Sythyry (sythyry) wrote,

In Which Levande is a Worse Monster [12 Chirreb 4261]

Yarwain was asleep on a couch, with Ficina cradled in his hands as though she were the most precious thing in the universe. Which she may or may not have been, to him, but the other candidate for that honor was held together by thread and Sustenoc, and probably wouldn't be safely holdable for some time.

So the rest of us arranged their life for them, of course.

Dathrynne:"We'll have to find a wet-nurse for Ficina."

Levande:"Is that hard?"

Dathrynne:"Well, it might take three or four days. Which isn't terrible: Ficina can survive on babywine and boiled guntry's milk cut with fish stock 'til then. I do wish she weren't so premature and fragile though."

Levande:"Hmm. Can a woman be caused to lactate, in a hurry?"

Dathrynne:"Oh, certainly. It's a serious spell, though. I don't know of anyone in town who has it grafted. And it's Mutoc, of course; it's not pleasant. Not that many people will accept it. We'll just find a wet-nurse, someone who's already lactating and has milk to spare; that's much easier. I'm sure there is someone -- these things happen every week, and there's never much trouble for Rassimel."

Levande:"I shall find someone who will accept it. Can you get a copy and a person to cast it?"

Dathrynne expressed indignation at how Levande was bullying the Healers' Guild. "And bullying some poor Rassimel woman with your full power as a countess to nurse this child! No, no. Find a wet-nurse the proper way. Ficina will not suffer for it, or not much.

Levande:"I have a volunteer."

Iska tried to say something, but she didn't stand a chance against Levande's mild expression of disapproval.

Dathrynne:"Within a ninth of an hour, since the matter came to light, and you haven't sent a message? I doubt that! You've a servant girl you don't mind ordering to great indignities, I daresay, or even a slave."

Levande:"I am a Rassimel woman, in case you have not noticed."

And Dathrynne had very little to say after that. Yarwain might have, but he was asleep. Iska tried, but nobody paid her any attention.

Levande:"Now we need the spell, and the caster of it."

Dathrynne:"Draught of the Rassimel Mother, is the one I recommend. It is a Mutoc Corpador spell of complexity 20."

Me:"It's Mutoc. Could the nendrai do it?"

Dathrynne:"If the nendrai knows her Rassimel biology, she could. There are two hundred and eighty-eight ways to do it, if I remember that class. Three of them will cause no harm to anyone, and Draught uses one of the three."

Everyone:"Let's not mention this to the nendrai."

Arrangements were made. A copy of the spell would come to the Pavilion of Splendor within the hour.

Levande:"And who can cast a Mutoc Corpador spell of complexity 20?"

Everyone else looked at me. Cloak of Another God, which I seem to cast twice a day or so and only my boyfriend pretends nobody knows I do, is a Mutoc Corpador spell of complexity 20.

Levande:"Excellent. Sythyry, you shall graft the spell immediately."

I expressed various forms of hesitation and delay and inconvenience and thinking-we-should-check-with-Yarwain and such as that.

Levande:"Sythyry, you shall graft the spell immediately."

As a connoisseur-in-training of menace, I find that an inexperienced countess far outclasses an inexperienced nendrai at unstated or understated threats. Though I should imagine that an inexperienced nendrai outclasses an inexperienced countess at blatant shows of force.

Me:"It'll take all night and more!"

Levande:"You are a student. You can stay up all night now and then."

Well ... Yes, I can. I did. In the cloakroom of the Pavilion of Splendor. Levande was waiting outside, and brought me pots of kathia every two hours. She had to give me the cley to cast the spell, but I am traff and presumably don't really mind embracing a countess of another species in public. I distinctly prefer a Orren count's sixth son to a full countess though.

She cried from the pain of it. Still, she got off the easiest of anyone involved. (Though she'll need to put up with it every few days -- the spell doesn't last that long.)

And Yarwain awoke somewhat later to the sight of his protectress or archrival or whatever she is, nursing his daughter, very clumsily, with help from a midwife or something who knew how to trick a baby into nursing. By all reports he was not delighted.

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