White Blood (11 page)

No. Maryn drew a deep breath. She would not surrender. Nothing was wrong with her breasts; they had nursed Frilan perfectly well without pain. Barilan would just have to bend to her will and learn to latch the right way, even if she had to fight him for every suck.

Maryn shifted Barilan to her shoulder until he calmed. When he seemed amenable, she slid him down into position, careful to keep his belly turned in as Litholl had shown her, and tried again to do as the midwife had instructed.

This time it worked for an instant. Barilan’s head tilted back, and he grabbed for her nipple. It went deep into his mouth, and when his lips closed around her breast she felt very little pain, only strong warm sucking. But then he squirmed, and pulled his head back, and her nipple slid down to its accustomed place, accompanied by the familiar scraping agony.

“No, that’s no good, take him off again.” Litholl gestured for Maryn to once again break the suction of Barilan’s mouth and pull him away, and she complied.

Barilan began to scream, overwhelmed and angry that Maryn would not let him nurse undisturbed. Maryn turned to Litholl. “It worked! For a moment it didn’t hurt at all. Just for a second, then he moved, but it really did work!”

Litholl smiled, encouraging. “Good. That’s what we’re looking for. When he’s on right, you can tell. If it hurts, take him off and try again.”

With renewed hope Maryn patted Barilan’s back and shifted him down for another attempt. She had to hold on determinedly to the memory of that brief pain;-;free instant, for it took at least another dozen tries before once again she managed to get everything to work as it was supposed to and her breast went deep into Barilan’s mouth. This time it lasted a little longer. He was so frustrated by this point that he was willing to accept the odd sensation on his lips and tongue and suck a few times. It amazed Maryn how different it felt. There was still a little residual soreness from the cracks, but so much less she hardly noticed it.

She looked up at Litholl, nearly overcome with relief. “He’s got it! I don’t believe it. It feels so much better. Do you think he’ll—Ow!” Her concentration on keeping Barilan in place lapsed, and he slid back down her nipple again.

Litholl put a hand on Maryn’s shoulder as Maryn hastened to remove Barilan from her breast. “Now you know what it feels like when it’s right.” The midwife gave Maryn a smile of weary commiseration. “You just have to insist he do it right every time. Don’t ever settle for less. You deserve to be comfortable nursing him, and he’s quite capable of learning. He’ll get more milk more easily this way, as well, so it shouldn’t take long before he comes to see the advantages and becomes more cooperative. Go ahead and try the other side for a while, to make sure you’ve got it there, too.”

Either Barilan was tired of fighting her, or he was beginning to get the hang of it, for this time it only took a few tries before Maryn got him to latch in the new way, and he stayed that way for several long minutes while Maryn marveled. This was what nursing Frilan had felt like, she recalled now, as easy and comfortable as breathing, none of the fear that tensed her shoulders and tightened her jaw, none of the misery that flooded her heart with resentment and guilt. This was how it should be, and she could only berate herself that she had waited so long to get the help she needed.

Barilan squirmed and slipped down, but once Maryn took him off and repositioned him, he latched correctly again. Much more quickly than she was used to, he grew content, his sucks slowed, and he drifted off to sleep.

Litholl pulled up a chair beside Maryn’s and sat down, leaning over to look at Barilan’s limp form as Maryn eased her nipple from his slack mouth. “I have an ointment I can give you to put on your nipples, to help them heal a bit quicker. I’ll fetch some and bring it by the nursery later. But the best thing for them is to always keep a good latch. Will you be able to manage that on your own from now on?”

“I think so.” Maryn sighed. “I should be getting back to the nursery. Madam Semprell will wonder if she comes back and finds me still with you.”

“Yes.” Litholl glanced at the door to the bedroom. “I wonder if Voerell is asleep yet, or if she’d like to visit a moment with Barilan before you leave.”

Maryn ducked her head over the sleeping Barilan and stirred his blond wisps of hair with her fingers. Though she and Litholl were alone in the solar, she dropped her voice almost to a whisper. “She won’t. Even if she’s awake. She never looks at Barilan any more than she has to. I don’t know why she hates him so much. I guess it’s different when you’re a princess. I guess your children don’t matter to you the same way they do for everyone else, not as babies, not as people. Just as heirs, a way to fulfill your duty, to secure your family’s power.”

