Seaka did not ignore Kongr Dizean’s summons lightly.

His messenger found her as she was making her way to the Kongr’s stead from the house she inhabited at the edge of the village that stood half a mile to the north of the stone wall.

The summons did not concern the Kongr himself but his daughter, the Drottine. That fact should have sent her running. The child was not even a year yet - eight full moons to the day - and she had been a sickly babe. But Seaka had received quite a few summons of late to hurry to the babe’s beside. Once a day since she had left the stead to return to her own house a fortnight ago. It seems the Kongr would be happier if she would just consent to move back under his roof for good and take charge of the young Drottine, but it was not her place to be raising children.

She was a Lach, a healer. And although she had enjoyed the patronage - and friendship - of the Kongr’s recently deceased wife, her duty was not to his family alone. She had other patients to see to, and this was why she had left her meal to grow cold on her supper table.

Seaka talked the Kongr's messenger into lending her his gelding and rode on ahead of him, straight through the wide gate made of stone that marked the edge of the Kongr’s land and up to the door of a thatch-roofed two-story structure. The nearby courtyard appeared deserted, but when she slid down from the horse and landed with an "Oomph!" on her stiff legs, a young boy ran up and took the reins.

“Good lad,” Seaka said with a nod and turned to retrieve her bag before he led the horse away. She paused to check that the black mourning mask she had hastily slipped on before leaving her house was still in place. When she stepped forward to swing open the door, she found her way blocked by a tall figure lit from behind by the lamp that stood near the back staircase.

“Eindre? You did not have to wait for me downstairs. You should be with your wife.”

“Good evening, Mistress Lach.”

Seaka’s mouth clamped shut, and she ground her teeth in frustration. The man backed up and allowed her to enter, but she stepped forward reluctantly.

“Jarl...Halvor,” she guessed, naming one of the more outspoken members of the Kongr’s council of Jarls. He wore a plain mask, as did the two other men who stood behind him, making it impossible to identify him by his features. He nodded, confirming her guess. She said nothing more, waiting for him to speak and reveal his reason for ambushing her.

“We heard that the Kongr had sent for you...again.”

“From whom?”

Halvor shifted uncomfortably. “From the messenger.”

“You waylaid the Kongr’s messenger?” Seaka asked, gasping in false shock.

“Momentarily. We wanted to make sure that our services were not needed.”

“I will tell Kongr Dizean of your worries. I am sure that he will be touched by your concern.” She dismissed them with a sharp nod of her head and began to cross the room toward the stairs.

One of the other masked men stepped forward and grabbed Halvor’s arm, pulling him back to whisper in his ear. Halvor waved him off and moved to block Seaka’s path. “You are here to see the Kongr’s daughter. Is that true?”

“I am here to attend to the Drottine. Yes. I must insist that you not delay me any longer.”

“What is wrong with her? Is she dying? Why is she being kept from us?”

Seaka dropped her bag unceremoniously on Halvor’s boot. She felt a grim satisfaction when he cried out and hopped back on one foot.

“Do not raise your voice to me, young Jarl. You would do well to show me some respect. I am not some young nursemaid to be tossed about by your whims. I am weary, my bag is heavy, and I have a job to do.”

“We demand answers!” Halvor exclaimed.

“Why ask me? Seems to me you should be talking to the Kongr himself. Or does he not have the time to listen to your magpieing either?”

Seaka watched Halvor’s eyes grow darker and his hands clamp into tight fists, and she realized her mistake. Her last comment had struck some unseen nerve. Always reckless with my words, she scolded herself. For all the white I have earned in my hair, I am always reckless with my words.

Halvor took a deep breath, preparing to unleash the anger that darkened his eyes.

“Halvor!”

Seaka and Halvor both jumped at the shout, but Seaka’s surprise quickly turned to relief as she caught sight of the Kongr’s brother standing at the top of the stairs. Eindre leveled a glare at the Jarls surrounding Seaka through the wide eye slits of his dark mask. It was hard for her to make out his expression from her position, but she knew it must be so, because they immediately drew back. Their heads lowered and their shoulders swayed beneath Eindre’s scrutiny.

Eindre pointed to Halvor and indicated Seaka’s bag. Halvor jumped forward, grasped the bag's handle, and bounded up the stairs to deposit it at Eindre’s feet. He retreated to the first floor at a slower pace, his brooding eyes cast downward. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he offered his hand to Seaka and helped her up onto the wooden steps.

