The corridor ended, and as they entered the spiral staircase and rounded the first turn, something strange happened. A sparrow flew in through the cross-shaped window and landed on Kyprosa’s shoulder. Even when they tried to drive it away, it wouldn’t budge. When Deni looked closer, he saw that the bird’s toes were tightly tangled in the threads of Kyprosa’s shawl. It was hard to believe it could have gotten so caught in such a short time.
“This is an omen.”
“What kind of omen?”
“If I knew that, I’d be a prophet, not a mage.”
Kyprosa tried to pull the bird off and throw it out the window, but when she held it in her hand, it was so soft and delicate that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she placed it on the window ledge and continued down the stairs. She figured it would recover its strength and fly away. The mute old woman, tyrant of the sewing room, hated all animals, from the mice that gnawed at fabrics to the cook’s yapping little dog. There was no chance she’d like a small bird.
That night, when everyone was asleep, someone knocked on the castle gate. The sound was too loud to have been made by human hands. The booming knocks woke many from their sleep. They thought someone had brought a battering ram to strike the gate, and fear swept through them.
The sentries rushed out cursing. Outside the gate stood a woman in a white hood, alone. There was no battering ram, only a white horse at her side. When she saw the people she chuckled, then slapped the horse’s hindquarters and sent it charging toward them. While they scrambled to catch the horse, the woman turned and slipped away. A few gave chase, but it was as if she had melted into the darkness. They could not find her.
A basket was tied tightly to the saddle. Inside, cushioned on soft cloth, a baby was sleeping.
Rosia’s face was like a tree stump. The angrier she became, the quieter she grew, and it was the first time in years she had shown such fury.
Around the circle of chairs without a table sat two captains of the spearmen, three lieutenants, the vassals, the steward, and her daughter-in-law Elma. They had all come half-asleep, but their faces were sharp and awake. In the center of the council chamber, lit by fifty candles, sat the basket. The baby inside was pale and tiny. The hair framing her face like a halo was golden, the same as Rosia’s. Around her waist was embroidered the words: Orchidna, daughter of Raven.
Rosia had three sons. The second was dead, and the first and third had left the castle. Had the baby been sent by her third son, Rosia’s heart might not have been so hard. But this child was claimed to be the daughter of her eldest son, Raven, the one she despised most.
When the sentry finished his report, the vassal Caern spoke. “We can’t simply trust that inscription. It may be someone’s trick.”
Another vassal said, “They should have captured that woman. What if we send men to search the villages outside the castle?”
Captain Jouel shook his head. “That won’t work. That woman must be a mage. If you remember how Raven left the castle, it shouldn’t surprise you.”
Some who didn’t know the details looked puzzled. Patrol Captain Aller asked, “Wasn’t it that Raven lost his mind and ran out of the castle?”
Another captain replied, “And such a man had the sense to meet a woman and father a child? That woman must be Raven’s new wife. Shameless. After more than ten years without a word, she suddenly sends a child? She should have come back crawling, weeping, begging instead.”
“If the mother is alive, why wouldn’t she raise the baby herself instead of sending her here?” They must think noble mages are above something as trivial as raising a child.”
“A mage, you say? Then Raven…”
For those born and raised in the Castle of the Fir, the only mage they had ever seen was the mad Deni. To them, a real mage was a rare being found only in the great countries of the south. The idea that someone they knew had become a mage sounded as absurd as a chicken they raised suddenly turning into a peacock. Aller muttered, “A mage? With a Daeior, no less.”
Jouel spoke again. “As Lord Caern said, there’s no proof this child is Raven’s. And even if she is, he was cast out of this family. There’s no reason to treat her as the lord’s bloodline. It would be best to give her to someone in the castle to raise.”
Jouel knew Rosia’s mind better than anyone. But the others didn’t catch the intent in his words. Another vassal said, “That may be, but I think she really is Raven’s child. If someone wanted to force a baby onto the lady by using the name of one of the sons who left, they would have used Deni’s name, not Raven’s. That would have been more advantageous. To use Raven’s name is… well, like asking for the baby to be killed.”
The opinions split. “Perhaps the one behind this didn’t know the details. Since Raven was the eldest son, it might have seemed more convincing.” If they didn’t know, they never could have come up with or carried out such a plan. It doesn’t matter whether he was the eldest or the youngest. He wasn’t going to be taken as heir anyway.”
“Enough.”
At Rosia’s single word, everyone fell silent. She called Elma.
“I believe this baby really is Raven’s daughter.”
Rosia tilted her head slightly, telling her to go on.
“Look at the name. Orchidna. The only man who’d give such a strange name to a daughter is the same man who named his first daughter Kyprosa.”
“I see.”
Rosia rose from her chair and walked to the basket, looking down at the baby’s face. To an outsider, it might have seemed like a grandmother softening at the sight of her granddaughter. But Rosia was not that kind of woman. She kicked the basket. The baby woke and began to cry. No one tried to comfort her as her wailing grew louder. Rosia studied her face carefully, then stepped back and looked around at the others.
“Take her out to the forest. Don’t let anyone pick her up. Leave her for the wolves.”
Jouel pressed his lips tight, and Elma turned pale, but neither protested. Even the rough spearmen looked uneasy. The baby cried harder, as if she sensed her fate. The order had to be carried out, but no one stepped forward. Over the sound of her cries, Rosia’s voice thundered.
“I said throw her out!”
The youngest lieutenant of the spearmen, Ophrely, stood. He was a man with a young daughter about the same age as the baby, but he knew it had to be him. He lifted the basket and carried it out. All eyes turned to Rosia. Their faces silently wished she would take back her order even now, but they all knew it was hopeless. Rosia swept her fiery gaze over them and then strode out.
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