Axiana shook her head. ‘How can you be so naive, Dagorian? You think the Drenai nobility will care about me? I am a foreigner. You think they will support my child? I think not. He will die, poisoned or strangled, and some other Drenai nobleman will take the throne. That is the way it will be. You say Malikada delivered up my father. I can believe that. He loathed him, thought him weak, and blamed him for the losses against Skanda. You say he betrayed Skanda. This I can also believe, for he hated him. But he has always loved me. He is my cousin and would do nothing to harm me.’
‘And the babe you carry?’ asked Ulmenetha.
‘I care nothing for him. He is a poisoned gift from Skanda. Let them take him. And as for you, Dagorian, return to your horse. I find your company repulsive.’
The words hurt him, but he stood, untied the reins of his mount and stepped into the saddle. Ulmenetha gathered up the map. ‘You are wrong, highness,’ she said, softly.
‘I need to hear no words from you, traitress.’
A dry chuckle came from Conalin. He glanced back at Ulmenetha. ‘You save her from the beast and she calls you names. Gods, how I hate the rich.’
Axiana made no reply, but stared out over the snow-capped mountains, her face set, her expression unreadable. She wanted to apologize to Ulmenetha, to
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say that the words were spoken in anger. Ingratitude was not one of Axiana’s weaknesses. She knew that the priestess had risked her life to save her from the undead creature in Kalizkan’s house. More than this, she knew that Ulmenetha loved her, and would never willingly see her come to harm.
But Axiana was frightened. Raised at court, her every whim catered to instantly, the events of the past two days had been deeply shocking to her. In the space of forty-eight hours she had been locked in a dank room, witnessed violent death, heard of her husband’s murder, and was now in a creaking wagon, heading into the wild lands. She felt as if her mind was unravelling. Kalizkan, whom she had trusted and been fond of, was now revealed as a mass murderer, a child-killing beast. The Source alone knew what he had planned for her. She shuddered.
‘Are you cold, my dove?’ Ulmenetha asked her. Axiana nodded dumbly. The priestess moved to her, laying a blanket over her shoulders. Tears welled in Axiana’s eyes. The wagon lurched over a rut in the road and Axiana half fell into Ulmenetha. The priestess caught her. Axiana rested her head against Ulmenetha’s shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘I know, child.’
‘The baby is due soon. I am very frightened.’
‘I will be here. And you are strong. Everything will be all right.’
Axiana took a deep breath, then sat upright. She could see Dagorian riding ahead, scanning the trail. They were heading towards a forest that covered the flanks of the hills like a buffalo robe. Axiana glanced back. The city of Usa could no longer be seen behind them.
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The dark-haired Pharis took a red apple from a food sack, and offered it to Axiana. The queen accepted it with a smile, then looked at the girl. She was terribly thin and undernourished, but her face was pretty, her eyes large and brown. Axiana had never been this close to a commoner. She studied Pharis’s thin dress. It was impossible to say what colour it had once been, for it was now a drab, lifeless grey, torn at the shoulder, the hip and the elbow, and badly frayed at the wrists and the neck. It would not have been used as a cleaning rag in the palace. Reaching out she touched the material. It was rough and dirty. Pharis drew back, and Axiana saw her expression change. The girl swung away and moved back to sit with Sufia.
At that moment the child within her moved. She gave a little cry. Then she smiled. ‘He kicked me,’ she said. Ulmenetha gently placed her hand over Axiana’s swollen belly.
‘Yes, I can feel him. He’s lusty and anxious for life.’