Brack insisted Nyssa go back to bed, where she did and amazingly drifted off to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. Jara and Brack made their arrangements for a direct run for Port Town. It was two days’ ride, and they would make good time with the lighter equipped Elite. When they were satisfied there, Brack told Jara about Bough.

Jara was distinctly unimpressed with the idea, but Brack shared the theory he and Nyssa had come up with. They needed whatever Queen Keerie could provide by way of insight into the magical realm, even if it weren’t precise. If magic were at all involved, they needed to learn about it now, before they faced it again.

Nyssa felt renewed the next day when she was redressed, mounted and riding out for Port Town with Brack on one side and Jara on the other. Their mission there was simple; meet with Captain Ark, see if he had come up with anything new, interview a few of the ship’s captains, especially those who might be intimately familiar with Rogun and her seaports, ensure the town was secure, and turn around and head for Bough.

Going directly would save them a week, and returning to Orak’Thune would cost them several, so Nyssa sent a runner when they broke camp to have Hedir meet her there. She also sent Patrick a note describing her and Brack’s revelations. She knew it would be hard for him to bring up old sorrows about their mother. She was sorely aware that she would not be there to comfort him.

The theory about the demon and his plans for her, she left out in her letter to Hedir. He’d find out in Bough if it were even a possibility. No sense in worrying him now.

Port Town was a sprawling sea town that Orak’Thune had invested handsomely to make it the most accessible and efficient trade centre on the eastern Orak’Thune seaboard. Many of the continent’s own trade was sent by road and by ship from the north and the west for ease of long-distance travel. However, almost all of it ended up in Port Town to be redistributed among trade ships from around the world, and it was the closest to Orak’Thune Capital. It was also a welcoming point for visitors and new arrivals from the four other continents, Rogun not included.

As a result of its natural multicultural environment, Port Town enjoyed a high level of sophistication and welcome acceptance of people from all walks of life. Nyssa’s predecessor three generations back had built a resort there, and she had summered every year until her mother had passed. This was to be her first return. She was bittersweet about that.

Everything since her talk with Brack had changed her memory of her mother’s passing. No longer was it shrouded in singular pain and sadness. The brave purpose behind her mother’s sacrifice was giving Nyssa strength now, and she no longer wanted to shy away from things she associated with her.

The sun was brilliant on the sea as they crested the hill that would slope gently down toward the gates and the grand city beyond. From this vantage point, she could see the sprawling centre, the marketplace with its beautiful, multicoloured sunshades flapping in the wind. She was even tempted to stay at the resort that night, and was about to suggest it, but Jara cut her off.

“We are understood that Her Majesty continues on incognito,” he said flatly and all heads bobbed in agreement. She frowned but said nothing when Brack narrowed his eyes at her in his own agreement.

“Forward on then, Colonel Switch,” Brack said finally and clucked his tongue to urge his horse ahead.

She hadn’t heard the name in a good long while. It was the code word for her when it wasn’t safe to acknowledge her status.

They passed the city gates, nonetheless, with a flourish. Brack’s rank and reputation, as well as the optics the Elite presented garnered enough attention anyway. The home regiment made a large fuss about their arrival, their commanding officer, Colonel Bray, riding out in a hurried flurry to meet them. He escorted them back to the barracks, a quarter mile from the comfort of the town, where they could rest the horses and refresh themselves. It was near on early evening when they arrived, the summer coming on. Nyssa was satisfied they’d be right on time to search the pubs and eateries sufficiently after supper.

“Nonsense,” Nyssa said harshly.

Jara clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms. Brack had just entered the room, having finished a meeting with the highly delighted Bray. He looked at both of them individually, then sighed.

“She comes, Jara. As much as I agree with your request for restraint and discretion, there is much she needs to know and hear for herself from now on,” he said, but Nyssa noticed did not elaborate further.

“General, I don’t disagree, but she is known to this area,” Jara tried to plead.

“I say again, ‘nonsense’!” Nyssa interjected, “I haven’t been to Port Town for twelve years! There isn’t a stray cat that would recognize me now, particularly dressed in common clothes,” she added and picked at her cotton shirt. Brack listened to her and looked back at Jara.

“She comes, Sir Jara. Pack extra weapons if it makes you feel better. Just be discreet,” Brack said and continued into the room, half reading something he’d brought with him. Jara stamped his foot, and Nyssa laughed at him. Brack did not outrank him, but neither of them was going to test it.

"ME be discreet? I wouldn’t have to if the woman heard her own security…” Jara was still complaining as he left the room.

Nyssa was curious about Brack’s papers. Before she could ask, he interrupted her.

“Be extra careful to not stand in front and let Jara or me do all the talking tonight,” Brack said then, and she rocked back on her heels, pausing in her inquiry. She pursed her lips and nodded.

“These are Ark’s reports,” he said and waved the papers up for her to see them. He was standing close to a lantern to read them better.

“How long has he been gone?” she asked, surprised. She was sure they would have caught up to him.

“He left only yesterday. Bray said he was here for a week,” Brack replied, mostly still reading.

“He says the ship that brought this current wave of Rogun soldiers left when Bael failed to make the rendezvous return date. He got that from the Port Master,” Brack said then.

“It was a brigantine,” Brack added. Nyssa, not being so nautically inclined, shook her head in incomprehension.

“A brigantine is a fast, manoeuvrable ship, light on the cargo capacity,” Brack replied absently. “It would seem to me that anyone who might want a quick removal might select such a ship.”

Nyssa mouthed an ‘ah’ and clasped her hands behind her back. She was wearing only a light linen shirt and her leather breeches, waiting to add her leather jerkin when they would leave. It felt good to stretch her arms, so she lifted them high and yawned. She hadn’t noticed that Brack had stopped reading and was staring at her, his expression deeply unhappy.

