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Ada
Orlaigh squatted over a wooden tub beside the spring, ru
My breath shook.
How fitting...
I’d known she was hiding something, but never had I expected that it might affect me to a degree that my entire body vibrated with fury and fear alike.
Fury that I’d died pregnant.
Fear that I had not.
Or the other way around?
My stomach plunged to my knees. No, I was doomed either way, for the truth—either truth, really—would shatter my soul. If my theory proved true and I had died with a child in my belly—
I pressed a hand to my mouth, muffling a sob as agony, sharp and digging, spread around my heart. No, I could not possibly survive it. Might die a second time.
Same if my theory proved wrong.
My hand circled my belly again, every go round like a caress to a hope I could not afford, either. What if Lord Tarnem’s goal to get himself out of the throne had taken advantage of my situation? My desperation? What if I fell for a lie?
What if there was still no child?
My stomach clenched, shifting around the gases of decay once more. Mercy god, I would descend into a hysteria that would make Enosh look reasonable.
What was true? What was not?
Only one woman knew.
Taking a steadying breath, I opened the clasps of my hands and let the fringe of fingers clank to the ground where I stood beside the dark rock. “Foolish, foolish, Ada.”
Orlaigh spun around so fast, her soles squeaked on the stone floor, hands hovering wet and dripping over the ground. “What?”
My lungs hardened against the pressure of unease that expanded within my chest. “Who fathered Njala’s child?”
Face going still, shaky fingers disappearing into the checkered fabric of her dress, mouth a hard line, she glared at me in shock. “Whatever do ye mean?”
I took a step toward her. “Who was the father? Enosh or Joah?”
“Ach, lass.” Sliding one leg forward, she struggled up to stand. “Yer mind’s muddled.”
The roots of my teeth ached with how I clenched them. Of course, she would deny it all. Might even try to twist things around, unleashing doubt and confusion.
I would not let her.
“Oh, quite the opposite,” I said. “I feel as if I’m seeing things clearly for the first time.”
“It’s the grief talking.” A grandmotherly smile crossed her face—one I didn’t trust a bit. “Let me help ye out of this dress so ye can soak in the water and forget.”
“No doubt it would serve you well if I did.” And hadn’t she eagerly tried to convince me to let go of my grief? “I spoke to Lord Tarnem. He told me everything.”
“Di
“Just like you will say whatever you can to keep yours out of it.” Even if it came at the cost of my heart, not to mention my sanity. “Oh, if me Master ever finds out the truth. Foolish, foolish, girl. Do you think I forgot how I found you arguing with Lord Tarnem that day? You accompanied Njala when she left the Pale Court. Will you deny that she met with Joah?”
Her hands balled into fists. “Ye di
“I know that she chose death for herself and the child, likely because she feared what Enosh would do if he ever found out the truth.” My words triggered a spread of gooseflesh along my skin. “Do you deny it?”
“Lass—”
“Who fathered her child?”
“Ada—”
“Who?”
“I di
“Yes, nobody listens to old Orlaigh,” I said. “Njala loved the commander, didn’t she? Never stopped loving him.”
“Ach, we women ca
My guts knotted up at the familiarity of her pain, but I couldn’t let that soften me in my determination to uncover the truth. Would not continue to care more about everyone else’s sorrows than my own.
And mine were dire, indeed.
“It’s true then.” My legs turned brittle underneath me, and I pressed a palm against the rock for support. “All this time, she secretly met with Joah. Was he the father?”
Orlaigh tsked, “Lass—”
“Was he?”
“Who can ken such a thing? Ach, the world is full of bastards, raised by their unknowing fathers, be it a king or a kitchen drudge.”
“But you knew it was possible, plausible, even. Especially since the baby was mortal.” And that fact brought precious remnants of tears to my eyes, not enough to pearl down my cheek, though they blurred my vision. “What if Enosh ca
“What of it?” Orlaigh shifted from one leg to the other, lifting her arms and letting them flap against her sides. “What does it matter now?”