Litholl frowned at Maryn, her brow creasing. “Do you believe so? I think you’d be surprised if you could learn what is in Voerell’s heart. She would never confess to me, or anyone, but I’ve seen the same thing often enough among highborn women to have a fairly good idea. I would venture to guess that Voerell loves her son deeply. She longs to do what any serf or servant woman thinks nothing of, and gather her child close, and nurse him, and give him all her devotion. But the constraints of her position prevent her from indulging her desires to their full extent, and Voerell is not one to do anything by half measures. So she withdraws even from the small amount of contact she might have, in order to shield herself from the pain of having to give over the one she loves into another woman’s arms.”

Maryn frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. If she cared about him at all, wouldn’t she want to spend as much time with him as she could? At least hold him occasionally. She acts like she can’t stand having him around.”

The midwife smiled wryly and shook her head. “When does the heart ever make sense? Just believe me, Voerell must endure her own pain at her son’s touch. Not as physical as yours, perhaps, but real enough. And I’m afraid there is no ease for her trouble as straightforward as correcting a misplaced latch. She would do well to learn from your willingness to endure pain, in order to give Barilan what he needs.” She sighed. “I’ll speak with her. No, of course I won’t tell her you said anything. But this state of affairs is not healthy for anyone.”

Litholl subsided into silence. Maryn was just as glad she had dropped the subject. It still seemed obvious to her that Voerell cared very little for Barilan, no matter what Litholl said.

She eased Barilan into her lap and tied the drawstring of her shift. Life would be so much better now, if the new latching technique continued to work, and her nipples healed as Litholl had promised they would. She gathered Barilan into her arms and rose, giving the midwife a quick impulsive embrace. “Thank you so much.”

“Call for me if you need anything else.” Litholl led Maryn out of the solar and through the bedroom to the main entrance of the princess’s suite. Quietly, they bid each other farewell.

As Maryn nodded to the guards and eased the heavy wooden door closed behind her, out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw the curtains of the bed ripple, and a pale flash as of a hand withdrawing. But when she looked again, all was still, and she was sure she must have been mistaken.

Seven

V
oerell stopped in the hallway outside her brother’s quarters and swept a last critical gaze over her family. Duke Whirter passed her inspection, but her lips pinched when Maryn turned Barilan out to face her. “It’s still not right. Why won’t it sit straight?” Voerell tugged at Barilan’s lace;-;edged cap. She sighed. “That’s a little better, at least.”

Maryn could see that the princess’s intervention had pulled the cap down over one of Barilan’s ears, which had gotten folded under the crisp fabric. He batted at the offending garment. Maryn scowled at the back of Voerell’s head as the princess turned away. She attempted to get Barilan’s ear unstuck as unobtrusively as she could. The cap ended up more crooked than before. Maryn hoped Voerell wouldn’t notice.

Litholl must have spoken to Voerell as she had promised, for in the month since the midwife’s visit the princess had made sporadic attempts to interact with her son and participate in his care. More often than not the efforts proved clumsy and intrusive. Sometimes Maryn wished Voerell would resume her former distance and leave Barilan to those who knew what they were doing.

Tonight, for instance, she’d have been much happier if she and Barilan were spending a quiet evening in the nursery as usual, instead of accompanying Voerell and her husband to a private dinner with Prince Carlich. But the princess had insisted on taking Barilan with her. Maryn had no choice but to follow her orders, even though it meant upsetting Barilan’s routine. At two and a half months, he was finally settled into a predictable pattern of eating and sleeping. This late night would disrupt his rhythm so much it might take days for Maryn to get him back to normal.

But Voerell was trying, and Maryn did her best to view her efforts as charitably as she could. Even when they made her own job harder.

Whirter smiled at Barilan and put a hand on his wife’s arm. “He looks fine. Don’t fret so. Your brother won’t notice what he’s wearing.”

“Carlich notices everything.” Voerell tugged at her close;-;fitting bodice and smoothed her skirt. “I should have known better than to try to wear this yet. My belly is still round; everyone will be saying I’m pregnant again.”

