The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (3 page)

“Him.”

Jarren glanced
at the door, and his mouth fell open. A wood cat stood there,
gazing at Conash with wild, beautiful eyes. The intensity of the
animal's gaze, along with its bold entry into the house, told him
all he needed to know. He sagged against the stove, then stepped
away from it with an oath and rubbed his burnt hand. Misha stared
at the cat with wide eyes, then glanced at her husband.

“Can it be?”
she whispered.

“It must
be.”

“He's only
six.”

Jarren's heart
filled with pride. “He's cat kin.”

Conash slid off
Misha's lap and approached the wood cat, which sat down and purred.
Jarren's eyes burnt as the boy hugged the feline, which was only a
little shorter than he. Rykar made a strangled sound, and Alenstra,
who had been left behind to watch the younger children, gaped.
Jarren walked closer and squatted to study the cat, which watched
him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Conash,” he
murmured. “This is your familiar.”

The boy turned
and smiled, and Jarren marvelled afresh at the singular sweetness
of his son's gentle expression. “His name's Rivan.”

“He's
beautiful,” Misha breathed. “Cat kin. Jarren, our son's cat kin.
Isn't it wonderful?”

“Yes. But
you're cat kin too.”

Misha glanced
at Triska. “A wood cat is a powerful familiar.”

Jarren nodded.
“Odd that a beast would bond with a boy who's supposed to die in
childhood.”

“Remal and
Pendrith are wrong.” Misha turned to her son. “Did Rivan help you
to come home, Conash?”

“Yes, Mama. I
was afraid.”

Jarren rose and
went over to lay a hand on his wife's shoulder. “This is good.
He'll keep Ash safe.”

“He's also
dangerous.”

“He won't hurt
Ash.”

“Not on
purpose, but he's not strong.”

Conash released
the cat and approached his mother, leaning against her knee to look
up at her. “I lost the mushrooms.”

She smiled and
pulled him onto her lap to hug him. “That's all right, baby. Mama
loves you.”

Conash sighed
and snuggled up to her. “I love you, Mama.”

Jarren scooped
up his son and settled him on his hip. “Come, Ash, you can't sit on
Mama's lap now; you'll squash the baby. It's time for your
bath.”

Conash cast an
alarmed glance at Misha. “Sorry, Baby.”

Misha giggled,
and Jarren smiled at his son's sweet, gentle nature. Of all his
children, little Conash was, without a doubt, the most loving, and
had a fey quality about him. The boy smiled at him, and Jarren met
his soft grey eyes, so like his wife's, only a paler, clearer
shade, the irises ringed with darkness. Thick black lashes framed
them, and Jarren was struck afresh by his son's extraordinary
beauty. A shadow followed him, and his nape prickled as he sensed
the presence of the new familiar that had joined their household. A
swift, deadly feline. It seemed strange that such a gentle child
would bond with a predator. Jarren had always thought that Conash
was bird kin.

Jarren recalled
the dread that had filled his heart when Conash had not returned
from picking mushrooms. Misha had stayed behind to bathe the rest
of the children while he had gone in search of his second son, then
she had joined the search when he had returned empty handed. Even
his raven, Shema, had been unable to find the child in the Deep
Forest. The family had spent the previous night sleepless and sick
with worry, and resumed the search at dawn. At least now they would
not need to worry about Conash becoming lost again. Rivan would
always bring him home.

Jarren placed
his son beside the steaming tub and stripped off his clothes, then
lowered him into the warm, soapy water. Rivan came closer, looking
a little alarmed, to sniff the water and taste it before retreating
to a corner to sit and watch. Jarren pondered his son's fragility.
Conash's delicate constitution had led to many bouts of fever.
Twice now, they had almost lost him to illness, and the priest had
come to give him the Death Rites. He had clung to life, however,
and recovered.

Jarren dressed
Conash in his nightshirt and carried him back into the kitchen,
where Misha prepared supper. A bowl of raw meat waited on the
table, and Jarren put his son down and handed it to him.

Conash wrinkled
his nose. “I don't want this, it's icky.”

Jarren
chuckled. “It's for Rivan.”

“Oh.”

The boy took
the bowl over to the cat and put it down, watching Rivan eat for a
moment before turning to beam at his father. “He likes it,
Papa.”