Not wishing to cause further offense in the presence of the Kongr’s brother, Seaka allowed the Jarl to keep hold of her hand until she was too high for him to assist her. There was an awkward pause as she disentangled her hand from his, and then she continued by herself, skirt in one hand and hand held out to the wall for balance.

Eindre waited patiently for her to join him. Then taking her bag up onto one arm, he turned his back on the Jarls and offered her the other. Seaka leaned heavily on his arm while he led her down the hall in the direction of the room he shared with his wife and young son.

He slowed down as they drew level with the door, but he did not stop. “Dizean has summoned you?”

Seaka patted his arm. “Yes, but---”

“You must attend him first. I will---”

“You will do nothing.” Seaka pulled him back to stand before his door. He was a large man, but he did not fight her. "Your wife needs my help more.”

“But the Kongr...”

“I shall deal with your brother. He can wait. Your wife may not be able to.”

Fear clouded Eindre’s eyes, an emotion stronger than the duty that had ruled his mind a moment ago. He did not hesitate now as he opened the door and ushered Seaka into the stuffy bed chamber.

“Open the window. Let the night air in.”

Eindre looked like he wanted to complain, but he did not. While he went over to the window, Seaka took stock of the situation on the bed. Nimeah, Eindre’s wife, was sitting up with her head leaning against the wall. A pillow had been crammed between her back and the wall, and a heavy blanket was wrapped around her upper body.

Her legs were bare save for a thin blood-soaked sheet. Her two-year-old son was sitting beside her, his hand squeezing hers atop the blanket. Or she was squeezing his hand. Either way, their joined fingers were pale and strained.

Seaka tried to keep herself from glaring down at the two-year-old. She found herself at a loss for words, unsure as she always was around children younger than seven, the age when she deemed they were capable of following more than the simplest of commands. But the child had to be moved. Why was he even here? She shot a look at Eindre, who was watching her silently from the other side of the room.

“Um...I need...could you...” She looked back down at the two-year-old and attempted to soften her voice. “Little one, I am going to need you to move...Now...Please.”

The child looked up at her with round eyes full of the same fear that she saw in Eindre’s eyes. He dropped his mother’s hand and scooted to the other side of the bed, but he did not stand.

“Roakev! Get down!” Eindre barked.

Roakev jumped off the bed and rushed over to the door, cowering beneath the knob.

“Eindre, do not be cross with him,” Nimeah entreated her husband in a hoarse whisper.

“You might as well go with him,” Seaka said. She had already put the boy from her mind and was beginning to lay out the supplies that she had brought.

“Are you sure?” Eindre asked, but then without waiting for an answer, he took Roakev by the arm and opened the door. “I shall inform the Kongr of your whereabouts. Then I will return.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Seaka muttered, and then said louder, “If you want to be helpful, send someone with water.”

“No! No, I don’t want…” Nimeah lifted herself slowly up until she was sitting straight and reached for Seaka’s hand. “I don’t want anyone else...Just you, Seaka. Just you.”

“Shhh now,” Seaka soothed her, taking Nimeah's hand and guiding her back into a reclining position. “I will take care of you, but you need water. Clean water.” She eyed Eindre, making sure that he understood. “Your husband will guard the door. No one else will see you.”

Seaka drew back, and Nimeah nodded. “Besides,” she said, turning to look at her husband. “He will not see you if he is with his daughter. He lets no one in to see her.”

Seaka’s hands stalled in their preparations as she glanced between Nimeah and Eindre. “He will not let anyone see her? Not even you?”

“I thought you knew,” Eindre said, his tone of indifference a little too forced. Roakev strained toward his mother again and whimpered when Eindre tightened his hold on the boy’s arm.

Seaka's lips puckered, but all she said was, "No, I thought...When was the last time you saw her?"

“Not since Erina---Ahhh!” Nimeah’s mouth twisted into a pinched line in her effort to cut short her cry of pain.

Roakev strained harder against his father’s hold. “Mommy!”

Seaka sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Nimeah’s stomach. It had only just begun to harden and show signs of growth. Seaka pushed on her stomach through the sheet, working her fingers around the edges of the slight bulge. Nimeah tensed and then relaxed as Seaka slid the blanket up and massaged her skin lightly with her palm.

“I have to take a look now. You should take your son out. And bring me that water.”