“Let them. Perhaps by the time it makes a difference, it will be true.”

“Perhaps.” Voerell fussed with her skirt again, patted her braids, and gave a final glance at Barilan. She squared her shoulders and took a breath. “Very well. I’m ready.”

After a brief conference between their guards and the ones at the entry to Prince Carlich’s private quarters, the doors swung open and their party was formally announced. Carlich waited to greet them, all smiles and enthusiasm for his sister and her family. “Come in, come in, have a seat. You look lovely, Voerell. And can this possibly be Barilan? Look how much he’s grown! You’d better watch out, Whirter; he’s going to be as big as Father by the time he’s a page.”

Carlich ushered Voerell and Whirter into his sitting room. Maryn trailed behind. She was accustomed enough now to life in the palace that being in the presence of royalty no longer intimidated her the way it had at first. She still got nervous, but as her fear faded it was replaced with curiosity. Who were these people, so far above her, yet to whom she was inextricably bound through her attachment to their youngest member? Were they truly a breed apart, as she’d always believed, specially blessed by the Holy One and set above common humanity? Or, as seemed more credible the longer she was around them, were they simply folk like any others, just richer and more powerful?

She took up a position behind the elegant couch where Voerell settled. Her duty was to remain unobtrusively nearby, keeping Barilan happy and quiet, ready to present him the instant his royal mother, father or uncle expressed a desire to interact with him.

For the moment Barilan was content, looking at the strange surroundings with wide eyes, and Maryn’s task was easy and tedious. Carlich, Voerell and Whirter settled into a pleasantly trivial discussion of palace gossip and the latest news of city and realm. Servants bustled about, offering wine. Maryn let her gaze wander around Carlich’s quarters. The room was as casually elegant as the prince himself. All the furnishings were extremely well made, but without excessive ornamentation. A starburst of swords and daggers decorated one creamy yellow wall. Forest green drapes framed wide windows that looked out over the city, where the golden glow of sunset had faded to streaks of orange and purple across the sky.

“Are you sure?” Carlich’s voice wasn’t loud, but his sharp tone drew Maryn’s attention.

“Quite sure,” Whirter said. “King Froethych confirmed it to me this afternoon so I could get to work on the security arrangements. He’ll make the formal announcement tomorrow.”

Voerell shook her head ruefully. “Marolan will be delighted. He’d resigned himself to not meeting Dolia until just before the wedding. Now he’ll have a whole month to get to know her.”

Maryn’s interest stirred. All the palace servants gossiped ceaselessly about the upcoming wedding and the arrival of the Wonoran princess. The news that she would be arriving earlier than expected would be received with excitement. The information might even be enough to buy Maryn a measure of acceptance into their ranks. She listened attentively, hoping she might hear more that she could share.

Carlich sat back in his chair, sipping at his goblet. “You’re right. Marolan will be beside himself with joy. He might even smile.”

Voerell laughed. “Oh, Carlich, don’t be so hard on Marolan. How would you like it if you’d been betrothed since you were nine to a girl you’d never met? I think he’s handling the matter far better than I’d be able to. I was nervous enough before my wedding, even though Whirter and I had known each other for years.”

Whirter grinned at her. “What? I thought you told me you’d been pining for me since you were Dolia’s age, and begged your father to make the match.”

“You know what I mean.” Voerell gave him a playful swat before sobering. “But she is only sixteen. I hope they’ll be able to be happy together, or at least not too miserable. And I hope the treaty with Wonora will make it all worthwhile.”

Whirter nodded. “Those new trade provisions are going to bring great wealth to Milecha. What, Carlich, don’t you agree?”

Carlich leaned forward in his chair and fixed Whirter with a calculating stare. The intensity of his reaction struck Maryn as odd. Whirter had done no more than echo the common wisdom she’d heard voiced by everyone from the youngest pages to Voerell’s highborn ladies;-;in;-;waiting. “In fact, I do have reservations about the treaty. That’s one of the reasons I invited you to dine with me tonight; I hoped we might discuss them.”

“I’m willing to discuss whatever you like.” Whirter shrugged. “But you’ll have to work hard if you hope to persuade me there’s anything wrong.”