It seemed for an instant obscene, against nature. But then Blessing mewled and stirred in his arms, and he didn’t hesitate.
“Jerna,” he said softly, coaxing her forward, because she was a flighty thing; they all were, those who labored as servants at Verna under the strict rule of Sister Anne, she who was willing to watch her own granddaughter starve.
But he would fight for his daughter until his last breath.
“Jerna,” he said, and she flowed toward him, not a woman but something other, something trying to become a woman. This act might mark her forever, separate her from her kin, who did not walk on Earth but rather in the air, below the Moon. This act might mark Blessing forever, for how could he tell what nourishment she might in truth be receiving from an aetherical creature who dwelt closer to God than did humankind and who was composed of a different proportion of elements? But he had to try it.
He held out Blessing, and the creature sighed in some satisfied, inarticulate way, and settled the child to its breast. Blessing rooted, found the nipple, and began to suck.
2
AFTER a wet and cold journey of over five months, Hanna finally caught up with King Henry’s progress at Lavas Holding on the Feast of St. Samais of Sartor. She had prayed that morning at sunrise to the saint who was particularly beloved by servants, for hadn’t St. Samais been the washerwoman who had laundered the blessed Daisan’s robes, all that remained of him on earth after he had been lifted bodily to the Chamber of Light at the Ekstasis? Hadn’t the water in which she washed that blessed cloth healed the sick and cured the lame? St. Samais had accepted martyrdom rather than hand over the blessed Daisan’s robes to the minions of the Empress Thaisannia, she of the mask, for the empress had comprehended that the robes had miraculous powers which she herself wished to control.
Not, Hanna reflected as she crested a rise and saw Lavas Holding below, that she sought martyrdom as had the saints of old, but she was Henry’s loyal servant and hoped she could serve him as faithfully as St. Samais had served the blessed Daisan. Manfred had died in Henry’s service, and she hoped she had courage and loyalty enough to die as honorably as Manfred had, if it came to that.
Yet a wasp sting burned in her heart, nagging, incessant, uncomfortable. She still dreamed of the Kerayit princess every night.
A Lion standing sentry hailed her. “Friend Hanna! How fares it with you? What news of Princess Sapientia?” It was her old friend, Ingo, looking fit and well-fed.