Eindre pushed Roakev out into the hall and hurriedly closed the door.

Seaka lost herself in the trance of her work then. She helped Nimeah slide down into a more comfortable position and removed the bloody sheets from the bed so she could examine her properly. She pressed on Nimeah’s stomach some more and asked her a few basic questions, but there was no doubt in Seaka’s mind as to her diagnosis.

Nimeah knew it as well. There were no panicked questions, no rush to disprove what her eyes could clearly see, no pleas for Seaka to save what had already been lost, as there had been when Seaka had been called to her bedside last year. Nimeah asked for no words of consolation, but Seaka spoke them anyway in a detached voice. It was not that the Lach did not care for Nimeah or feel her distress, but she had a job to perform, and the words were just one part of that.

“You’re not bleeding too much. That’s good,” she murmured as she cleaned the blood from Nimeah’s legs.

“It’s okay to cry. Let it out. You’re okay,” she said when she saw Nimeah trying to hold back her tears.

“I brought something to help with the pain. Hold on.” She returned to the bundle of herbs that she had left on the edge of the bed earlier. She extracted a thick piece of pale plant root and handed it to Nimeah. “Chew on this.”

Seaka pulled the small table that sat beside the bed out to the center of the room and emptied her bag of supplies out on the rough surface. She quickly organized the bundles and containers of herbs that she had brought along. She had also crammed as many rags - pieces of clothing too torn or worn to repair donated by the villagers - in among the plants. She piled them all on the floor, then bent to pick up a large brown-colored piece of fabric, smoothed it out on the table, and began constructing her first of many poultices.

“For the bleeding. For the swelling. For infection. For pain,” she recited as she added herbs to the pile. She worked the herbs into a ball, wrapped them in the rag, and tied it at the top. She looked around for a pitcher or basin of water before remembering that Eindre had not returned yet. With a sigh, she set the dry poultice aside and began to work on another.

Eindre knocked on the door before entering. He carried a bucket of cool, clear water. Seaka did not comment on the boy’s absence but motioned for him to set the bucket beside the table and stooped to dip a bundle of herbs into the water.

“Sorry. This is going to be cold.”

Nimeah whimpered as Seaka pressed the compress against her skin, and a new wave of tears escaped down her cheeks. Her husband hurried forward to take her hand. Seaka did not feel obligated to offer comfort with him here now, but she gave Nimeah’s arm a pat anyway.

“There now. That’s not too bad. The poultice should be changed every two hours until these run out. If she’s still bleeding by then, it shouldn’t be much. If that’s not the case…” Seaka glanced up at Eindre, who was scanning the wrapped herbs that Seaka had lined up on the table, counting them. “...send for me again.”

Eindre nodded, his gaze now turning to the stone-carved mortar and pestle that she was pulling out of her bag.

“There’s enough there to last two days. Try to keep her off her feet as much as possible, although some fresh air might do her good.” Seaka glanced over at the window; if there was a breeze, it did not reach the bed. “You need to keep the bed as clean as possible,” she continued. “Change the blanket she’s lying on every time you change the poultice.

“Now this” - she gestured at the mixture she was grinding into a paste - “will also help with the bleeding and pain. It is best when ground fresh and ingested. I would like to add something that will help her sleep, but ---”

Seaka stopped mid-sentence, her grasping fingers dropping to her side and her gaze falling on Nimeah’s face.

“But what?” Eindre asked, impatience coloring his tone.

“But you must be careful with the dosage. Only a thimbleful, twice a day. Any more, and the weed may kill her.”

“You say that it is safe?”

“Yes, in small doses. But…” Seaka struggled to find the right words that would temper her warning. “...it might be dangerous to keep within your wife’s reach.”

“You cannot mean to imply…? No. Nimeah...she would never…”

“I have seen women enduring similar heartache do much worse."

“Seaka...” Nimeah sighed. Seaka met her gaze and was surprised at the strength she saw in the younger woman’s eyes. “I will not take more than a thimbleful. I promise.” Her eyes drifted closed again, but Seaka and Eindre both heard her whisper, “But you should worry about Roakev.”

“I will keep the medicine out of his reach. You need not worry, my love.”

Eindre knelt to kiss his wife on the cheek, and Seaka bent back over her work. She added the final ingredient and finished grinding everything together, working as fast as she could now.

