Story

Martan hurried up the steps to his spartan quarters. A servant had just told him that Ysabeau had dropped by while he was busy with some of the many dignitaries he’d have to get used to entertaining in his new role as the Imperial spymaster. Ysabeau had been coming to the Olivier residence in the Grand more often since her first surprise visit, but usually she waited in one of the sitting rooms, occupying herself with a book or musical score. For her to have asked if she could wait elsewhere for him was unusual. He hoped it was just her playful streak, but with everything that was going on, it could as easily be something more serious.

If he had hoped to find her waiting for him naked and enticing with a provocative smile on her lips, he was only a little disappointed. Though fully clothed, with her luxuriant tresses fanned out behind her she was still lovely as a dream, and she was on his bed. On his bed, on her side and… fast asleep. Apparently, his meeting had taken longer than he thought.

Shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the bedpost, he knelt on the floor so that he could contemplate her in the daylight streaming through his window. Smoothed by sleep, her face was almost too perfect, like an idealized portrait of the woman he loved. He found that he missed the waking quirk of her brow when she was puzzled, the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled, the expressive line of her lips as she spoke, displayed surprise or dismay or pleasure. He wondered whether their child – his daughter, if the Legend Lore spoke true – would take after Ysabeau or himself, or be a magical commingling of them both.

Leaning forward and feeling (a bit foolish) like the hero of a sleeping princess story, he kissed life back into his Ysabeau’s features. And like the princess of the story, her eyelids fluttered open and her lips parted into a radiant smile that was for him and him alone.

"Hey there," he smiled back.

"Hi…"

"What are you doing?" He brushed a stray curl away from her cheek. She chased his motion with a turn of her head, planting a kiss on the palm of his hand.

"Waiting for you. I must have fallen asleep… I’m sorry."

"No need to apologize. Plainly it’s my fault for taking too long at a meeting. I know my bed is small but do you think you can spare a little space for me? I might want a nap now, too. Did you know there are seven different grades of olive oil, all of which are apparently crucial to the smooth operation of the Empire? No? I didn’t either, not until this afternoon, anyway. I’m supposed to try to convince Marl that war with Psyra will bring the Empire to a cataclysmic end, all because of olive oil – or rather, a lack thereof. Think he’ll call things off once I present my case?"

Ysabeau moved over obligingly, and Martan sat on the edge of the bed so he could remove his spats and shoes. "We could always increase butter imports from Kholm to meet the demand for olive oil-like substances, if we must," she replied. He wasn't sure if she was taking him seriously or not. Probably the latter, judging by her tone of voice. "They're very fond of their butter in Kholm, though, so it might be a hard sell. Why is someone asking you to step in on behalf of the olive oil merchants?"

"Not just anyone… M. Grenoble is a very successful merchant, it’s true. But because of his extensive trade network, he runs a sideline in information. He has informants throughout the Empire, including in Psyra where he does much of his trade. War with Psyra would be very bad for his business. Both of them, he says."

"So… in order to keep turning a profit if there’s a war, he’s going to have to expand his trade network elsewhere, at significant expense to himself, no doubt. And it’s going to be more difficult to get any information about Psyra from his informants there. But, that’s information that could be extremely valuable to Marl’s war effort, isn’t it? So he's looking for a way to recoup his losses through a lucrative intelligence contract with Marl. It’s not really about olive oil at all."

"And you say you’re not cut out to be a spy." Shoes removed, Martan stretched out beside her on the tiny bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close.

"I’m not. I can use my head well enough, but I’m dismal at sneaking about or escaping anyone’s notice."

"A man would have to be blind and deaf to miss noticing you, it's true." He turned to kiss her once more, hoping more intimacies would soon follow. She responded with even more passion than usual, so he was surprised when she broke it off rather suddenly. "The baby's kicking again; maybe you'll feel it this time?" She took his hand and placed it gently on her swelling abdomen. To date he had failed to feel even the slightest flutter under the taut skin of her belly. Today, though… was he imagining it, or could he feel a minute, rhythmic change in pressure against the palm of his hand? Maybe he was just feeling Ysabeau's pulse. It was hard to say. "Do you think it can hear us speak?" Ysabeau asked while he tried to decide if he was feeling the baby or her.

"I… don't know? Perhaps it can. I expect whatever the baby hears would be muffled, though. Like listening to someone speak through a wall or a pillow. I think I feel something, but I don't know if it's the baby or your heartbeat." He looked up at Ysabeau, and was dismayed to see the shiny tracks of tears trickling their way down her cheeks. "I'll feel the baby soon enough, Ysa, don’t worry…!"

