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Natasi had been forced to postpone the appointment with the royal physician twice.
The first time was defensible. The Prime Minister had requested that she invite a delegation from Eos for tea and a photo opportunity, and the delegation had come equipped with an inexhaustible appetite for both tea and photos. The second delay was not quite as convincing; after a long day of engagements Natasi had been uncharacteristically tired and sent her regrets. Sir Gideon was his usual self: serious, understanding, professional, and silently judgmental in ways that were perfectly plausible deniable. His ability to be passive aggressive was one of the more comforting traits Natasi saw in her royal physician.
This morning, after Natasi woke from a night of sleep as tired as before she had retired, she had taken one look at
Dyrn Grav
and the subtle furrow of his brow -- which she recognized as concern and both loved and regretted -- and sent her lady's maid with word that she would see Sir Gideon at his earliest convenience. She told herself that she had likely picked up some bug from one of the hundreds of hands she had shaken that week. The doctor would give her a vitamin injection and send her on her merry way. She told Dyrn so and sent him off to breakfast without her.She entered the medical suite of offices in Cerulean Gate Palace. The suite was a miniature hospital disguised as a country doctor's surgery: a study for him, two exam rooms, two surgical rooms, two recovery wards, plus a very modern laboratory. Luckily for Natasi, there was no gum-popping receptionist, no telephones, no waiting room. The doctor had just one small set of patients, and Natasi Fortan was number one on his priority list. Sir Gideon Edevane, M.D., stood when Natasi entered and bowed shallowly. "Your Majesty, good morning."
"Good morning," Natasi said pleasantly. "You look well. How was your trip to Elea?"
"Oh, very nice, ma'am, thank you. Mrs. Edevane took some watercolor courses. She fancies herself a burgeoning master."
Natasi offered a half-smile. "And you?"
Sir Gideon knew what she meant, and she knew he knew, but he answered smoothly: "I went on fishing excursions that somehow turned into napping on expensive boats." He shut the door and directed Natasi to an exam bench, then crossed to a small sink and washed his hands thoroughly. "Tell me what has been happening."
"I sent a list," Natasi said rigidly, clearly uncomfortable discussing anything so pedestrian as being tired and nauseated in front of a medical professional.
"It was -- four words?" He took the list off his desk and put his pince-nez on his nose to read it. "Fatigue, nausea, headache, dizziness."
"A comprehensive list," Natasi said, dry humor spilling into her voice. "I thought you would approve."
"For how long?"
Natasi shifted and gathered her hands in her lap, feeling all of a sudden and quite ridiculously like a little girl being summoned before the headmaster for a ticking off. "Maybe three weeks, a month? It is intermittent." She looked over at him; he was staring at her with an inquisitive look. "Not so much that I am incapable of performing my duties. I just... have been more tired than usual. Particularly in the late afternoon. Twice I have fallen asleep while reading the evening dispatch box," she said, in a tone that suggested this was the greatest of scandals.
"Is that unusual?"
"Quite. I do not tend to fall asleep while working."
He made a note. "And the nausea?"
"Two weeks, give or take."
"Any particular time? Related any particular activities?"
"Sometimes in the morning, either when I first wake or at breakfast." She paused a moment. "Mr. Kenat wore a new cologne that was so overwhelming I had to ask him to revert back to his previous scent -- it caused something of a domestic kerfuffle with Mrs. Kenat, I am told."
The interrogation continued, and Natasi enjoyed it much less as it progressed. He asked about vomiting and changes in appetite and changes in taste and breast tenderness. She answered as delicately as she could -- yes, there had been vomiting; yes, she had been hungry at different times but then unable to force herself to eat food once it was brought up from the kitchens, and some foods like meat and eggs had become intolerable, so she mostly ate plain toast, citrus fruits, and salt crackers; yes she had experienced some tenderness."
Then he asked about her last menstrual period, and Natasi had difficulty keeping her Queen face off. "I don't recall precisely. It has been rather a demanding month." When assured than an approximate date would due, Natasi sighed and cast her mind back, working backward through state dinners, audiences, a naval review, that nasty business with Reima and George and Wedge Draav. "Seven or eight weeks." Sir Gideon nodded and sat back. "If you have reached a conclusion, doctor, you might share it."
"Not at all," said Sir Gideon. "I have reached, if anything, a suspicion. A possibility."