She asked Eindre to hand her a cup and dipped it into the bucket of water, adding it little by little to the mixing bowl until the powder became a thick drink. With a practiced hand, Seaka poured the liquid into an empty flask and wiped up what spilled with an extra cloth. She removed a silver thimble - a precious tool to her - from a pocket on the inside of her coat and approached Nimeah.

“May I?”

Nimeah nodded, and Eindre helped her sit up enough to drink the thimbleful of medicine that Seaka held to her lips. Nimeah seemed to relax immediately. She gave Seaka’s fingers a grateful squeeze before closing her eyes and turning her face away from the lantern light.

Seaka packed up her bag in silence, stealing glances at Eindre’s still figure as he watched his wife. She left the table where it was, covered in poultices and cloths. The flask and thimbles she placed on the top of the tall wardrobe. When she looked back at Eindre, he nodded his appreciation.

“One thimbleful when the sun is next at its highest, at noon. Then not again until the stars are all awake.”

“Yes, I understand. You have my deepest thanks, Mistress Lach.”

Seaka crossed to the door without another word and opened it, but Eindre called out for her to wait. She paused on the door’s threshold and looked at him over her shoulder.

“My wife is going to recover. You are going to see my niece now and she...she is going to recover.”

He asked no questions, but she felt his statements deserved answers. “Yes. Yes. And yes, I suppose, though there is nothing wrong with the Drottine.”

“Nothing wrong with the Drottine. Nothing wrong with her…” Eindre slipped the mourning mask from his face and pressed his thumbs into his eyes. “I hear her crying every night. It’s what babies do. I know that. And yet...he lets no one in to see her. No one except the one nursemaid. Nimeah has tried. She’s offered her assistance, but Dizean refuses her help. She says she feels no offense, that he must be thinking of her, but don’t think that’s it.

“I think...I don’t know what I think. Not anymore.” He sighed, and Seaka could hear every hour he’d fought against his eyes to remain awake in the weary sound. “I understand a father’s need to protect his child. But this is something else. He will not let me get close enough to see what it is, but something is wrong."

“Yes, something is wrong. The Kongr has just lost his wife; he almost lost his daughter. He is afraid. I'm not sure any of us can fully comprehend the depth of his grief, or his fear."

Eindre's brow pinched in thought. "Perhaps you are right."

"The child is strong, I assure you. I have seen her. She is rosy-cheeked and strong. Dizean will relent soon. I’m sure of it.”

Seaka could sense disapproval in Eindre’s expression, but she did not know what he expected her to say. If the Kongr’s own brother could not sway him, what use were the entreaties of an old Lach?

As far as she knew, what she told Eindre was the truth. But she still did not know the reason behind the Kongr’s summons. Her stomach dropped to the floor.

“Excuse me. I will go to the Drottine now, if you would offer me leave. I feel I have tarried too long speaking with you.”

“Yes. Go! Dizean does not know about my wife. You could tell him...if he cares.”

“My lord.” Seaka offered Eindre a shallow bow and hurried from the room, sacrificing silence for speed as she rushed down one dimly lit hall and then another.

The two separate rooms that had belonged to the Kongr and Drottingr stood alone on the back wall of the structure, separated from the rest of the sleeping chambers by thin walkways on either side. The Kongr had kept his wife’s chambers just as she had left it. Seaka was pretty sure that it had been used as a day room exclusively until Erina gave birth to her daughter, and then it had been converted into a nursery with room for Erina to stay with the babe in privacy.

Seaka paused with her hand pressed against the nursery door and closed her eyes against the memories that swirled around the edges of her vision. The hours she had spent in happy visits to an old friend clouded over by the memories she held of the past eight months.

Four months of happiness. That’s all Erina had been allotted. Four months to adjust to life as a mother, and then the sickness had struck them both. The babe had survived; her mother had not. Seaka, with all her experience as a healer, had not seen the inevitability of this outcome until it was too late to prepare herself, or anyone else.

She raised a hand to knock on the door and then paused. She had not stopped to wonder if she would wake anyone by arriving so late, but she thought she had heard...

There it was again. A male voice, rough and low, singing, “Rilken the honored and his men of justice, men as strong as stone, unyielding, mighty…”

The voice faded again as if the singer was pacing away. Seaka shifted her bag onto her other hip and knocked softly on the door. The singing stopped, and she heard rushed footsteps as someone hurried to open the door.

