He loved her. Not as a substitute for Callista, but for herself. He found this intensely disturbing, having always thought that falling in love with one woman meant falling out of love with others. He carefully concealed the thought, knowing it would trouble her, and only when he was far out in the hills, away from them all, did he let his mind carefully explore the thought: God help me, have I married the wrong woman? And yet when he saw Callista again, he knew he loved her no less than ever, that he would love her forever even if he could never again touch even her fingertips. He loved both of them. What could he do about it? Now, as he looked at Ellemir, small and smiling and flushed, he could not forbear taking her in his arms and kissing her heartily.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You smell of the saddle.”

“I’m sorry, I was going to bathe—”

“Don’t apologize, I like the smell of horses, and in winter I can never get out and ride. What were you doing?” When he told her, she said, “I’d think the coridom could handle that.”

“Oh, he could, but if they get used to seeing me handle their problems, they’ll be willing to come to me instead of bothering Dom Esteban. And he looks so tired and worn lately. I think the winter is weighing on him.”

“On me too,” Ellemir said, “but I have something now to make the waiting worthwhile. Andrew, I wanted to tell you first of all: I am pregnant! It must have happened shortly before Midwinter—”

“God almighty!” he said, shocked and sobered. “Ellemir, I’m sorry, love — I should have been—”

It was like a slap in the face. She moved away from him, her eyes flashing with anger. “I wanted to thank you for this, and now I find you begrudge me this greatest of gifts. How can you be so cruel?”

“Wait, wait—” He felt confused. “Elli, little love—”

“How dare you call me love-names after… after slapping me in the face like that?”

He put out a hand to her. “Wait, Ellemir, please. I don’t understand again, I thought… Are you trying to tell me you are pleased about being pregnant?”

She felt equally confused. “How could I possibly not be pleased? What sort of women have you known? I was so happy, so very happy when Ferrika told me this morning that now it was sure, not just my own wishes confusing me.” She looked ready to cry. “I wanted to share my happiness and you treat me like a prostitute, as if I were unfit to bear your child!” She sobbed suddenly. Andrew drew her against him. She pushed him away, then lay weeping against his shoulder.

He said helplessly, “Oh, Ellemir, Ellemir, will I ever understand any of you? If you are happy about this, then of course I am happy too.” He realized that he meant it as he had never meant anything in his life.

She sniffled, raising her head, like a day in springtime, all showers and sunshine. “Really, Andrew? Really glad?”

“Of course, darling, if you are.” Whatever complications this might cause, he added to himself. It must be his child or she would have told Damon first.

She picked up his confusion. “But how could Damon feel? He shares my happiness, of course, and is glad!” She leaned back, looked up into his face and said, “Would this also be something wrong for your people? I am glad I do not know any of them!”

Repeated shocks of this kind had made Andrew almost numb to them. “Damon is my friend, my best friend. Among my people this would be considered treachery, a betrayal. My best friend’s wife would be the one woman forbidden to me.”

She shook her head. “I do not think I like your people at all. Do you think I would share my bed with any man my husband did not know and love? Would I bear a child for my husband to father, by a stranger or an enemy?” After a moment, she added, “It is true, I wished to bear Damon a child first, but you know what happened, and might happen again. We are too closely kin, so now we may decide to have no children between us, since he does not need an heir of Ridenow blood, and a child you give us is likely to be healthier and stronger than one he might give me.”

“I see.” He could admit it made some sense, but he paused to examine his own feelings. A child of his own, by a woman he loved. But not by his beloved wife. A child who would call some other man father, on whom he would have no claim. And how would Callista feel? Would it seem another mark of her distance, her exclusion? Would she feel betrayed?

Ellemir said gently, “I am sure she will be glad for me too. Surely you do not think I would add a feather’s weight to her sorrow when she has had so much to bear.”

He still felt uncertain. “Does she know?”

“No, though she may suspect, of course.” She hesitated. “I always forget you are not one of us. I will tell her if you wish, though one of our own would want to tell her himself.”

The complex courtesies of such things were beyond him, but suddenly he wished to do what was right in his adopted world. He said firmly, “I will tell her.”

But he would choose his own time, when she could not doubt his love.

He went into his own room, in confusion, and while he made himself ready for the evening meal, his thoughts ran a strange counterpoint to the mundane business of bathing, trimming the beard which, in defiance of custom, he had begun to grow, putting on his neat indoor clothing.

His own child. Here, on a strange world, and not even the child of his own wife. But Ellemir did not think it strange, and Damon had, evidently, known for some time and approved. A strange world, and he was part of it.

Before he was ready, he heard riders in the courtyard, and when he came downstairs he found Damon’s brother Kieran, returning from a wintertime visit to Thendara with his eldest son, a redheaded, bright-eyed boy of fourteen or so, and half a dozen Guardsmen, paxmen and hangers-on. Andrew had not liked Damon’s eldest brother Lorenz, but he found Kieran likable, and welcomed news from the outside world, as did Dom Esteban.

“Tell me how Domenic fares,” demanded the old man, and Kieran smiled, saying, “As it happens, I saw a good deal of him. Kester” — he indicated his son — “is due to go into the cadet corps this summer, so I felt it best to refuse his offer to take Danvan’s place as cadet-master; no man can be master to his own son.” He smiled to take the sting from the words, and said, “I do not wish to be as hard on my son as you had to be on yours, Lord Alton.”

“Is he well? Does he manage the Guards competently?”

“As near as I can tell, you could hardly do better yourself,” Kieran said. “He sits long and listens to wiser heads. He has asked much advice from Kyril Ardais and from Danvan, and even of Lorenz, though I do not think” — he smiled sidelong at Damon, a shared joke — “that he really thinks much more of Lorenz than we do. Still, he is wary, and diplomatic, has made the right friends, and has no favorites. His bredin are well-behaved lads both, young Cathal Lindir, and one of his nedestro brothers — I think the name is Dezirado?”

“Desiderio,” said Dom Esteban, with a smile of relief. “I am glad to hear that Dezi is safe and well too.”

“Oh, aye, the three of them are always together, but no brawling, no whoring, no roistering. They are as sober as monks all three. You would think Domenic realized, like a man three times his age, that such a young lad in the command will be watched night and day. Not that they are sad-faced prigs either — young Nic always has a laugh or a jest — but he is holding down the responsibility with both hands,” Kieran told them, and Andrew remembering the merry boy who had stood beside him at his wedding, was glad Domenic was doing so well. As for Dezi, well, perhaps a responsible and challenging job, and knowing that Domenic acknowledged his family status as the old man would never do, might at last help the boy find himself. He hoped so. He knew what it was to feel you did not belong anywhere.