"A gastrointestinal infection," Natasi suggested. He shook his head. "Exhaustion?" Another shake. "An endocrine disorder."
"Perhaps," said Sir Gideon after a brief hesitation. "But not the first thing I would test for."
The Queen of the Renascent Heirate studied the doctor. She recognized the face of a man who, despite having arranged his features into a mask of professional neutrality, had look of one delivering information he expected to be resisted. She had seen enough ministers prepare to tell her that a program had failed, enough commanders prepare to explain an unacceptable loss, enough courtiers prepare to mention a rumor that had already reached every newsroom in New Sterandel. "Well?" Natasi prompted him. "What are you testing for?"
"Pregnancy, of course." For once, Natasi found herself at a loss for words for a few moments. Sir Gideon took advantage of the silence to proceed. "We were -- unable to confirm that it was possible in your condition. The cloning, the time you spent in the Netherworld -- the time the Duke of Suffolk spent there, too." Natasi frowned. Her mind, usually so obliging in a crisis, had refused to arrange the facts. She had recognized each symptom separately, of course. She'd had two children before, after all. But in the context of everything, she had treated them as an inconvenient collection of unrelated complaints because the alternative seemed impossible. "I will need a blood sample. I can run the initial screen here."
Natasi obligingly rolled back her sleeve and watched as the doctor did his work. He took a sample of blood into a vial, took the vial to an analyzer machine, and deposited it. A few minutes later, the doctor looked up from the analysis screen. "It is a positive result, ma'am. You are pregnant. About five or six weeks, I'd say, based on the timeline you provided." He made a noise as he reviewed the diagnostics. Natasi noticed as she rolled down her sleeves and demanded an explanation. "The hormone concentration is higher than I would have expected from your estimate. Which could mean nothing -- your timeline is off a little, maybe. Individuals vary considerably."
"Or?"
"It can be associated with multiple embryo implantation. So can early intense symptoms." He tapped a few keys and the diagnostic machine began printing documents. "The number can only be confirmed by imaging, and at this stage, a scan would not be likely to show enough to be sure. You will have to be patient. Unless -- "
"Unless what?" Natasi asked, buttoning her sleeve.
"The conversation is predicated on the assumption that Your Majesty is interested in carrying any pregnancy to term."
"Of course," Natasi said flatly. She straightened her blouse. "What should I do now? I -- it has been awhile, as you know, and the last time I was pregnant I had different demands on my time and person."
"For the moment, do nothing different. Eat, when you can. Whatever adjustments you can do to address your appetite and energy. Otherwise, observation. Repeat bloodwork in forty-eight hours. An early scan when it would be viable. I would like you to authorize -- or command -- a release of every available record concerning the creation and stabilization of your present body and records and your previous pregnancy records. This is not idle curiosity, Your Majesty. I need baseline cardiac, renal, and metabolic assessments to plan your care. And you must -- must -- report any bleeding, significant pain, fainting, fever, or persistent vomiting. Immediately. This is not a situation where it is best not to make a fuss. Under no circumstances are you to deploy your stiff upper lip."
"Must?" Natasi echoed. "You make the situation sound precarious."
"I am suggesting it is better to be safe than sorry, ma'am." He took off the pince-nez and set them aside, then began collating the paperwork. "As far as your duties -- you may continue most of them unless a reason develops that suggests you shouldn't. And you will eat regularly, hydrate, rest. Sleep more than four hours a night. I shall deputize the the Duke if need be. Which means you ought to tell him."
Natasi looked away from the window. "Of course I shall tell him," she said, as if it was obvious. "Not that he should bully me about eating and drinking and sleeping, but I will tell him."
Sir Gideon handed Natasi a small folder containing the still-warm printed diagnostics from the machine. "Good. No more delaying appointments, Your Majesty. I'll see you again in forty-eight hours for a second blood draw. Please direct your office to accept the appointments my office proposes. I hate to be imperious, but it's important."
Natasi stood and took the folder. "Very well, Sir Gideon, I will do my best." A beat. "Truly. May I use your communicator?" The doctor agreed and stepped away from the desk. Natasi picked it up, dialed her private secretary Mr. Kenat. "Good morning, Petyr. Would you ask the Duke of Suffolk to meet me in the yellow morning room, please? At his earliest convenience."
Natasi crossed the palace with a spring in her step, her pulse quick in her veins. For the moment, she was too excited to be afraid.