Seaka did not feel the smile that softened her lips as she prepared to face the Kongr, but she did feel her smile slip away when she saw that his arms were empty. She recovered quickly, bowing her head in deference. “Kongr Dizean.”

“Seaka, you did get my message. You took your time coming.”

“I was attending to your brother’s wife. She has had another loss.”

“Oh, I...I did not know.” He bent his head, pressing a fist to his mouth.

The action spoke of a man who did truly care for his family. Seaka took in the dark shadows under his eyes and the way that his hands shook, and sympathy stirred in her heart.

“Will she...will she be…”

“Nimeah is weakened, but I think she will regain her strength in time. Time with those who care for her will be the best medicine.”

“Of course. Of course,” Dizean murmured. He was still standing in the doorway, blocking her view of the room beyond. “Still, you might have sent a messenger...”

“I am here now, my Kongr. Is there something wrong? Is the Drottine in distress?”

Dizean's expression turned sheepish, his eyes shifting to the floor. “Not at the moment. She is not doing what she was doing at the time I sent for you.”

Seaka’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “May I see her?”

Dizean shifted just enough to allow her to pass, and then he shut the door quickly. Seaka’s eyes swept the room, her gaze snagging on all the familiar corners and surfaces, before landing on the tiny circular bed standing at the foot of Erina’s empty bed. She crept forward and gazed down at the sleeping Drottine.

Sweet child, poor child, she thought.

Not beautiful child.

When she was born, Seaka had thought the child’s resemblance to her mother was quite striking. But any beauty she might have possessed in the curve of her soft cheeks or the twinkle of her lavender gray eyes or the rosy hue of her lips was now marred beyond redemption, hiding behind the mask of red scars that reddened her face.

The old Lach felt the child’s forehead and ran a hand down her pale arm to search for the pulse at the junction of arm and wrist. The babe opened her eyes and stared up at Seaka with an intensity she was not used to seeing in a child who had not yet reached her first year.

Seaka lifted the babe out of the nest of pillows. She reached up to place a tiny hand on the Lach’s cloth-covered cheek and cooed, and despite herself, Seaka smiled.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked as she stared down at the child.

“She’s having breathing fits again,” Dizean said, approaching cautiously.

“She is?” Seaka stared down at the silent child staring back up at her. “I don’t hear a hitch in her breathing,” she started to say, but as if to prove her father right, the girl started to shake. Her breath stilled for a few seconds, and then she began to hiccup.

Seaka let out a nervous laugh. “Oh Dizean, surely you recognize hiccups. She’s fine.”

“No...No, she doesn’t stop. It goes on forever. And her fever markings. They’re not fading. I fear they may be spreading again. If they start to spread down her neck…”

Dizean continued on for two minutes while Seaka examined the girl’s neck all the way down to her stomach and around to her back. Finding nothing, Seaka turned her back around and traced softly over the marks that covered the lower half of her face. They felt warmer to the touch than the surrounding skin. The babe cried out softly when she reached the swollen flesh under her left eye and leaned away from Seaka’s hand.

Poor thing. I wish I could take the burn away.

“Her marks don’t appear to be spreading,” she said.

“Do you think they are fading? Will they?” He pressed further when she did not answer right away.

Now for the bad news.

“I have uncovered no record of someone surviving from the Red Fever. Perhaps there have been a few cases here and there, but no one has come forward with the information. They may fade, but I can provide no satisfactory answers for if and when that may occur. I still find it a miracle that she survived at all.”

She tried to emphasize this last point, but Dizean did not acknowledge it.

“You have been discreet in your research?”

“Yes, Kongr. So little is known of the cause of the illness. Most of what I have found are superstitions and ill omens. It all means nothing now. But I am beginning to fear...to wonder...if the Drottine’s scars may...never...fade.”

“Never?” Dizean’s expression grew distant. “But…”

The babe gave a shudder and began to hiccup violently. Her tiny body shook so much, the Lach almost dropped her.

“Seaka!”

The panic on Dizean’s face pained Seaka. She flipped the child so that she was lying face down on her arm and thumped her back. She quieted down at once. Dizean watched in stunned silence as Seaka flipped the babe back over and leaned her against her chest.

Her actions were practiced from all her years helping young mothers adjust to their new roles. But though she looked at ease with a child in her arms, she was truly not. She had never had any children of her own. She had just been blessed with a quick mind, a long memory, and steady hands.

“See. Just hiccups,” she said, a hint of humor in her voice. “They appear bigger with one so tiny, but they are still just hiccups.”

