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There now, my leyanyn,”Franzy soothes me while I shiver in her arms. I sniff, rubbing my face into her shoulder, marveling at how ridiculous this is. I am the strong one. I am supposed to be. That’s how...
Huh. Franzy hasn’t ever run to me. She’s always there to receive me. She confides in me about her problems, but she doesn’t run to me.
Franzy strokes the back of my hair, and I press my lips to her neck, wincing when I cross paths with her latest mark from the Prince. And then, I remember all those in the mines. The faces from her homeland. Regardless of how she grew up here, she deserves to know. She’s always spoken about her time visiting Zynnia. If anyone can get through to Aydon, if Allysteir can’t or won’t, maybe his Feyal-bride, his wife, my Franzy can.
“I wish I could take this burden from you, Isla.” Her words stop me before I may share anything. I crane my neck to peer at her through watery eyes, red-rimmed no doubt.
“What?”
Franzy offers me a sheepish smile. “I was happy, leyanyn. I would have married you regardless because I love you. And the bond of love is stronger than any desire, including the desire for a child.” She touches her silk robe, one hand lighting on her stomach. A fleeting second. “I would have asked you once if we could...adopt. But if you had said no, I would never have pressed you,” she explains.
Gushing more tears, I throw my arms around her neck, almost toppling us to the bed’s headboard. “Oh, Franzy, I don’t deserve you.”
“Leyanyn, you deserve every good and sweet thing. We both do,” she speaks in a hushing tone, stroking my hair again.
“The people in the mines do, too.”
Franzy stiffens beneath me. I pull back to eye her. Her nose scrunches, brow furrowing, lips pressing together before she asks, “What do you mean? Aydon has shared little of the mines, but from what I’ve learned at Court—“
“You do Court?” I interject, my brows lifting in shock.
Donning a silly smirk, Franzy rolls her eyes and pinches my cheek. “I don’t spend all my time trying on bridal gowns, eating Isle-fruit, growing flowers, and chasing after Death, Isla.”
“Franzy, I didn’t mean—“
“I didn’t either,” she reassures me, scooping my hand into hers and rubbing my knuckles. “We relate to this Underworld in different ways, leyanyn. I love how you have found your place accompanying the King to the Hollows. You could never sit in a stuffy court all day, Isla. You would snap and split the Great Hall with your thorns.”
We giggle, but I lick my lips and fix my eyes on Franzy, waiting and listening. She squeezes my hand, and a sweet heat nurtures my belly and flushes my neck as she expresses, “I love the Court, Isla. Even if I don’t speak much, I love listening to the problems of the nobles, the people, and even the elders.”
I make a face, and Franzy smiles to one side, squeezing my hand in a hint before continuing, “Aydon is exceptional at political intervention. He has a keen mind. But he gets overwhelmed at times. I see it. And relieve his tension now and then with my flesh and blood. He cares deeply for Talahn-Feyhlan, truly Isla. He is so loyal to our country and puts our people first.”
Our people. But notherpeople.
Oh, Ary, how can I break her heart?I scream in my mind even if he can’t hear. Tiny curlicues of smoke drift from the skull mark, but I don’t get the opportunity to do more than narrow my eyes, perplexed.
“Aydon has shared with me how he has never produced an heir despite his five hundred years, Isla. He wishes he could spare Allysteir of the responsibility to carry on the Cursed line.”
I turn rigid, squaring my shoulders straight back. “You mean sparemethe responsibility,” I add, curling my upper lip in disgust.
Franzy takes my other hand, traces soft circles, and nods. “Yes,you, Isla. As all our hopes have rested on you. And I knew you would conquer Death, leyanyn. You will conquer this burden, too,” she encourages me and pauses to touch my belly.
I wince. “What do you mean, my bonnya?”
Franzy reaches out to caress my cheek. “It means I believe in you. It means I will be here for you. Whatever you choose. If you seek an Inker for a potion or a wisp-she for herbs or the Sythe-Queen, Narcyssa herself, I will be with you, leyanyn. Or...”
“Or...?” I brace myself.
“Or if you choose to carry the child to their fullness and never again bear another, I will be there.” She wipes away my tears. “You will have wet nurses, but I will take the majority of the burden, leyanyn. You need not do anything you do not wish. I will raise the child with Allysteir. This was never your choice. So, you may choose to be a vessel for a brief few months, but you need not be a mother.”
I drop my face into my hands, overwhelmed by Franzy, by her too-willing heart, and sigh my shame from a childhood song sung over pregnant mothers in Cock Cross.
“Blood and flesh to heart and bone.
Your body becomes his growing home.
Pain and sorrow to joy when born.
Your canal to grant him his first morn...” I trail off from the maternal song. My voice cracks halfway through.
