Baby Theo—short for Theodoric—lolled on a blanket in the sunshine of the courtyard garden, while Audofleda sat in the creeping thyme beside him and wove a flower chain garland to drape upon his head. Terix played tug-of-war with his finger in Theo’s hand, and Bone Cruncher’s brown eyes flicked between the three, his happy panting pausing only when he dipped his head to lick Theo’s black hair.

I lounged on a narrow couch in the shade, a few feet away. Basina sat near me, picking favorites from a plate of sweetmeats and nuts.

My miraculous recovery was two weeks past, and the shock of the household had begun to fade, forced into the past by the demands of everyday life. But a remnant of awe remained, and I could guess what the servants and slaves—my former fellow workers in this household, when it had belonged to Sygarius—were saying about me. This recovery, plus my playing the role of seer for Clovis while in Tornacum, would have them thinking me a sorceress and holding their fingers in the shape of horns when I turned my back, to ward off the evil eye.

I didn’t regret the perception of power, be it true or false, but I did regret the further distance I felt between myself and others. I was no longer of them . . . though in truth I had barely been of them, even when a slave myself. Sygarius’s attention had always set me apart, and I had set myself apart as well, for I had known I was somehow different from other people.

But perhaps everyone felt that way. Separate. Alone even while in a group.

Even more painful than that was my distance from my son. The chalice had given me back my life, and more: there was no evidence upon my body that I had borne a child. It was as if the past year had never happened; even an old scar upon my knee had disappeared. My tattoos, on the other hand, were as crisp and dark as if they had been newly drawn.

This rejuvenated body lacked one thing I longed to give, however: milk for my baby. As close as I held him, and as hard as I wished for my breasts to fill so that I might feel his mouth at my nipple, taking his strength and his growth from me, it was not to be. No milk came, and hunger made him fuss and cry until I bit back tears and gave him to the waiting nurse.

“You know there are ways to avoid pregnancy, don’t you?” Basina said.

I started. Lost in my thoughts, I had forgotten she was there. I turned to find her watching me with her cold, assessing gaze. She seemed to have gained a modicum of respect for me since Theo’s birth and all that happened after. While I don’t think she would have grieved my death, and likely thought me despicably weak for having fallen ill of childbed fever in the first place, my sudden leap to vibrant health had convinced her that I did have access to a power she could not ken.

And if there was one thing Basina respected, it was power.

“I’ve heard of some,” I said. “Watching one’s monthly cycle. A pessary of herbs, wine, and wool. The man withdrawing before spilling his seed.”

She shook her head. “The first method assumes you have a choice over when you have sex. The second is messy and unpleasant, and not likely to be at hand. The third is laughable. A man withdrawing, and robbing himself of that last moment of pleasure? Only an idiot would put her faith in that happening.”

“There are other ways?” She had my interest now. I had learned from gossip among the servants, but no older woman had ever sat me down to explain female secrets.

“The seed of the wild carrot. Chew and swallow a spoonful a day, and you won’t conceive.”

“As simple as that?” I asked, astonished.

“Simple if you have the seeds. If you don’t, and the worst happens, then a dose of meadow rue will uproot what is growing inside you.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering now what her point was in telling me this. “Would you have had me uproot Theo?”

She made a noise of annoyance. “Don’t waste my time with stupid questions and mother-bear emotions. I’m telling you this because you were taken against your will by Sygarius, and the lot of woman is to always be vulnerable to the thoughtless lusts of men. It may happen to you again, and I doubt you would want to risk your life a second time, to birth the child of a man you do not respect.”

“Oh.” I looked on her hard face and set jaw, and wondered if that had befallen her. I didn’t dare to ask. “Thank you. I’ll keep both the wild carrot and the meadow rue in mind, though I don’t expect to need them under Clovis’s protection. He won’t let harm come to me.”

She looked at me sideways.

“What happened with Sygarius . . .” I said, feeling defensive. “Clovis wouldn’t let anything like that happen again.”

Basina shifted to the edge of her chair and stood. A smile touched her lips as she watched Audofleda lay the finished garland across Theo’s forehead. A stray breeze blew a strand of Basina’s ash-blond hair across her cheek, softening her features. She turned and looked down at me. “Don’t trust your fate to any man, Nimia. Not even to my son.”

As she walked away, the sunny warmth of a moment before turned to a chill of foreboding. That had sounded like a warning. Basina knew something.

Was that the reason for the lesson on preventing unwanted pregnancy? I feared so, and it spoke ill of my future.

The only question now was how soon I’d be told what she knew.