Jarren settled
into his well-worn chair and lighted his pipe while Misha set out
the dinner plates. Rykar watched Rivan with envious eyes, and
Jarren hoped he would not have any trouble with his eldest son.
Although Rykar was not a bully, he tended to be overly boisterous
with Conash, and scorned his weakness. Now he would have to deal
with Rivan as well, and perhaps that was a good thing. Jarren only
hoped that Rykar would not be hurt, since familiars, especially
predatory ones and particularly cats, tended to be protective.

***

Jarren woke
with a grunt as Misha prodded him in the ribs, rolling over to look
at her. Sweat beaded her brow, and her breath came in quick
gasps.

“It's time,”
she whispered.

Jarren sat up
and frowned at her distended belly, recalling the birth of the boy
who had almost killed her. Since then, she had had two normal
births, and this one was right on time. His sixth child, and it was
a Tree moon. Rising, he donned his dressing gown and went into the
kitchen to stoke the stove and feed it wood, setting a pot of water
on it to boil. Returning to the bedroom, he found Misha sitting up,
her knees raised and her teeth bared as she bore down. The
contraction ended, and she flopped back with a groan.

“Do you want
the midwife?” he asked.

She shook her
head. “It's all right this time.”

“Maybe I should
fetch her, just in case. Or I could send Rykar.”

“No. I'm all
right.” Misha gritted her teeth again.

Jarren sat on
the end of the bed, frowning. Bubbling from the kitchen warned him,
and he went to fetch the hot water and boiled cloths. When he
returned, Misha strained again, sweat soaking her hair. Jarren
waited, praying for his wife's ordeal to be over soon and the child
to be delivered safely. After a time-glass, he went to peep into
the girls' bedroom, finding them asleep.

Opening the
boys' bedroom door a crack, his eyes came to rest on Conash. The
wood cat was stretched out on the bed beside him, and looked up,
his ears pricked. Conash slept like a log, Jarren reflected with a
smile, and was unlikely to wake, even when Misha could no longer
keep silent during the delivery. He closed the door again and
returned to his bedroom. Misha had raised herself on trembling
arms, and strained to push the child into the world. Jarren sat on
the chair beside the bed and waited.

Dawn's pale
light brightened the sky outside the window when Misha cried out,
rousing her husband from his fitful doze. She sat up to look at the
plump baby that lay on the wet sheets, pushed out only a moment
ago. Sweat-soaked hair straggled across her brow. She picked up the
new child and held it to her breast, smiling up at her husband.

“It's another
girl.”

Jarren rose and
went to her side. “Praise Tinsharon for her safe delivery.”

Misha took the
warm damp cloth he gave her and cleaned the baby. A new daughter,
he marvelled, born safe and without blood. The infant girl wailed
lustily, waving chubby arms. All his children, he reflected, had
come into the world without his aid, save for the son who had been
given to him dead. The only child he had cleaned after his birth.
Conash.

Misha smiled up
at him, flushed with happiness. “I want to name her Ryana.”

He nodded. “Sky
Bird. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“She's
strong.”

He perched on
the edge of the bed. “She's beautiful.” He leant over to kiss
Misha's brow. “Thank Tinsharon for this great gift. Three sons and
three daughters. We're blessed indeed.”

“Send Rykar for
the priestess. I want her blessed today.”

Jarren nodded,
recalling again the fateful night when his second son had been born
in the icy grip of a blizzard. So different from the joyful arrival
of his other children, all born in the first warm rays of dawn.
Misha held the child to her breast, and Jarren rose and went to the
boys' room to rouse Rykar and send him for the priestess, then
paused to gaze down at Conash. The boy slept so soundly he often
feared that he had died in his sleep, and now he bent to listen to
his son's soft breaths. How ironic, he mused, that he was more
concerned for his six-year-old son than for the new-born in the
next room.

By the time the
tall, thin priestess arrived, clad in her white robe and leather
sandals, the children had eaten breakfast and gone out to play, and
Jarren was a little frayed around the edges from dealing with them.
Shinda had thrown porridge at Conash, who had retaliated by
spitting fruit juice at her. Orcal had cried and Alenstra had poked
Conash, who had thrown his bowl of porridge on the floor. Jarren
had shooed them out, warning them to stay close to the house. As
yet, only Rykar knew about the new arrival.

