, it felt very… final.
It wasn’t until she reached the door of the carriage that she realized there was no way she could climb the single step carrying all three children. Zorion held out his arms, a mute offer of assistance. Inside her heart, a brief and bitter war was fought. Despite agreeing to come with him, she was still angry, still hurt about the months of loneliness and exhaustion.
Even in these circumstances, she was reluctant to put a child into his arms because it felt like an admission that they were his, that he had some right to them after all, when he hardly deserved it. But she knew she was being ridiculous.
She leaned toward him, and he took Izar with the same exaggerated caution that Alaia herself had once used, when they were newly born and seemed as fragile as birds’ eggs and spun sugar. He nestled the baby in the crook of his arm before reaching his free hand down to Alaia and pulling her up into the carriage.
When he had taken a seat on the cushion across from her, she unslung Zuzen from her back. He made a pleased burbling noise as she settled him in one arm and Naia in the other. When she looked up, she was nearly pierced through the heart by the gentle and wondering expression on Zorion’s face as he beheld his daughter.
“Which one is this?” he asked in a soft voice. “I suppose you must have a special ability to tell them apart, as their mother.”
Alaia laughed despite herself. “No. I've begun to see some differences recently, but we tied colored yarn around their right wrist just to be sure. That is Izar, who has yellow. Naia is blue and Zuzen is red.”
“Clever,” Zorion said, smiling. “They are beautiful names.”
“Thank you,” she said, finding it difficult to maintain her anger in the face of his sincerity. “How long will the journey take?” Probably, she ought to have asked that before they were on their way.
“I believe if we travel the rest of the day, there is an inn we can stay at, about four hours outside the city. I am guessing, however. Carriages are a bit slower than straight riding. Speaking of which…” He knocked on the back of the carriage, and a moment later, it lurched into motion. “I hope you aren't too uncomfortable, but let me know if you need to stop and stretch your legs.”
She nodded, looking out the window. The house she had lived in her entire life retreated at an alarming rate, the forms of her parents and Esti, who were waving tearfully, shrinking into specks and fading out of sight. Alaia sighed, hoping she was making the right decision.
***********************
By the time they arrived at the inn, everyone was cranky. The babies were screaming in three-part harmony, and the proprietor looked absolutely horrified at the prospect of having them, but of course, one didn’t say no to such obviously wealthy patrons. They were shown to their rooms, Alaia with the children, and Zorion sharing with the man who’d been driving the coach, whose name was Itzal. As soon as the door shut behind her, she got to the task of nursing and changing the children.
It was the first time she’d ever had to do it completely on her own, and every time she paid attention to one baby, the others started to shriek. What the other patrons must’ve thought, she didn't dare to imagine. She was nursing Zuzen with tears in her eyes when a knock sounded on the door. “What is it?” she answered in a tight voice.
“I brought you some dinner,” Zorion said. She found herself unreasonably annoyed by his helpfulness.
“You may as well leave it there. I’m a little busy.” There was a moment of silence, and Alaia sighed. The door opened with a scrape of wood on wood. Zorion set the tray on top of the rickety table in the corner.
“Let me help,” he said, scooping Naia and Izar off the bed. They didn’t stop crying, but their volume did decrease, and Alaia felt the tension in her skull ease an appreciable amount. “Just tell me what to do.”
She sighed. It was difficult to admit that she needed his help, but of course, it was pointless to pretend. “I need a basin of warm water and some soft cloths,” she said and they got to work.
Much later, Alaia woke in the half-light just before dawn. Izar was whimpering against her chest, and she maneuvered the child into nursing position without really thinking about it.
The baby settled herself to eating, and Alaia’s eyes wandered. Zorion was sprawled on the other side of the bed, shirtless after he’d been vomited on twice, with Naia cradled in the crook of one arm and Zuzen in the other. He’d never complained, even when she had been at her wit’s end, and his calm patience had steadied her.
This was the way it should always have been, that was obvious, but she wondered if it was even possible, after everything that had happened. She was not the same hopeful and naive girl of last year, and she had no wish to be married out of pity. But looking at him, she couldn’t help but imagine that they might learn to love each other. He was still handsome, gentle, and not nearly as arrogant as you’d expect a prince to be. Surely anyone else in her situation would have accepted his offer immediately.
Izar cooed with contentment, a little bubble of milk on her lips. There was something in the line of her brow and the nascent shape of her tiny nose that recalled her father; Alaia could see that now.
She lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting her back until she burped. Naia was already starting to make little noises of discontent, so Alaia picked her up next, placing Izar in her sister’s place. Zorion sighed in his sleep, his fingers flexing lightly around the baby’s feet. A feeling of warmth bloomed in Alaia’s heart. She decided not to examine it too closely.
**************************
As soon as they passed the city gates of the capital, Gasteiz, Zorion felt himself tense. Alaia was looking around in wide-eyed wonder at the tall buildings with their shining copper roofs, the crowds moving down the streets, the colorful shopfronts, and the brightly clothed minstrels singing and playing on the corners like flocks of exotic birds.
He didn't blame her. The city was indeed beautiful, especially in certain quarters, but it was only a cover to hide the rot within. The King’s spies were everywhere, and Zorion could almost feel the concealed blades at his back. The further they traveled into the city, the more signs there were of the suffering of the people.
Children huddled weeping in doorways or begged for scraps from hollow-eyed pedestrians. Buildings were boarded up. An entire street had burned, and all that remained were charred beams and ashes. Alaia turned to him, accusing and despairing all at once. “This is awful.”
He nodded. “It wasn’t always like this. My mother and father weren’t perfect rulers, by any means, but when I was a child, even the poorer districts still had warmth and happiness. Now, the people starve while the king feasts every night. If we were to go to the noble quarter, you would hardly believe we were in the same city.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Where are we going then?” He knew what she was asking. As the prince, he should be living in the Palace, and even minor nobility had small estates in the nicer parts of town. His current abode was meant as a slight, but it was one that he was glad to make use of.
“My sister and I were not in the city during the actual coup. When the nobility convinced Imanol that it would hardly be politic to execute children, he granted us an estate, but he was under no obligation to make it a nice one. I believe he hoped we’d be so despondent about our living situation that we would leave the country. You’ll see what I mean when we get there. It will only be a few minutes.”
They turned down a particularly dark and abandoned looking street, at the end of which was a bizarrely tall and dilapidated structure surrounded by an imposing wrought iron fence. Alaia peered out the window as Itzal stepped from the carriage to open the gate. “Are those gravestones?”
Zorion nodded, a wry smile on his lips. “Who knows why someone decided to build a mansion in the middle of a graveyard? Maybe Imanol was trying to make a point, forcing us to live among the dead, but in fact, it’s the most helpful thing he could have done.” He might have elaborated further, but the carriage came to a stop at the end of the drive, and the door opened.
He shifted Izar onto his shoulder and exited first, turning back so that Alaia could hand him Zuzen. She braced herself with a hand on his shoulder as she stepped down to the ground, which Zorion considered a step forward in their relationship. At the sound of a shrill shout from the doorway, she took a step back, her eyes wide.
“Where have you been? You ran off without a word, and whenever I asked anyone where you’d gone, all they could say was that you were with Itzal.” Lorea was running down the walk, and he didn’t have a hand free to stop her. Luckily, Itzal stepped in her path, holding her shoulder as she took in the whole scene, her eyes as round as coins. “What is going on? Whose children are those?”
“Not here,” Zorion said tersely, indicating their less than secure surroundings. “Alaia, this is my sister, Lorea. Lorea, this is Alaia. Now, let’s go inside. It’s been a long journey for everyone.”
********************
Outward appearance aside, the inside of the manor was comfortable, practically a palace to Alaia, though she could tell, mainly by the lack of gilded anything and the threadbare carpets, that it was modestly furnished. They went into the parlor, and an older, matronly woman appeared. She looked at the new additions to the household with knowing eyes, but only smiled when Zorion asked her to prepare a room and send someone with food and drink.
He stood in front of the fireplace, absently rocking back and forth with a baby in each arm, just as Alaia herself had done many times before. Fatherhood seemed to come naturally to him, which would have felt unfair if she had not been so relieved.
She could admit that now; their imposed togetherness in the carriage and his help the night before had forced her to consider that Osane had been right. If he had known about the children before, he would have come for them, even without the prophecy. He was not a bad person, and it had truly been concern for her safety that had kept him away.
Still…
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Lorea demanded. “Last thing I heard, you were getting ready for the ceremony, and now you show up with a bunch of babies.”
“They’re my children. Mine and Alaia’s,” Zorion said firmly, though there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “They were conceived on Heartfire, but I only just found out about them. Of course, I had to ensure their safety before Imanol heard the news.”
Lorea pursed her lips. She seemed unsure whether to be happy for her brother or annoyed. “So, now what? Are you going to get married? What about all our plans?”