“Does he know?” Brack asked and she turned to look at him.

“Who? Know what?” she asked him, curious. Brack frowned at her. And waited.

Nyssa felt the panic rise in her throat. How could he know? What was happening? How could he know?

“Know what, Brack?” she said and laughed nervously, still not accepting his question directly.

Brack dropped the papers on the table and leaned heavily on his arms. His expression went from simple disappointment to outright anger. Jara came back into the room just then, but Brack threw him out.

“Does anyone know, Nyssa?” he boiled, trying to control the volume of his voice. She shook her head shakily.

“How long?” he asked her sharply.

“L-long?” she stammered.

She felt like a child at this moment. Like she had done something wrong but didn’t know how to fix it. Brack moved from around the desk so fast she backed up against the wall when he approached her. He grabbed her stomach firmly but not painfully. Her own hands flew up to his in surprise, but she didn’t protest; she was terrified.

“How far along are you?!?” he said, shaking his hand on her belly. She swallowed hard.

Brack closed his eyes and dropped his head, taking a deep breath. He backed up and held his two hands out in front of him, in regret for handling her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quieter, “Your Majesty.”

And that hurt. Nyssa wanted to burst into tears. If he was being official with her, he really was mad. But being queen, even your friends had boundaries, and Brack knew how to use them.

“Three, nearly four months, I think,” she said barely above a whisper, and she swallowed hard. “How can you...?” she asked.

“Your shape is different. Distinctly in the front,” he said and pointed harshly at her midsection. “Most noticeable in front of a flame,” he added helpfully.

Nyssa looked behind her and realized she was standing in front of the fireplace. Her shirt would have allowed her body to show a silhouette, but she honestly had forgotten about it, for the most part, that way anyway, at least about it showing. She was never near a mirror. She was almost never undressed on campaign, so she had no idea what it looked like aside from the bump she could feel where her tummy used to be flat.

Nyssa felt caught and dishonest and she stood against the wall trying hard to block the tears and the panic. From the moment she noticed something had changed, she’d been in a tailspin, denying it and praying it wasn’t true. Guilt, fear, irrational excuses flooded her brain every time she thought about it.

Before leaving the capital, she had noticed the hard ball that had formed in her lower tummy more and more every day. It was curious and terrifying all at once. But the mixture of all that emotion only made it more incapacitating and Nyssa felt more the guilt. In the end, she had felt imprisoned by it, unable to tell anyone, knowing they would be happy and elated, but what she wanted to tell them was that she didn’t know how to want it, that she doubted herself, that it really wasn’t for her. People wouldn’t understand her. She knew they expected softness and Nyssa, bred to fight, stand in front and sacrifice, just didn’t understand how.

Her worst fear was telling Hedir. She knew it would unleash a happiness within him that she felt she could not sustain.

Nyssa didn’t fear her own death, but she didn’t live a domestic life. She was never away from a camp cot for more than a few months at a time. She did physical training with heavy swords, daggers, archery, and close combat sparring almost every day. She’d been punched in the face more times than she could count, stabbed in the leg, shot in the shoulder, nearly broken her jaw, had broken her wrist and cracked two ribs, and nearly broken her back falling off a horse at a full gallop. To be a mother was to be soft, feminine; to deal with womanly attributes like her breasts and her womb.

Nyssa squirmed against the wall and slid down to sit and hide her face in her knees. Her only protection so far had been her anonymity with it. Now Brack knew, someone knew.

“I’m not showing,” she said defiantly, but she didn’t say it loudly.

Brack was still unhappy. He was about to say something, but he stopped. He watched her for a long while.

“I’m not going back, Brack. I’m not,” she said firmly, her voice low. He still said nothing.

“I’m not.”

She shook her head, stood up and angrily went to her baggage and pulled out her jerkin. She shoved it on, tied the laces in the front, pulling them tighter than she wanted, but he was still watching, and fixed her armbands. She smoothed the front of her outfit, and no longer felt the bump that had begun to protrude from her abdomen, outside of her clothes.

“For how long do you intend, Nyssa?” Brack said and was considerably calmer.

Nyssa shrugged. She hadn’t thought of anything beyond hiding it.

“As long as it is necessary,” she said firmly. Brack sighed.

“I hear riding for extended periods is neither comfortable nor advisable for women carrying,” he said and she thought he sounded sympathetic.

“Well, we’ll find out,” she said and Jara entered the room. He hesitated, waiting for Brack to throw him out, but he didn’t.

“It’s time. I have word that one of the captains known to have spoken to the Rogun captain just entered one of the wharf side pubs,” he said, but his eyes were switching between Brack and Nyssa, who hadn’t stopped glaring at each other.

“Saddle the horses, Jara,” Brack said and he quickly left the room.

“He doesn’t know,” Brack went on to return to his desk after confirming it for himself and he started to shuffle his papers into a neat pile.

“Who? Jara?” Nyssa asked him, confused.

“Your husband,” he answered, “and what about Jara? He SHOULD know at the very least. Damn it, Nyssa!” he said, his calm evaporating and he pounded the desk.

He breathed, leaning over his hands for a long minute, then took a breath and stood back up.

“You said he is a Bough. One thing I do remember from your mother is Bough value midwifery and the birth of their children from conception to delivery above all else. It is a ritual as thick as religion. The parents be as one. If he knew, he would be here. Even if it meant his death, he would be here,” he said, his tone now distinctly disapproving. “You are denying him that.”

He took up his clothing and walked right past her, leaving her speechless and alone in the room.