Dizean stared at her with an unmasked look of awe. Seaka allowed herself a small smile at her secret.

“What could be causing them?”

She shrugged. “What she’s being fed, or perhaps how she’s being fed, or...well, it could be a lot of things. I suggest keeping her upright as much as possible while the problem persists. I don’t suppose you would know how she’s being cared for?”

Dizean declined to answer.

“And when she has these fits, you leave her lying there and stare at her like a hunk of rock?" she pressed.

Dizean bristled at her words. “Of course not.”

“Good! Because you will not break her.” She took a step forward and held the babe out from her body.

Dizean looked at her blankly for a moment before he reached out his arms. Seaka slid the Kongr’s child into his hold and grasped his shoulder. In a quiet, even voice - eyes fixed on the child’s face - she said, “I cannot look into the future and tell you how your daughter’s face will fare. I cannot tell you how she will grow. But she is strong like her mother was. Stronger. When you need to find your wife in her, think of that.”

Tears pooled in the corners of Dizean’s eyes, but he reigned them in. His large hands pulled his daughter to his chest. She elicited a single yawn, laid her head on his shoulder, and relaxed against him, and he released a heavy sigh.

“Thank you, Seaka.”

“Kongr.” Seaka gave him a short bow though he was not looking at her. She averted her gaze to keep from staring at the tender moment between father and daughter.

When Erina and her infant daughter had fallen to the Red Fever, Seaka had held no hope for them. Or indeed, for herself. She had understood the danger of caring for someone so ill, but she had chosen to stay.

There was a reason that the Red Fever was shrouded in so much mystery. It was rumored to have been the result of an old curse enacted against the people of Ilvana before the time of Rilken. Superstitions and curses held no sway for Seaka. She understood facts and numbers. The Red Fever struck rarely these days. When it did, it struck without pattern or prejudice, and it left none alive. That was the truth of it, but she understood Dizean’s caution in uttering the cause of his wife’s death.

The loss of the four-month-old babe would have been hard, but nothing compared to the loss of their beloved Drottingr. She knew that Dizean, and Ilvana by extension, would never be the same without Erina's gentle nature that Seaka had seen touch the heart of even the most stubborn petitioner. She had counseled her husband to deny no one stead hospitality; she welcomed each and every person who entered her home like they were family.

Dizean was a good Kongr. Dizean the Just, some called him. But Drottingr Erina - once crowned - had become the beating heart of her people.

Seaka had been present the night Erina collapsed from fatigue in the dining hall. She remembered Dizean bringing her up to the nursery. She had carried the child herself, intent on seeing that Erina was properly cared for. Her friend had never left this room again.

Dizean had ordered Erina and his infant daughter quarantined at the first mention of Red Fever. He had made Seaka promise to breathe no word of her diagnosis to anyone for fear that panic would ensue. Seaka had agreed at the time, although if she had known the extent of Dizean’s fears, she might have cautioned him against falsehoods.

Erina had tried to put on a brave face for the sake of her husband, but she soon began to wither like a flower in winter. The rest of her body grew pale while red scars crisscrossed her face and neck, and shivers and coughing fits attacked her mercilessly.

She spent every moment alone with Seaka pleading for the Lach to spend her efforts on her infant daughter. She knew the truth of her fate, and she accepted it with dignity beyond measure. But she could not bear to see her daughter suffer.

Seaka had weighed the odds. The chances of either surviving were slim...but if she had to choose, the newborn would never have been on her list of survivors. Knowing that, she could not do as Erina wished. The pang of guilt she felt about this fact had faded to a dull stab in her heart that flared into life at the sight of Erina’s child, alive and well save for the fever marks.

Erina had succumbed to the illness within three moons. But the baby - this smiling eight-month-old - was alive. And Seaka was confident that she would remain so. Wasn’t that the most important thing?

A Drottine could become a Drottingr. But before she could become her people’s heart, she had to inspire theirs to beat harder. A pretty face was the easiest way to inspire such love and inspiration. That was simply the way the world worked. But Seaka was not cynical enough to believe it was the only way. Or even the best way.

Erina had been beloved. If the Drottine’s scars could be made to be seen as a sign of strength and not one of weakness, as Dizean spoke of them, Seaka knew the people could love her. Would love her. If only her father would allow them to know her.

