In the physical world, his whole frame shuddered with revulsion.

Never! he screamed.

But the idea was still there.

Arles—The Red Knight

Gabriel had ordered a grand review, but when he awoke the next morning to the sound of his wife retching in a basin, he had doubts. He wondered if it was a waste of time, and his waking thought was to cancel the damned thing. Everything seemed to accelerate toward the moment that the gates were open; everything seemed to be fluid.

Blanche finished her morning sickness and collapsed on the bed with a groan.

Master Nicodemus, with his usual perfect timing, appeared at the door with a cup of something that smelled like happiness; apples and cinnamon and peppermint and honey and lemons. The smell filled the inside of their closed bed hangings.

“Oh, you are wonderful,” Blanche said, and Master Nicodemus closed the bed hangings and she drank. “Oh . . .” She sat up.

Gabriel smiled.

“It’s not funny,” she said. “Not even a little bit.”

Gabriel did his best to keep his face smooth.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “If it’s tomorrow, then I will never lie beside you again. I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t want to feel this bad. I don’t want you to remember me throwing up into a basin.”

Gabriel lay back and looked at her.

“It could be tomorrow,” he said. “I think this is what I was meant to do, and everything has been preparing for this.” He watched her a moment. “I don’t have time to hold a grand review. I need to tell Julius to copy out orders and cancel it. It’s a waste of time; vainglory.”

“Unless it is an important moment for building unity and good morale,” Blanche said. She obviously felt better; she polished off her morning drink with relish, put the cup outside the bed hangings, and rolled over toward him.

“I take your point,” he said. “But fifty thousand men; it’ll take four hours to get them on parade and four hours for them to file off. They could be . . .” He paused, because she moved closer.

“Shut up,” she said.

A surprising amount of time later, she leaned over him, her hair all around him. “They want to see you,” she said. “It’s not vainglory. It’s monarchy. Also, cancelling will start a lot of rumours. And it will keep everyone’s mind off . . . tomorrow.”

“I know what would keep my mind off tomorrow,” Gabriel said. He lifted his real hand and ran the calloused palm lightly across one of her nipples.

“Why, kind sir, what can you mean?” she asked.

He had new arming clothes. They were scarlet, dyed with the bodies of a type of small beetle found only in the east. Beautifully cut, carefully and lightly padded, they fit him like a second skin.