“God of all,” Vera began with her eyes on the baby, unsure how loudly she should speak. “We ask your blessing on this wondrous child. May she live a long life of health, safety, prosperity—and love and joy all her days.”
The parents thanked Vera, but her attention shifted to the little boy. He’d been hiding behind his mother’s skirt but had inched much closer to Vera, standing on tiptoes to try to get a peek at his sister.
Vera crouched down so he could see. “What do you think about your new sister?”
The boy pouted, his eyes threatening to flood with tears.
“He is frustrated that he can’t pronounce her name,” Helene explained.
An idea tumbled into the front of her thoughts. Helene had turned back to her husband and Lancelot. Arthur was with them, too, his attention focused on whatever it was they were saying. Nobody was paying attention to Vera. Good.
“Can you say ‘Vera?’” she whispered to the child.
“Ve-ra,” he said, breaking it apart into two words.
She nodded encouragingly. “That’s what my parents used to call me. Do you think you’d like that to be your special name for your sister?”
His eyes lit up. “Yes!” he said. “Vera.” He murmured it three times and clumsily kissed his sister’s head, stumbling over a stick he’d wedged into the pocket of his trousers.
“What’s that you have there?” Vera asked.
He pulled it free and brandished it, all shyness forgotten. “My sword!” he proclaimed. “Watch!” His chubby arm waved the stick about. Lancelot caught sight and jumped in to play with the boy. Vera laughed as she stood to pull the baby free from the game’s danger zone, just as she was knocked in the back of her shoulder and stumbled forward.
It was a man who’d bumped her. He carried on with an askance glance back at Vera.
“Pardon me,” she said instinctively, though she’d not done anything wrong.
The man stopped in his tracks and turned back with a taut and nearly purpling, incensed face. Vera recoiled a step as he lurched toward her and hissed, “I won’t pardon a bastard babe.”
He started to stalk away as Vera’s mind slowly made sense of his words. Maybe he knew these sweet young parents, and they hadn’t been married in a way he approved of. Whatever the case, Vera’s cheeks went hot as a quick anger erupted from her. She could have let it go, could have let the man leave with his petulant judgment in tow, but he kicked dirt at the little boy as he passed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vera snapped.
He stopped and wheeled about to face her. She thought the way his eyes narrowed was a hesitation. People around had started noticing the scuffle, stopping what they were doing and watching. The man’s hand lingered in his pocket as he stared at the ground. If it was guilt and embarrassment, then good. He deserved it for insulting Helene and Roger. It emboldened Vera.
“Not words you care to stand behind?” she quipped.
“It’s a child of a whore,” the man said, and Vera’s jaw fell. But he didn’t sound as certain or convicted with the attention on him.
Vera’s blood boiled. How dare he? She’d tear into him for coming after Helene, but he kept going.
“You haven’t fooled anyone.” The way his loathing stare seared into Vera frightened her. “Convenient you were gone a whole year. Time enough to grow and bear your shameful bastard. You’re no queen. You’ll bring our ruin!”
Wait.
What?
There wasn’t any extra time to process the madness as the man pulled his hand from his pocket, reeled his arm back, and hurled what looked like an egg at Vera. She clutched the baby to her chest, trying to shield her from the blow.
But the impact never came. One moment, Arthur had been fully engaged with the couple, his back turned. And the next, he’d lunged in and caught the egg, which shattered into his hand.
“No!” The man who threw it dropped to his knees and screamed out in terror, the remnants of his anger melting into a pitiful cry. “It was for her,” he wailed.
Vera did her best to ignore him, made easier by the overwhelming and putrid smell that erupted the instant the egg broke. It must have been rotten, but then—it was a puff of greenish smoke that emanated from it and none of the expected oozing mess. Other than the smoke, the egg was empty. But Arthur’s skin started to blister and bulge, rolling like the surface of boiling water.
Vera stared at it, but Arthur was focused on her. With his uninjured hand, he took her shoulder, eyes searching her and the baby in her arms—blissfully unaware and still sleeping.
“She’s fine,” Vera said.
