Luck in the Shadows

access to a good many luxuries of this sort. Come, Squire Ciris, let's drink the health of our most excellent lady. May she continue to delight the eye and gladden the heart of those privileged to look upon her."
    Though he spoke to Alec, his gaze never left Seregil's face as he raised his cup to his lips.
    Seregil lowered his eyes modestly, sipping at the fiery spirit.
    Alec lifted his cup again, adding with apparently ingenuous gallantry, "And to the fair child she carries, my next cousin!"
    Rhal choked on his brandy, going into a brief coughing fit. Seregil looked up in startled amusement, but managed to compose himself by the time Rhal recovered.
    "I would not have spoken of it had not my dear cousin, in his youthful enthusiasm, broached the indelicate subject," Seregil murmured, setting his cup aside. Mycenian ladies of quality were noted for their modesty and discretion.
    But Rhal was clearly less put off than Alec had intended. Seregil could guess at the new train of thought behind those dark eyes.
    After all, if a woman's already plowed and planted and still has a pleasing shape, what harm can be done?
    "My lady, I had no idea!" he said, patting her hand with renewed warmth.
    The cook entered with a tray of covered bowls and Rhal set one in front of him. "No wonder you've been off your feet. Perhaps the dessert will be more to your liking."
    "Indeed?" Seregil lifted the lid from his dish with a small expectant smile, then froze, the color draining from his face. Inside maggots writhed over severed ears, eyes, and tongues. A hot wave of nausea and panic rolled over him. Dropping the lid with a clatter, he rushed from the room.
    "Don't be alarmed, boy!" he heard Rhal say behind him. "It's quite common in her condition—" Reaching the rail, he sagged over it and vomited up his supper, dimly aware that Alec was at his side.
    "What's wrong?" the boy demanded in an urgent whisper when he'd finished.
    "Get me below," groaned Seregil. "Get me below now!"
    Alec half carried him down the companionway to their cabin, where Seregil collapsed on the bunk and buried his face in his hands.
    "What happened?" Alec pleaded, hovering anxiously over him. "Should I go for the captain, or fetch some brandy?"
    Seregil shook his head violently, then raised his head to look up at the boy. "What did you see?"
    "You ran out!"
    "No! In the bowls. What did you see?"
    "The dessert, you mean?" Alec asked in confusion.
    "Baked apples."
    Striding to the cabin's single small window, Seregil threw it open and inhaled deeply. Fear, keen as a dagger's point, coursed through him; every instinct screamed for him to arm himself, watch his back, run somewhere, anywhere.
    His head was pounding again, too, twisting his empty belly into a painful knot.
    Turning to face Alec again, he said softly,
    "That's not what I saw. The dishes were full of a steaming mess of—" He stopped at anxiety that had
    overwhelmed him at the sight. "Never mind. It's not important. But it wasn't baked apples."
    A convulsive shudder racked him and he sagged against the cabin wall.
    More alarmed than ever, Alec drew him to the bunk and made him sit down again. Seregil curled into the corner at the head of the bunk, back pressed to the wall. But he was still master of himself enough to send Alec to Captain Rhal with Lady Gwethelyn's apologies; it seemed that in her present state, she could not bear the odor of certain foods.
    When Alec returned, he found Seregil pacing restlessly in the narrow confines of the cabin.
    "Bolt the door and help me out of this damned dress!" Seregil hissed, but could scarcely stand still for the unlacing. When Alec had finished, he pulled on his leather breeches beneath his nightdress, wrapped a mantle about his shoulders, and returned to his corner of the bunk, sword hidden between the pallet and the wall behind him.
    "Come here," he whispered, motioning for Alec to sit beside him.
    Pressed shoulder to shoulder with Seregil, Alec could feel the occasional fits of trembling that still seized him, and the feverish heat of his body.
    But Seregil's voice was steady, though barely audible. "Something's happening to me, Alec. I'm not sure what, but you should know about it because I don't know how I'm going to end up."
    With that said, he told Alec of his latest nightmare, and of the unreasoning dread that had come over him before.
    "It's either magic or madness," he concluded grimly. "I'm not sure which would be worse. I've never felt anything like