The priestess
glanced around at the wreckage of the kitchen, her brows rising,
then followed Jarren into the bedroom. Misha glanced up with a
smile, holding little Ryana in her arms. Priestess Mirtel sat
beside the bed and gazed at the baby with soft blue eyes.

“Blessed be
Tinsharon, giver of all life.” She drew out a flask of holy water
and sprinkled a few drops on the baby's brow. “Bless this child,
great Tinsharon. Guide her steps through life and protect her from
evil. Let your light always shine upon her, and fill her with your
glorious strength. Let her not stray from the path of
righteousness, sobriety and honesty. Bring her joy all of her days,
a kind husband to protect her, and gentle children to love her. Let
her be known to you by this name...”

“Ryana,” Misha
whispered.

“Lovely.”
Priestess Mirtel smiled and rose. “She's a fine, healthy child.
Congratulations to you both.”

Jarren stepped
aside as the priestess went to the door, then followed her.

“Priestess...”

Mirtel turned
to him. “Goodman Jarren?”

“My son... He's
never been blessed.”

“I recall
blessing both your sons.”

“I have
three.”

“Ah. You speak
of the dead child.”

Jarren frowned.
“He's not dead.”

“Midwife Remal
told me that he was born dead.”

“He's alive
now.”

“But for how
long? Haven't I given him the Death Rites twice already?”

Jarren nodded.
“But now he's found his familiar. He's stronger. I want him
blessed.”

“I can't bless
the dead, Jarren. All the blessings he needs, he's received with
the Death Rites. Tinsharon will not guide him when he has no life
ahead of him.”

“You don't know
that. Please.”

She shook her
head with a smile. “If he reaches the age of puberty, I'll give him
the Life Rites, but not before. That child's a ghost, Goodman
Jarren. His hold on life is so weak that it may slip at any moment.
Enjoy him while you can.”

Jarren followed
her outside, where she paused to watch the children play. Conash
dug a hole with Rivan's help, and looked up when his father stopped
beside him. He smiled, and Priestess Mirtel drew in a sharp breath.
Jarren squatted to stroke his son's hair.

“Are you dead,
Conash?”

The boy
giggled. “No, Papa.”

He looked up at
Mirtel. “You see?”

“That child is
fey, Jarren.”

He nodded and
turned to his son. “Watch this. Conash, call some birdies,
hmmm?”

The boy rose
and went over to a puffwood tree, where several songbirds nested.
Raising his arms, he closed his eyes and smiled. Rivan sat in the
hole and watched him. It took several minutes, then a bird flew
down to land on Conash's arm, soon followed by two more. The boy
turned to gaze at his father with sparkling eyes, and the birds
flew away.

Jarren looked
at Mirtel. “He's special. Don't you see?”

“He's fey. He
won't be long in this world.”

The priestess
turned away, shaking her head, and Jarren glared at her back.

“He's God
Touched!” he shouted. “He should be blessed! The beasts love
him!”

Conash ran to
him and tugged his trouser leg. “Papa! What's wrong?”

Jarren swept up
his son and hugged him. “Nothing. Come, there's someone I want you
to meet. You have a new sister.”

Carrying Conash
inside, Jarren took him to the bedroom, where Misha rested, Ryana
asleep in her arms. Jarren put Conash on the bed beside her, and
the boy peered at the baby girl.

“It's the
baby!”

Misha giggled
and nodded. “Yes, my sweet boy. Her name's Ryana.”

Conash crawled
closer to brush the damp strands of hair from his mother's brow,
then hugged her neck and kissed her cheek. Jarren scooped up his
son and put him on the floor.

“Go and play
now, Mama needs to sleep.”

Misha gazed at
the doorway after Conash had vanished through it. “She still won't
bless him?”

“No.”

“She's wrong.
They're all wrong.”

“They don't
know him like we do.”

She looked up
at him with sorrowful eyes. “We can't give him a proper name
without the blessing.”

“One day,
she'll have to bless him, then we'll rename him. What do you want
to call him?”

“Tyequin.”

Jarren sank
down on the chair. “God Touched.”

“It's what he
is.”