No Title
an excerpt

The scream of a woman rent the silent night air. Followed by that of a baby. Within five minutes, the screams of a second child joined the first. Within twenty minutes of that, the cries rang out through the city streets of Icier that the Queen had given birth to twins, a boy and a girl. The king of Icier finally had an heir to his throne.

The children were healthy. Each had a full head of soft black hair and eyes that were still blue, but would change with time. The son was bigger by three pounds and several inches, but the daughter was stronger. She had not cried, save for the first shriek when she was brought into the cold, cruel world.

The king looked over his children with a great deal of satisfaction and then looked back to his pale, sleeping wife. “She has done well, bringing me a son into the world,” he said. The king was old, and it was well known that the children would not be his. At least the queen had chosen a man who resembled the king in some right. He could do away with her now, she had served his purpose.

“Bring the sorceress before us so that she may speak of what our children’s future will be.”

The old woman was roused from her sleep and entered the birthing chamber in a disgruntled fashion. She still wore her sleeping gown and was bundled in blankets. She glared at the king. Her haggard old features softened, though, when she looked upon the infants in their crib.

Gnarled old fingers reached into the cradle and plucked the boy from his nest of blankets. He screamed his protests to the world even as the old woman brought him to rest against her breast. Her milky old eyes rolled into the back of her head as she held the boy against her chest. The crone made soothing sounds in his ear as the king watched her pace.

“Speak, woman,” he said, harshly.

The witch made a face that seemed to signal the king to be quiet. She leaned the boy back so she could look into his eyes. For several long moments she peered into dark blue eyes and then looked away, as if in disgust.

“Name him Tynan. I only see darkness.”

The king did not seem pleased with this. “Has your vision finally left your old eyes woman?”

“No, majesty. Your son’s future is a powerful one. If he takes the throne he will rule your lands with an iron fist, his enemies will know much suffering, and he will sit upon a throne of scarlet.”

This seemed to be a prophesy the king was pleased by. “Read for the girl now,” he said.

The screaming, whimpering child was laid back into the cradle and the old woman picked up the girl. She repeated the same process of looking into the infant’s blue eyes. Neither child nor woman made a sound as they regarded one another.

“She will be the downfall of her brother,” the crone finally said as she tore her milky old eyes away from the girl’s. “She is powerful beyond imagination.”

“She is a witch?” The king asked fearfully as he looked down at the girl, who was resting comfortably in the witch’s arms.

“Perhaps, it is hard to tell what magics that infants will posses when they grow up. But one thing is for certain. She will be the end of her brother and the end of you.”

The king dismissed the seer and peered into the crib to look at the children. His son and heir was draped in purple and the girl in white. They were tiny images of their mother with their bastard father’s dark hair. The king looked back toward his guards and picked up the girl. He delivered her roughly into the hands of one of the men. “Kill her, then kill her mother.”

Sharing a look, the guards nodded to each other. One left with the child in his arms, even as the king took Tynnan out of the birthing room.

The remaining guard approached the queen and knelt by her bed. The queen’s hand came and stroked his hair, lovingly. “I heard the seer speak over my babies. Has…someone taken my daughter already?”

“To a safe place, m’lady,” he said as he took her hand in his and kissed the back of it.

“And you will make my own death quick?” She asked as her hand squeezed his tightly.

There was a hesitation in the guard’s answer. He did not want to kill her, but the birth had been hard. She was in no condition to run, and the king had ordered her death. “Yes, majesty. I will end it quickly.”

“Tell them to name my daughter Fallon.”

There was no answer from the guard. He drew his dirk across her bared throat. The queen’s blood stained the pillow beneath her had crimson.

Later, when the king came to see that his bidding had been done, he smirked.

“Her blood was not so blue after all,” he said dryly.

The next day dawned cold and bleak. A holiday was declared to mark the birth of the king’s heir and to mourn the death of his queen and the female twin. The king ordered that their bodies be burned in the fashion of the people whom his queen had come from. But only one body was burned on the funeral pier that day.

Miles away, outside the city of Icier, a newborn was handed to an old woman. There were many children running around the old woman’s feet already, one more surely would not be noticed, the man said when she protested.

The woman was told that the babe’s mother was a prostitute who had died giving birth. “She asked that the child be named Fallon.”

The woman bounced the whimpering infant and glared at the rider. The child was nearly frozen and crying for want of food. There was little enough on the woman’s table as it was. One more mouth was fine in theory, but she wasn’t sure her little household could actually stand up to it.

The rider produced a purse. “This coin was found on the mother. Perhaps it will help,” he said. The purse was surprisingly heavy. The old woman found a pocket for it without hesitation. “I will return if a home can be found for her.”

“Why didn’t you take her to the priests in Icier? Why ride this far?” The old woman asked. A child peered from around one of her ample hips to look up at the stranger. Two more played in the frost covered grass. Three older children attended chores around the household itself.

“There are dangers afoot in Icier. Stay away from the city if you can manage it, Mother,” the rider said.

The oldest girl came to the old woman’s side. She was tall and graceful and approaching womanhood. She glanced up at the rider and then down at the baby. “What news of Icier, rider?” She asked politely.

“The king has an heir. The queen birthed twins last night, but died along with one of the babies. See the smoke that rises in the east? The king said she would be laid to rest in the ways of her people. They are burned on piers.”

The young woman shuddered and took the baby from the older one. “I’ll take it inside now, Mother. While the milk is still warm.”

“I’ll come back,” the rider promised.

Mother did not believe him.