“It matters a great deal to me!” I shouted, hating how this ordeal leeched away the self-worth I’d finally found for myself. “All my life, I’ve been called barren, an unwoman. One husband called me worthless; the other calls me a liar. I’m sick of being at the mercy of everyone’s false judgment!” Against the tremble in my hand, I dared another heart-shattering caress of my palm around my belly. “I might be carrying a divine child in my belly.”
“Or ye might not.” The bite in her tone clawed at my narrowing throat. “Even if the babe was the commander’s...”
Sharp and harrowing, the potential truth of her words punctured straight into a heart that still hadn’t fully mended from the agony of losing a child twice. Oh, I was so stupid, it hurt.
There was a third option I hadn’t even considered.
What if all my assumptions about Joah and the baby were true, but not how it related to me? None of it made me any more likely of carrying a child in my belly, divine or otherwise.
My hand slipped off the rock.
The ground shook.
Or maybe not, but my legs snapped like twigs underneath me anyway, letting me sink to the damp, harsh ground. No, there would be no comfort in this mess, no liberating discovery.
Only agony.
Only suffering.
“Lass, it hurts me to see ye so.” Drying off her hands some more, Orlaigh walked over, squatted down, and stroked my arms. “Who says that gods can even sire children?”
“Who says they can’t?”
“Lass, three gods as old as time.” She arched a bushy brow. “Not one has a child, and the world is better for it.”
My stomach knotted into a hard ball beneath the pressure of my hand. I thought back to Eilam’s kiss, stiff and unskilled, as though his lips had never touched a woman’s before. Perhaps they hadn’t, but Yarin was a scoundrel who likely spent most of eternity beneath the skirts of women, dead and alive.
What if Orlaigh was right?
My stomach hardened.
But what if she was wrong?
“I had all the symptoms…” I whispered, clinging to the thi
“Even if ye’re right, lass, it doesn’t make ye any less dead.” The slow shake of her head carried all the weight of a thousand bitter truths. “Even if its father is a god, does that make the child undying? Able to grow between bloat and maggots?”
My teeth ground together until a molar shifted under the strain, threatening to pop from my gums.
Dead or alive.
Divine or imagined.
How would I even prove any of this? Was I to cut myself open and rummage through my i
My pride reared in my chest.
No, I was no liar.
Morning sickness. Achy breasts. The grains. I died pregnant. Call it instinct, but I sensed it deep inside me with each caressing circle of palm around belly.
But if I went to Enosh with talk of a child, he might very well make good on his threats, for he could not feel it. Neither could his brothers—
Realization smacked me in the face, painting me as foolish as everyone else involved in this mess. Hadn’t Yarin mentioned something about some of my soul resisting when he’d bound it? What if not mine had resisted, but that of my child?
My lips parted on a gasp, only for an unexpected name to tumble from my lips. “Eilam.”
Orlaigh frowned at me. “What’s with him now?”
“He said something when I died about, um…” Devil be damned, what had he said? Something about life? Too much life? “I don’t remember, but I feel like it’s important. Maybe they can’t feel the baby, but they can feel that something is amiss. At least two of them. I need to talk to Enosh. He has to notice it, too.”
“Ye are dead, Ada.” Orlaigh’s voice was soft, yet my hackles rose at the nape of my neck as though not even my skin trusted her anymore. “Ach, the little lady was too young. The foolish thing never thought of consequences. For two hundred years, I’ve paid for me mistake of giving in to her plea to see her lord father. Aye, she betrayed me as much as anyone, ru
My muscles stiffened. “What are you saying?”
“If ye tell me Master now… if what ye think is true… Ah diah, he’ll weave me into his throne, all over a child in yer rotting belly.” A pleading look. “Have ye no mercy?”
“Mercy?” I shook my head and shifted back. “And who has mercy on me, huh? Not you, that’s for certain, for you have known this all along. I’ve dragged guilt with me for years, and I won’t drag misery with me for eternity because of the mistakes others made some two hundred damn years ago.”
The moment I scrambled to my feet, she grabbed my arm, her grip too strong to suggest grandmotherly care anymore. “Two centuries, lass. I ca
My ears pricked at the nip in her undertone. A warning?
She will make certain that he won’t believe me, Lord Tarnem’s words floated through my head, as she always has.
As she would now?