“That’s up to her,” Zorion answered, his eyes meeting Alaia’s across the room. There was intense emotion in his gaze, but she didn’t know him well enough to sort it out. “In the meantime, the ceremony will proceed as planned. In my mind, it’s even more important that Imanol be taken care of, once and for all.”
“You plan to overthrow the king? What ceremony are you talking about?” Alaia asked, feeling she had a right to know considering how she’d suddenly been pulled into this mess, and the safety of her children was on the line.
“My 21st birthday is in three days,” Zorion said. “We’ve been planning for this almost since the day my father was murdered. I can tell you about it in more detail later, but for now, I think you should try to get some rest.” As if on cue, the motherly servant reappeared to say that the room was prepared.
Several minutes later, Alaia was left alone in a bedroom that was almost as big as the house she'd grown up in. The carpet and all the draperies were forest green, and the walls were covered with tapestries depicting the wild woods. A wooden crib was pulled up next to the massive curtained bed, and Zorion had already placed Zuzen and Izar into it, miraculously still asleep.
He was just next door, if she needed help, he’d said, or she could pull on a little rope and summon Maude, the older servant, if she preferred. As much as Alaia had been angry about Zorion’s sudden reappearance in her life, his absence already felt strange.
They had spoken some during the journey, about her childhood in the village, but much of their time had been taken up with baby-juggling, and she wished she’d taken the time to ask him about himself or to apologize for her less than pleasant reception of him.
Alaia sighed and laid Naia down in the crib beside her siblings. Their chest of belongings had already been brought up and was sitting in the corner under the window. She wondered if she should change clothes before dinner, but nothing she had seemed at all fit for a prince, even one who lived in a ramshackle mansion in a graveyard.
What she really wanted was a bath, despite the fact that she’d had one just a few days before. There was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” she asked, tensing. Zorion hadn’t specifically said so, but she had a feeling there weren’t a large number of people he trusted.
“It’s Lorea. Can I come in? I just wanted to talk to you.” Her voice sounded anxious. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, and Alaia could tell that she was worried for her brother. No matter what happened, she felt it would be a good idea to reassure Zorion’s sister.
She opened the door, and Lorea stepped inside, her hands clasped before her in a familiar gesture of appeasement. “I just wanted to apologize if I seemed a little… suspicious. Zorion’s always been so standoffish with women, and he never said anything about you, to me at least. It seems Itzal knew,” she added with a sour twist of her mouth.
“It’s all right,” Alaia said. “I’m sure if in your position, I would have felt the same way. But I didn’t even know Zorion was the prince until two days ago. I hadn’t seen him since Heartfire.”
“I know,” Lorea said, now grinning. “Itzal told me you gave him such an earful when he showed up to your house unannounced that it shook the leaves from the trees.”
“I hope he’s exaggerating,” Alaia replied, her face getting hot. “I was a bit surprised.”
“Sounds like my brother deserved it,” Lorea said with a good-natured shrug. “Are the babies asleep? I didn’t really get a good look at them before, and no one even told me their names.” Her eyes were sparkling with excitement, and Alaia found herself smiling.
“They are asleep, but you can look in the crib,” she said, and they both went back to peer at the children, all tightly swaddled and dreaming away. “Their names are Izar, Naia, and Zuzen.”
Lorea sighed with a smile that was already besotted. The triplets did seem to have that effect on people. “They’re adorable. They even look a bit like him, but mostly they just look like babies.”
Alaia laughed because it was true, and they moved away from the crib again, sitting down at a small table near the window. The promised refreshments had been set out, and the pot of coffee was still steaming. After a few moments spent attending to their drinks, Lorea looked up. “There was one other thing I wanted to ask you.”
Alaia blinked and gestured for her to continue. “Do you even like Zorion? I mean, do you want to be with him? Most girls wouldn’t turn down a marriage proposal from a prince, even if they were angry. I was surprised to hear that. I thought maybe you were in love with someone else or something.”
Alaia bit her lip, unsure how to answer. It was passing too close to her most secret hopes. “It’s not that I dislike him. There’s no one else,” she said carefully. “If he had sent me a marriage offer after Heartfire, I would have accepted it. It’s just… I don’t want to be married out of pity, or even duty. If I cannot be loved for myself, I’d rather stay unwed.”
Lorea didn’t seem displeased by this answer. She nodded thoughtfully, chin resting on one hand. “I think I understand. I really hope things work out between you.”
“Thank you,” Alaia said, glancing back to the crib. “I… do too.” Lorea left a little while later, and Alaia lay down in the too soft bed. So much had happened in the past day, she could hardly comprehend it, but she was exhausted enough to fall into a light doze until Zuzen woke her, his furious wail of hunger waking his sisters as well.
