Tortall by Tamora Pierce Page A

usually noticed such things, had a mind only for her own efforts. With each strong pain she screamed, “I don’t want eggs! I don’t want eggs!”
    Since humans came inconveniently arrayed with arms, legs, and a head, all of which might get stuck as they left theirlaboring mother, Nawat thought that any woman would be glad to birth a nice, well-shaped egg. Aly had never come to see his point of view. Once, in her sixth month, as he tried to explain it yet again, she had vomited on an expensive silk rug. After that she had forbidden him to discuss the subject.
    Now, in a lull between pains, she settled herself in the chair, looked up at him, and plucked a feather from his temple. “Ow!” Nawat cried. He rubbed the sore spot. “Don’t pull out big feathers, Aly!” He showed her the blood on his fingers. “It may not seem dangerous to you just now, but this would be serious if I was crow-shaped!”
    Her face was red and dripping sweat, her hair soaked through. She waved the feather at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re half-changed. You don’t want to be with me. You want to go back to being a crow. You think I’m sweaty and ugly and horrible”—she began to sob—“and I
am
!”
    Ah, thought Nawat, this. Pregnancy had not been kind to his dear one. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, ignoring her halfhearted attempts to shove him away. “You are so beautiful, as beautiful as sunrise and sunset,” he whispered. Holding the fingers of his free hand like a beak, he groomed her limp reddish blond hair with them. “I would not trade being your husband for all the sparkly things in the Isles. I will not return to crow shape and leave you. I—”
    The groan began deep in her chest, deeper than any of the cries before. The raka midwife, Mistress Penolong, looked up from between Aly’s legs. “Now then, girl, do your work,” she said, her black eyes sharp. “Push.”
    “No eggs,” Nawat heard his love mutter as she braced herself. He got in position to help her. “No eggs no eggs no
eggs …
”
    She bellowed, her face turning purple. Nawat propped her up, silent, holding her tight.
    “Here’s a crown,” the midwife said.
    Aly tried to sit up straight against the back of the chair. “Is it an egg crown?”
    Mistress Penolong snapped at Aly, “Give over these fantasies and
push
!”
    Aly pushed. Nawat held her up, his eyes on her face more than her body. He had not confessed any of his fears to Aly, who had plenty of her own. She was the talker of the two of them. That amused him, because her work required that she keep so many secrets. She had to be the most chattery spymaster in all the Eastern Lands, without revealing anything important to anyone but Nawat or the queen. And it was only to Nawat that she had spoken her fears of dying in childbirth, as so many women did.
    Not that she looked as if she might die today. If Nawat had to wager on such a thing, he would bet that Aly would kill the Black God of Death if he came for her at this moment.
    “Now,” ordered the midwife. “Now, now …”
    Aly roared, the midwife shouted in triumph, and a baby’s howls rose above both. “Finally!” Aly cried with relief.
    Nawat reached for the cloth soaking in the basin and used it to wipe the sweat from the back of Aly’s neck. She was relaxing now, a satisfied look on her face. Mistress Penolongwas passing their child to her assistant, who did something with her finger, then with cloths. The bundle wailed over the indignities of birth.
    The midwife smiled up at Aly and Nawat. “My lady, my lord, you have a daughter,” she said.
    Her assistant handed the mite to Aly, who cuddled her. “Have you a name?” the young woman asked Aly. Nawat brushed Aly’s cheek with his hand. This they had settled long ago. Aly smiled up at him, though the smile quickly turned to a grimace. “Ochobai,” she said. “For a teacher and leader who left us for the Peaceful Realms.”
    Mistress Penolong and her