Behind Dizean’s back so he would not see, Seaka placed a hand over her heart in a sign of luck and whispered, “Erina, rest you in peace. Know that your love remains.”

Her words were quiet enough that she knew Dizean, distracted as he was, did not hear her, but he turned toward the soft shush of her voice.

Seaka jumped at the opportunity to continue their conversation. “There was another reason I was delayed on my way to you. There was a group of Jarls waiting downstairs for me.”

Dizean’s eyes flashed. His arms tightened around his daughter, but she made a sound of protest in her sleep, and he relaxed his hold again. “Halvor and his pack of western steadowners? They are constantly questioning my decisions, demanding more say in the council when the western steads are smaller and fewer in number. What knowledge does Halvor have of Ilvana that I do not possess? Nothing. Every word he speaks is full of ignorance and undeserved pride.”

“That may be true, but he is right about one thing. You have been keeping your daughter from the people. Her people. Your people. Your family.”

Dizean groaned, and Seaka fell silent. He sat on the edge of the larger bed and laid his head atop his daughter’s. “She is so small.”

“If the Kongr of Ilvana insists on living in fear and suspicion, then you can only expect the people of Ilvana to live in fear and suspicion...and that is the last thing I am going to say, my Kongr. I will take my leave of you. If you or your family have need of me, I shall return.”

“Seaka, wait. You cannot leave.” Dizean stood up too fast and his daughter startled awake.

Seaka took a few more steps toward the door, widening the distance between them so that Dizean would not think to hand her the child. He stood and paced to the wall and back, making no effort to smooth his strides. The child did not seem to care. She hid her face in her father’s shoulder and drifted back off to sleep.

“You cannot leave. I need you here. I do not want to have to make you stay, but I can. I will.”

“No, you will not.”

“For her sake, Seaka. Please.”

Dizean did not say Erina’s name, but Seaka heard it in the gentle fall of his tone. She clenched her eyes tight, trying to quiet the pleading voice in her head. My daughter, Seaka. You have to help my daughter. Please.

“If I...if I could attend to my profession during the day, I could stay here with the child at night. If it would ease your mind to have me near.”

“Yes. Thank you, Seaka. Thank you.”

Dizean took a step toward her, but Seaka stepped back again, hand blindly reaching for the handle of her bag. “Tomorrow. I will return before the supper hour. Until then, I have errands to see to in the village and a house to pack up.”

“Of course. I shall send a cart and helpers to assist you.”

“Yes, my Kongr.” Once again, Seaka ignored the pain in her hip and back and bowed to Dizean. Her mask chose then to slip and she hastily caught it, wiping her sleeve on her damp forehead.

Dizean did not comment as she replaced her mask, picked up her bag, and retreated to the door. When she looked back, she saw that he was staring at the wall over Erina’s desk where she had hung the masks that she had donned for formal events.

There were four masks in all: a black mourning mask topped with a circlet of dusky river pearls; a midnight blue half mask with threads of silver and white swirling artfully along the crescent-shaped curve; a bright red mask adorned with feathers gathered with care from the discarded feathers of the Drottingr’s yellow songbird; and the most elaborate one of all. The fourth mask had been crafted to look like a Drakun’s head covered in tiny golden scales and baubles that was meant to be slipped on over the wearer’s head so that it covered everything from the top of their head to their neck.

It had been a costly gift from the craftsmen of Seaka’s village. There was no mark symbolizing the mask’s maker, but the mark of the ruling stead of Ilvana, Dizean’s own mark - a three-pointed mountain range - had been carved on the back of the mask.

Seaka turned quickly to watch Dizean scrutinize each mask in turn and then turn to the bed and reach forward carefully to pick up the black mask that he had discarded. He sat and lowered his daughter onto his lap. The mask meant for his face was huge, but he held it over her face and a tentative smile curled the edges of his mouth.

A chill entered Seaka’s heart. She drew her cloak closer around her shoulders and left without another word, creeping soundlessly out of the building and turning toward the stables. She hoped no one would notice if she borrowed a horse. It would only be for half a day.

A promise was a promise. She had promised Erina that she would help her daughter, and so she would.

But if she was going to help raise this child - and she had promised to do just that - then she would have her say.

Fresh air and sunlight. That’s what everyone needed. That would help ease the heart pangs of sorrow that hung in the air and made it hard to breathe in that room.

Tomorrow, little one. Tomorrow you will feel the sun on your face.