Alaia took a deep breath and lifted him from the cradle, freeing his arms from the swaddling cloth before putting him to her breast. As his crying subsided the other two quieted, though they continued to grunt with infant annoyance.
“Alaia,” Zorion’s muffled voice came through the door. “Can I come in?” She only hesitated a moment. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her nursing before. And much more, at Heartfire, she reminded herself with a rush of heat to her cheeks.
“Yes, I’m just feeding them,” she called back. He opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him swiftly.
‘I heard crying as I was passing by, and I wanted to talk to you anyway,” he said, but his cheeks were flushed. She had the sudden mental of image of him waiting outside the door, trying to think of something to say. “Can I do anything?” he asked, his eyes firmly affixed to her face.
“You can hold Izar and Naia until it’s their turn,” Alaia replied, nodding to the crib. He smiled. Perhaps that was exactly what he had hoped for.
“You asked about the ceremony,” he said once he had the girls settled in his arms. “I thought we should talk about it now, before I get sucked into the preparations again.”
“I suppose my first question ought to be when it is,” she said. “You said it’s on your 21stt birthday?” For some reason, she expected him to be older, perhaps because he had seemed so much more confident at Heartfire than she felt.
“Yes,” he replied, though most of his attention was on Izar and Naia. They were gazing at him with wide eyes, and one of them was cooing happily. “It’s in three days. We don’t generally do a lot of celebrating, so as not to catch Imanol’s attention, and the actual ritual will take place at midnight. Normally, it would be at the High Temple, but Osane doesn’t want to endanger the younger priestesses by associating them with the rebellion, so the ceremony will be out in the back garden.”
“It seems like this is a little more important than your average coming of age,” Alaia said. “If you were going to overthrow Imanol anyway, why wait until now?”
“It is much more than that. My mother carried the blood of the dragon, a real power, not a symbolic thing, and now it has passed to me. But by tradition, the power will not awaken until I turn twenty-one.
I could tell you more, but I’m not certain you’d believe me until you see it for yourself. In any case, once I have mastered the power of the dragon, I will be ready to confront Imanol. I only hope the people will rally behind me.”
“Is it dangerous?” she found herself asking.
“The ceremony, you mean?” His eyes met hers with evident surprise. “It shouldn’t be. Of course, once I move against Imanol, we will all be in danger, but I assure you that the safety of you and the children is my top priority,” he said as Alaia moved Zuzen to her shoulder. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about everything. I should have stayed on Heartfire to at least… explain, to let you make your own decision.”
“I understand why you did what you did,” she said, stepping over to the crib to lay Zuzen down and then moving to take Naia from Zorion. Only, their eyes met again, and for a moment, Alaia felt frozen by the regret and hope and warmth she saw there. “I… I am sorry for treating you so harshly. These past few months have been difficult, alone. I had my parents, but it wasn’t the same.
And then you showed up without warning. I suppose I let loose all my frustration at once.” She managed to recover herself enough to pick up the baby, but Zorion reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch set her heart racing, and her face went hot.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said softly. “The fault was mine. I should have been there. I wish I had been, but I cannot change what has happened, only what happens in the future. I will be here, as much as you want me to be.” She found it difficult to deny the rush of warmth in her chest, though a stubborn part of her heart wished to. Luckily, getting Naia to nurse provided a perfect excuse to look away, hiding her turbulent emotions behind her hair.
“I’m sure you’ll be busy,” she squeaked out. There was a pause. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings. It was just too much too soon.
“I’d still like to help when I can,” he finally said. “And speaking of help, Maude said she has a niece that could come here and help you with the children if that’s something you would want.”
Again, her pride reared its head. She didn’t need help with her children. Except that she knew that she did. And furthermore, if she was ever going to get closer to Zorion, to try to make a home here in this strange and frightening new place, she would need to have some time for herself. “I might. I’d like to meet her first.”
“I’ll have her come over tomorrow then,” he said. She finally felt like she could look at him again. He was looking out the window, his expression thoughtful. She wondered what he was thinking about. When Naia was done eating, she took Izar from his arms, and he didn’t reach for her. “Dinner is in an hour. Probably less now,” he amended. “I suppose I’ll see you then.”
“Thank you for your help,” she said, and before she could stop herself, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. His eyes went wide, and she turned away, feigning nonchalance. After a moment or two of silence, they both heard Itzal calling his name from the hallway. He left the room quickly, but not before Alaia noted a flush on the back of his neck.