Limaq. Limaq’s father was taking responsibility for her child; the responsibility of the deceased’s father falling on the grandfather. She bit a lip against the surge of misery for her friend. Was he really dead? Or was this another lie, were they just protecting her still? Protecting both her and her child. Xanir’s child. That must be it.
The post-dated annulment made sense now. Had she been the bride of the Great Tahl when Limaq had begotten a child on her, her life would be forfeit, together with the child’s and father’s. A legal fiction – more subterfuge. She hid a weary smile as she mounted the mule with a sigh of resignation.
Then she squashed her resentment. Xanir was trying to lift a siege and repulse a rebellion mixed with an invasion. She could endure her own petty difficulties to keep this child safe. Xanir’s child. Their child, entwining the two of them permanently. She still couldn’t take it in, heart lifting like the sun.
She mustn’t, she admonished herself. Better she too believe that the child was Limaq’s.
“Forward!” snapped the officer.
*
A fortnight later, Xanir stood motionless, staring out over the darkening sea from the buffs of the Southern headland of Jaifa Bay, his back to the campfires of the victorious army dotted across the coastal plain outside the walls. He ignored the ceaseless flutter and cacophony to his left, feathers wheeling and squabbling around the occupants of the twin gibbets suspended above Jaifa harbour: Faisal and Justin.
Haman stood behind his right shoulder, for once quiet, although he let out a soft sigh when Xanir turned and strode past towards where his tent was outlined by the glorious sunset, dropping the Tahl-Mat’s message into the brazier outside, watching flames lick up the parchment.
The letter had been a tortuous medley of advice, recriminations about keeping their mother in the dark over the state of both sons and empire, and veiled accusations against further plotters, but a side-swipe had contained the information every nerve had been straining for: the Kjell whore had been taken by the Limaq to pop her bastard. Alanna was out of the capital. She was still dangerously vulnerable; his messenger must have managed to reach the city first, riding hell for leather as soon as Xanir had made landfall and received the news of her pregnancy. But the crews had not been able to keep silent long, even now rumours were spreading that the Tahl had arrived with the warships, not the army. The swiftest route to the Kural Coast from Jaifa was through the capital. A simple count and the subterfuge would explode: whether the child actually was Xanir’s became immaterial: it could be.
“What will you do?” his brother asked quietly.
Xanir stared out to sea again, heart hot. Out there, he had taken the worst blow. Limaq had reached him with his warning just in time for them to scatter their warships among the Medulla islands and lay a trap for the Sianese fleet. They had won that first, key victory by such a narrow margin, mainly due to the dogged and fierce loyalty of one of his oldest friends, surprise and strategy giving them a faint hope despite the superior, unexpected numbers of enemy ships.