Read Online The Willful Princess and the Piebald Prince by Hobb Robin - Free Book Online
Authors: Hobb Robin
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expected it to be bitter. It was not. It was aromatic, almost pleasant. “I’ve never heard that I had cousins in Tilth.”
She shook her head impatiently. “There is much you do not know, raised so much away from me. Drink it down quickly now, all at once. Then, go back to your chambers and make sure all is ready for the Queen-in-Waiting’s child. Do not vomit. The pains will start soon enough. Come to me then, and not before.”
I did as she told me. She was correct in every way. My belly soon wished to be rid of her brew, but I clenched my teeth and would not gag. And when the pains started, I hurried back to her. I had seen women in labor, and been present at a birth or two that Caution had also attended. I knew how it should go, the slow increasing of the cramp and the gradual readying of woman’s body. This was not like that. Whatever my mother had given me rushed my body through the process. She had prepared everything for me, in the little room that was her own. There was water, and rags in plenty, and a blanket in which to wrap the child. She came and went as I gasped my way through my birthing. She had commanded me to silence, so I bit on a twist of rag to hold in my screams. Finally my little son was born in a gush of water and fluid, and my mother exclaimed in dismay at the sight of him.
“What’s this?” she demanded of me, as if she had asked for meat and I’d given her fish. “So tiny! And look at his hair! Reddish gold! What were you thinking, girl? The Queen-in-Waiting’s hair is black and so is the Stablemaster’s, just like yours. Could not you find a dark-haired man to lie down with you?”
I was still panting with the effort of birthing him and had little patience for her rebuke. “If I had known the ruse you intended,” I began, but when I saw her eyes narrow in fury, I simply said, “Let me see him.”
“Soon enough,” she replied, setting my boy aside. “Clean yourself first and pad your belly a bit. You must be on your feet and back by Caution’s side as quickly as you can. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll let him suckle a bit to bring your milk in. But now is no time to linger here. Who knows our luck? It may be that the Queen-in-Waiting’s child will be unremarkable, and no one at court knows who the father was. You may yet be able to make the switch.”
I listened to her. As I always had. Sometimes it seems odd to me that a mother so little present in my life could command me so, and at other times it seems that I had had so little of her that of course I would take of her whatever I could get. Perhaps if I had loved the baby’s father, perhaps if I had anticipated his birth with joy, then I would have felt differently. But strange to say, I had always thought more of Caution’s baby than my own, always wondered if her child would carry too much of the father’s features. So when at last my mother handed me my bundled child and commanded me to give him suck, it simply seemed another task I must learn to do. I felt no wonder over his tiny hands or wisp of reddish hair. Instead, I saw how small he was. I put him to my breast, and he suckled a little, and then almost immediately fell asleep. “Don’t let him do that,” my mother warned me and gave him a little jostle so that he opened his eyes. He nursed for a slightly longer time, then again dozed off.
“He doesn’t seem very hearty,” I said hesitantly. I feared she would rebuke me.
“Well, he isn’t,” she said bluntly. “You were late at your task, and so he’s had to come early. Another month in the womb would have been better for him, but I’ve seen smaller children survive. He’ll sleep a lot and you’ll have to pinch him a bit to get him to nurse well. Here. Give him to me. I’ve plenty of milk still. And you have somewhere else to be.”
She took my child and in my hand put a nosegay of flowers. She smiled proudly. “While you were getting ready to push him out, I went to the Women’s Garden.
She shook her head impatiently. “There is much you do not know, raised so much away from me. Drink it down quickly now, all at once. Then, go back to your chambers and make sure all is ready for the Queen-in-Waiting’s child. Do not vomit. The pains will start soon enough. Come to me then, and not before.”
I did as she told me. She was correct in every way. My belly soon wished to be rid of her brew, but I clenched my teeth and would not gag. And when the pains started, I hurried back to her. I had seen women in labor, and been present at a birth or two that Caution had also attended. I knew how it should go, the slow increasing of the cramp and the gradual readying of woman’s body. This was not like that. Whatever my mother had given me rushed my body through the process. She had prepared everything for me, in the little room that was her own. There was water, and rags in plenty, and a blanket in which to wrap the child. She came and went as I gasped my way through my birthing. She had commanded me to silence, so I bit on a twist of rag to hold in my screams. Finally my little son was born in a gush of water and fluid, and my mother exclaimed in dismay at the sight of him.
“What’s this?” she demanded of me, as if she had asked for meat and I’d given her fish. “So tiny! And look at his hair! Reddish gold! What were you thinking, girl? The Queen-in-Waiting’s hair is black and so is the Stablemaster’s, just like yours. Could not you find a dark-haired man to lie down with you?”
I was still panting with the effort of birthing him and had little patience for her rebuke. “If I had known the ruse you intended,” I began, but when I saw her eyes narrow in fury, I simply said, “Let me see him.”
“Soon enough,” she replied, setting my boy aside. “Clean yourself first and pad your belly a bit. You must be on your feet and back by Caution’s side as quickly as you can. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll let him suckle a bit to bring your milk in. But now is no time to linger here. Who knows our luck? It may be that the Queen-in-Waiting’s child will be unremarkable, and no one at court knows who the father was. You may yet be able to make the switch.”
I listened to her. As I always had. Sometimes it seems odd to me that a mother so little present in my life could command me so, and at other times it seems that I had had so little of her that of course I would take of her whatever I could get. Perhaps if I had loved the baby’s father, perhaps if I had anticipated his birth with joy, then I would have felt differently. But strange to say, I had always thought more of Caution’s baby than my own, always wondered if her child would carry too much of the father’s features. So when at last my mother handed me my bundled child and commanded me to give him suck, it simply seemed another task I must learn to do. I felt no wonder over his tiny hands or wisp of reddish hair. Instead, I saw how small he was. I put him to my breast, and he suckled a little, and then almost immediately fell asleep. “Don’t let him do that,” my mother warned me and gave him a little jostle so that he opened his eyes. He nursed for a slightly longer time, then again dozed off.
“He doesn’t seem very hearty,” I said hesitantly. I feared she would rebuke me.
“Well, he isn’t,” she said bluntly. “You were late at your task, and so he’s had to come early. Another month in the womb would have been better for him, but I’ve seen smaller children survive. He’ll sleep a lot and you’ll have to pinch him a bit to get him to nurse well. Here. Give him to me. I’ve plenty of milk still. And you have somewhere else to be.”
She took my child and in my hand put a nosegay of flowers. She smiled proudly. “While you were getting ready to push him out, I went to the Women’s Garden.
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