Witless was surprisinglygood with babies.
He brought them in the afternoons, while Riven worked and one of the Bondmaidens sat in their usual place.
Witless would bring them one at a time and coo to them as they lay on the floor, kicking their feet in the air, waving their hands.He brought wooden rattles and a bright red wooden ball that rolled under everything.
Witless would sit behind them, prop them up on their butts.They couldn’t really sit yet and quickly would topple over onto his leg, chortling with joy or screaming in frustration.Funny, they were all different, each had their own way.Even without being named, there were hints of personality.
Late in the day, after the Bondmaiden had left with the scroll and Witless had gone to fetch the evening meal, Riven would take his turn with the babes.
They were adorable, all of them.Different hair colors and skin-tones, but all strong and healthy.Especially Xykeir.He had his mother’s coloring, chubby cheeks and dimples, with a tuft of black hair.Bright blue eyes, and a bright smile, who loved being tickled.
Kid drooled a lot, though.On everything.
One afternoon, Avice kicked the ball out from underfoot, but Witless caught it before it rolled back to Xykeir.
“No, no, baby needs to want,” Witless scolded the Bondmaiden, then set the ball just out of the baby’s reach.Xykeir turned his head, shifting his shoulders, reaching for the ball.
Riven twitched with surprise when that tiny body flipped.In a blink, Xykeir was on his tummy, gripping the ball, drooling in delight.When had he learned to do that?
Avice had noticed, her gaze fixed on the child.
“Good baby,” Witless chimed, getting down on his hands and knees, shaking the rattle just out of reach.
Xykeir let go of the ball and reached for the rattle.
Riven turned back to the scroll.
“It’s time,” Avice was putting her fine work away.
“Time?”Riven asked, dreading the answer.
“I hadn’t seen the child move that way before.”Avice rose, brushing her skirts.“The ceremony must be performed.”
“It’s too soon,” Riven protested, but he sounded weak even to his ears.
“No,” Avice said.“Now, before he can crawl and ruin the casting.Is all in readiness?”
She stared at him.
Riven nodded, his mouth going dry.“Yes,” he said.
“Then it’s time.”She didn’t look at Xykeir or Witless, just nodded to herself.“I will inform the Bonded.”
That night, withNora in his arms, Riven stared at the moon and came to terms with what was to come.
Tomorrow night.
In the morning, he would begin.The floor was ready.Rubbed to smoothness, buffed white by the sandstone.
The spell components were ready.He’d not go to the butchery in the morning; he had enough power stored within.He would start to lay out the matrix, which he could draw in his sleep by this point.Chanting as he worked, putting his power into the pattern.Gold and diamond dust, the special sand, the gems along the lines, he’d lay them all out perfectly, matching the scroll in every detail.
He’d burn the incense, prepare everything.He’d suggested that the Queen and the Bondmaidens not wear skirts, to avoid the fabric brushing the floor and disturbing the matrix.He’d also asked that the scroll be brought to the room for one final check.
Then, just as Satia entered, Xykeir in her arms, he’d kick the gold and diamond dust and precious gems and sacred sands all over the room, spoil every bit of it, and try to destroy the scroll with all the power he had.He’d heard about the ability of any mage to make a final strike with the last of his breath, and so he would do so.
Perhaps it would offer partial redemption for past acts.Perhaps it would not.
At the very least, he looked forward to seeing the expression on Satia’s face.
