Engines & Demons - The Undestined

Chapter 21

"A good strong boy," said the Lady Clemita, wife of Sir Unsaethel, as she lifted Kralmir out of his cot.

Her voice was proud, as if it were her own child in her arms, and her smile was one of genuine joy. Though younger than her husband, she was still approaching fifty summers, and had long ago stopped trying to hide the consequences of those years with face tinctures and hair pigment. Her evident age, and the experienced manner she had gained with her own children and grandchildren, eased Tahlessa's mind somewhat as she watched from where she sat in her bed, but it did not still the apprehension inside her.

Her new son looked so small.

"Fine and strong, indeed," said the Lady Mandassa, though Tahlessa was sure she only spoke out of politeness. Mandassa had given her husband three sons to date, and all looked as though they would grow as large and strong as their father.

Though the Lady Clemita was the eldest, it was still the Lady Mandassa who dominated the room, with her graceful height and bright eyes, set in a beautiful face, which seemed finely sculpted from fine grained wood. If that were not enough, she wore her night black hair in tousled braids, piled about her head. The mass of darkness was held in place with clasps of metal inlaid with enamel, which shone bright in the early morning light that lanced through the open doorway to the balcony.

Tahlessa felt tawdry beside her beauty. She had scrutinised her reflection in her dressing mirror that morning, and had been dismayed to see her tawny hair so dull, and the shadows beneath her eyes looking deep as crypt doors.

"And born on such an auspicious day," said Lady Mandassa, and though her tone was light, Tahlessa knew the gravity behind it. "Has the Oracle told you anything of note about your son's future?"

"Oh, Massa, not everyone puts as much credence into the Oracle's ramblings as you," said Lady Kell from where she stood in the balcony doorway.

Like the other two Pride-commander's wives, she was clothed in her finest attire, the bodice of her cobalt dress intricately embroidered with selvin thread and dark firestones. She shared her husband's lavish tastes, and had the same pride in her appearance, but also like Sir Bevrik, her vanity did not impact negatively on her character. As he was a solid friend to her husband, the Lady Kell was Tahlessa's closest confidante. She had been the first to arrive at her apartment door that morning to offer her respects to mother and new born baby, and had been chattering away amiably ever since. Tahlessa had not had the energy to join in, so had let her talk about the tourney that would begin that day, the various dresses she intended to wear, and the food they would be serving at the banquets. She had spent a full ten minutes describing Sir Bevrik's farewell necklet, and had named all the varieties of flower grass she had incorporated into it, describing its design in intricate detail. Doubtless her work had raised some smiles among Sir Bevrik's fellow knights as he rode from the fortress-bailey that morning.

The necklet Tahlessa had made for her own husband had been, like most would doubtless be, a simple affair, plaited only from dried plains grass. She had never been one for delicate labour; her needlework had always been lamentable, and the only thing of dexterity she could do with her fingers was string a bow. Her weaving had been adequate enough, though, to craft the loop of grass she had hung about her husband's neck that morning.

The ceremony of farewell was a private thing; a shared intimacy between husband and wife. It would have taken place in hundreds of private apartments that morning, as the knights were sent to their temporary exile. They would return, only once their position in the Order was decided.

Tahlessa had spoken her words of farewell, as her husband knelt before her, and though she had meant them all, there was something hollow in them that had not been there in previous years. She did not know why.