Tierran Military Camp,
Ishalem Wall

When most of the soldiers had bedded down and the campfires died to embers, Anjine waited for the Saedran physician in her tent. Outside, everyone but the night watch and perimeter patrols had gone to sleep.

After waiting for months, how she longed to speak with Mateo. He must be hurt because she had brushed him aside, but this was crucial. She had to know. It wasn’t fair to him until she had an answer; the question would change everything.

In Calay, Sen Ola na-Ten had treated Anjine’s occasional illnesses over the years. One of a handful of Saedran doctors qualified to tend battlefield injuries, Sen Ola had joined the siege camp; the wise and cautious woman served the army not because the crown paid her well, but because she felt obligated to help the inevitable wounded.

From prior conversations, the Saedran physician knew of the unsettled stomach and general malaise that had afflicted the queen for several weeks. Those who noticed probably blamed her nausea on a delicate stomach, on camp food, on travel, or on mental turmoil over the impending battle. But Anjine had other suspicions, so she requested that Sen Ola examine her—in secret, at an hour when the visit would go unnoticed. After careful consideration, Anjine decided that even Mateo could not know…not yet.

The Saedran doctor entered her tent without ceremony. Sen Ola normally kept her gray-brown hair in long braids while in Calay, but had recently cropped it short so it would not get in the way on the battlefield. Her brown robes were clean, her hands rough and red from frequent washings with strong soap. The curt woman had never been overly compassionate with her patients, but she was also nonjudgmental. She had once said to Anjine, “Infirmities of all sorts are part of being human. If we didn’t have them, we would be tempted to consider ourselves gods, and then why would anyone need Ondun?”

Sen Ola set her leather satchel on the plank table where Anjine had spread out strategy charts and diagrams of naval positions to review. The physician opened the case and removed beakers, herbs, chemical jars, and treated papers. “How are your symptoms today, Majesty?”

“Unchanged for the most part. Continued nausea. My head aches.” Anjine sat back on a wooden chair, but no matter how many pillows and blankets she used for padding, the seat remained uncomfortable. “I feel tired and weak at a time when I cannot afford to be either. My army is here, and we’re due to end this war.”

The Saedran looked up at her. “I ran the chemical tests you requested, and I have an answer.” Anjine realized she was holding her breath. “Mind you, these tests are not infallible. They provide a point of reference, to be interpreted along with your symptoms, but they could be wrong.”

“They are usually right,” Anjine added in a dull voice.

“Yes, they are usually right.”

The queen wished the woman would just hurry up and answer. Sen Ola looked at her with a penetrating gaze. “It is the result I’m sure you’ve been expecting. A woman tends to know, without other tests or explanations.”

The strength drained out of her in a rush, like water from a sprung barrel.

“You are pregnant, Majesty—as far as I can tell.” Sen Ola paused delicately, then continued, as if merely asking about how often the queen slept, “And what is…” She paused again. “What is the time frame?”

Anjine knew exactly how long it had been since the Tierran army had departed from Calay, how long it had been since Mateo had left her at dawn to march off. For weeks now Anjine had feared that she carried his child, and she also feared what she might have to do about it. That was why she’d been so cold and distant to Mateo, until she had a real answer. She needed all of her strength to face her own fears, and Mateo frightened her; her feelings for him frightened her. He could not know about it until she decided what to do. And perhaps not even then.

The physician looked uncharacteristically happy. “In times like these, this is good news. Your people will rejoice that Tierra is going to have an heir at last. They were so excited when you announced your betrothal to Jenirod, and dismayed when the engagement was broken. But this…this is cause for hope.”

Anjine’s voice was as hard as her armor. “I forbid you to tell anyone!”

Sen Ola was startled. “But they must know, Majesty. Another few months and it will be obvious to anyone who looks at you.”

“No one. Not now.”

The physician gave a brusque bow. “I will not speak, if you ask me not to. It is the oath of my profession.” Then Sen Ola seemed to put the pieces together. “And who is the father?”

Anjine wanted to rebuff the woman for daring to ask, but there was no purpose in hiding the answer from her. Since the physician couldn’t tell Mateo, Anjine decided to unburden herself of the secret she had carried for months. “Mateo Bornan,” she said quietly, as if making a confession to the prester-marshall.

“A fine man,” Sen Ola said.

“He has been my friend most of my life. And he…we needed each other.” Anjine looked up, her eyes filling with tears so that the other woman’s image swam in her vision.

Sen Ola did not scold her or look disappointed, which somehow made things worse. “You’ve created new life, Majesty. There is no shame in that.”

“But this is not the time!” Anjine tore the words out of her throat as uncertainties rose to the forefront of her mind. “Even my daily bouts of illness make it difficult for me to do my important duties.”

“I have herbs for that. Taken as tea or chewed, they will lessen the effects.”

It wasn’t enough. “This is a crucial time for the war! We could win the climactic battle, or the conflict might drag on for months or years yet! As my pregnancy progresses, how could I lead a battle charge? My body’s changes will build my emotions into a storm so that I can’t think straight—how can I allow that at a time when it’s vital that I make wise decisions?”

Sen Ola nodded, but offered no advice.

The words poured out of Anjine. “And what if we are here in camp for months yet? I can’t give birth to a baby on the battlefield! I can’t be distracted by taking care of an infant when I must dedicate myself to the needs of my army.”

“You exaggerate the difficulties, Majesty,” Sen Ola said. “Women have done this very thing since the beginning of history. They managed somehow.”

“That may be, Sen Ola—but those women were not the queen of Tierra.”

Sitting in her chair, Anjine looked over at the trim suit of armor Ammur Sonnen had made for her. The breastplate was sleek, its polished metal fitted to her slender body. Anjine had vowed to wear that armor while leading her troops in battle.

She heaved a great sigh, still wondering what to do. “Sen Ola, I may request that you give me one of your other chemical potions. I might not have any other choice.”