"It's not that…"

"What is it, then?"

"M. Orecalo visited the Lord Marshall. There’s another Legend Lore… Butler Belden’s."

"Oh." He drew on the well of stillness deep within himself. It really made no sense to get all worked up about these things. He stroked her hair, aware that she would draw strength from his calm. "Well, what does this one say?"

"'Your child and the child of another who passed through the Arch will give you a grandchild on the 5th of Second-month in your 52nd year. And the birth of that child will herald the death of your faith and the rebirth of another, the death of your love and the rebirth of another, the death of your child and the rebirth of another.' He'll be fifty-two next year. Our baby's his grandchild."

"I thought you were due in First-month?"

"The end of First-month. It wouldn't be… wouldn’t be unusual at all for my first full-term baby to arrive a little late. Martan…" He could feel her body grow rigid with the intensity of the emotions she was trying to control, and gathered her up closer in his arms. "Oh gods. Oh gods. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose our baby…!" The storm of tears closed in, and for a while, all Martan could do was hold her and let her grief run its course. He tried murmuring consolations in her ear but she didn't hear, or if she did hear, she could not listen, and so he gave up after a while and just rocked her gently. Little he could offer had the ring of certainty about it, anyway. He was beginning to hate Legend Lores.

Eventually she pulled herself together enough to accept a handkerchief. "I'm sorry, Martan. I just needed to cry."

"It's all right. It's important to have a good cry, sometimes. Clears your mind." Or at least his foster-mother claimed as much. She nodded and he pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I ruined your shirt."

"Nonsense. A wash will make it good as new."

"Do you think… do you think we…" A new wash of tears threatened to overcome her; he watched her struggle to find the courage to say whatever she meant to say. "If I ended the pregnancy then none of that would happen."

"Ysa… No. Out of the question. We still don't know what is going to happen. Do I have to point out that all this talk of death and rebirth may not indicate true death, but merely a transformation? That's your job, love." He brushed some tear-dampened tendrils of hair gently from her face. "The baby didn't ask to be the herald of some nebulous future no one can figure out." Nor did I, the thought came unbidden. "And if the Legend Lore must indeed be taken literally, I wouldn't want to buy my life with my child's. What kind of father would I be, if I did that? Plus, I can't help but think there's hope in the idea of rebirth, Ysa."

"What about the faith, and the love? What if the child is Marrith? It's not just you… other people could suffer too. One life, one life for the sake of many. Generals make decisions like that all the time."

"We're not generals, Ysa. And our baby is not a soldier. And I have the same answer for you: we don’t know what it means exactly. I’m not going to condemn my child, and possibly you, to death, on the basis of speculation. No more talk of this, Ysabeau. Gods willing, you said. Gods willing you wanted to meet our child."

"I do, more than almost anything."

"Well then, Gods willing, you and I will do so early next year." He was relieved when she nodded her acceptance. The subject of ending pregnancies was too painful for both of them. They subsided into silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Ysabeau seemed much less distressed than she had been. It pleased Martan to know that he'd been able to help her weather the storm of conflicting emotions which he knew she would have been experiencing since hearing about this Legend Lore, especially in regards to the baby. He knew how much she wanted the baby. Which made him curious about her choice of words. "What do you want even more?"

"To grow old with you," she answered quietly, without pause. "To play with our grandchildren together."

"Oh," Martan smiled.

"Hesperus… I don't need a big ceremony. I don't want to wait another two months or- or three. Neither of us knows what the future will bring. Even without all the mysteries, there's a war coming, and who knows what that will mean. I will hope and pray that we can grow old and grey together like Maze and Quirille, but I don't want to squander the time we have. I love you; I'm never going to change my mind about that. You are my heart's home. Let's just – let's just find a priest and a temple and say the words, the sooner the better. Please."

"I'm never going to change my mind about you, either. I know that. I-" Thinking about all the work he had to do to facilitate the changeover in the Hush, he was not sure how he would fit a wedding into his schedule. But something about Ysabeau’s sense of urgency hooked into him. "I don't want to put it off, either, but I'm not going to have much time to help you make the plans, not for several weeks. Are you going to have time, with your work and your Castalia project underway?"

"I'll find the time. Somehow, I will."

"Let's do it then. Let’s get married." And hope that we live happily ever after, he added, but not so she could hear.