Oracles of Ice

Oracles of Ice 18

Aethelfrith wasn't even quiet about bringing Gaielle and the babies into the house. It was well after dark, and he suspected Anya to be sleeping already, but Gaielle was in need of a plaith, and her children needed to be wrapped in swaddling cloths to warm up. He ordered guards into the home to light candles as he lowered Gaielle into the arms of Malcom. When he had dismounted, he lifted Rusalka out of the leather pouch first, handing her off to Gretchen, Anya's lady-in-waiting. Then he scooped up Ovni and cradled her, wrapping her in the torn portion of the wool saddle blanket.

By the time he had gotten inside, the house was lit up. Gaielle was lying on his bed, and Anya was tying a robe around herself. She was barking orders at the men who had invaded her house with a confused look on her face. Her eyes were sunken in, and there were dark purple circles beneath them. Her back was hunched over and she held her stomach as if it pained her.

"Anya, sit," Aethelfrith instructed, pulling a chair up for her. The room was bustling with activity, and he feared she would be knocked over as guards moved about, looking for the supplies he had charged them to find.

"What is all this?" Anya asked, sounding concerned. "Who is this? Her hair is so blue! Why are there children here? Who are these children?" Anya reached out for Ovni, and Aethelfrith, knowing he would be of more help finding blankets and warming water, handed the child off.

"This is Gaielle. These are her twins. She needs a plaith, and the children need to be warmed..." He left his explanation as simple as he could, so as not to upset her, and he hurried down the hallway. He tiptoed into the room to not wake the boy. Finding a few of Mek's baby blankets stored away in the hope chest at the foot of his bed, Aethelfrith returned. He handed one to Anya and another to Gretchen before sitting down on the bed beside Gaielle and folding back the blanket. She was soaked in her own blood.

"What has happened?" Anya asked, her neck craned to see what he was doing.

"She hasn't been tended to properly, and she is bleeding too much. If a plaith does not administer the proper herbs she will die." He kept his back turned to Anya and scowled. It was his fault this entire situation had happened, and he felt guilty. She should have been on shore with him—with proper care for her body. It seemed as if the plaiths of Pelagius didn't even care for her wellbeing enough to pack her with yarrow and bind her and see to it that her bleeding had slowed.

The answer seemed to appease Anya's curiosity, and he saw out of the corner of his eye how she swaddled Ovni and snuggled her against her chest. She looked so happy holding the child. Aethelfrith felt like shame would swallow him up if he had to tell her the truth. He had seen how denying her Hazelle had caused her to be depressed. This would push her over the edge. She wasn't well to begin with, and he feared without Iseult he may lose her.

"Listen, Elan. I don't think the plaith will be enough for this. Call for Iseult."

"Yes, Sir," the man responded. He nodded, made a fist and pressed it to his chest, and marched out the door.

"Gretchen, the clean cloths please?" he asked the lady-in-waiting.

"Yes, Sire." Gretchen fussed with the bowl of water heating over the fire, but he could tell it was difficult for her. She looked up at him and then to Anya and shuffled across the room to the chair Anya sat in, handing her Rusalka. "Mum."

Aethelfrith paid little attention to what was happening behind him as soon as Gretchen handed him the hot wet cloths, dipped in the warm water. With his guards standing around him, he set to cleaning Gaielle, washing the blood from her legs and stomach, exchanging soiled cloths for clean ones as he worked. He knew it was not the job for a king, but he felt personally responsible for her. Gretchen scuttled between the fire and the bed, rinsing the cloths and replenishing Aethelfrith's pile. He had to clean her up so the plaith would be able to work on her immediately. When she was as clean as he could get her, he tossed the cloths to the ground and pressed his hand against her forehead. Gaielle was burning up.