Chapter 22: Pups

The pains began at supper, on the eve of the third full moon, and Troy swore at the soup.

"It's nothing," he said. "I'm fine. It is probably the soup."

"It isn't the soup," said Lucas.

"It could be the soup."

Felix put down his spoon, very slowly.

"Mine too," he said. "Since noon. I did not wish to alarm anyone."

Julius said nothing at all.

He gripped the edge of the table with both hands, and the wood creaked.

Lucas was already on his feet.

"Healer," he said. "Now. And every pillow in the house."

The old healer had been living at Moorhaven for a month, in the room next to the kitchen, and she was in the doorway before he finished.

"All three at once," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "Naturally. It would be."

They put them in the first Supreme Omega's bed.

The King had sent it from the palace in pieces, with the three old carved cradles wrapped in blankets.

He had written one line on the order: Let the Seat's children be born in the Seat's own furniture.

The bed was wide enough for all of them, with wolves chasing each other around the posts.

The night went on a long time.

Troy was loud, as Troy was about everything.

He swore at the moon, the healer, the bed and Lucas, in that order, and then, more softly, in a cracked voice, he swore at himself.

"I can't. I can't do this. I'm a Prime. I have fought wars."

"You have," said Lucas, close against his ear. "And now you're doing this. Squeeze my hand."

"I'll break it."

"Then break it."

Troy squeezed, and Lucas's fingers went white, and Lucas let a little cold honey go into the air.

Troy's shoulders loosened, and his face came out of its grimace.

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