Free Seeds: Volume Two by M.M. Kin

was doubtful the child would even make it to his first birthday.
         Her child's pain baffled Metaniera. She and her husband already had five children, a son and four daughters. All of them had been healthy, and were growing up to be a fine prince and princesses. Triptolemus, the older son and oldest child, was just past twenty and was a handsome and ruddy-faced youth. Her daughters, in various states of maidenhood, were all of pleasant if not beautiful appearances, with agreeable personalities and each with a talent of her own.
         Instead of having a wet-nurse as queens usually did, Metaniera had breast-fed each and every one of her children. After all, what better nourishment was there for a child than its own mother's milk? But Demophon drank fretfully, sometimes spitting up his milk when a fit of pain seized him.
         Metaniera felt frustrated even though she knew that this wasn't Demophon's fault. Perhaps the gods had cursed him, and the rest of the family. Eleusis's harvest was not looking good this year, for a drought had bitten into the crops, and the dry summer heat was stunting the growth of the harvest that was to feed the city-state. Even though her older son wouldn't admit it, she sensed that Triptolemus was unhappy. A plague had gone through the city last year, and even though this year had been thankfully free of disease, their army was still depleted, with minimal manpower for the city's defenses. A warlord was threatening them, and would only consider backing off if the two older Eleusinian princesses were given to said warlord and his brother as brides. No decision had been made, but the toll of stress was visible in the lines of her husband's face.
         Celeus loved his family and city, and had no desire to hand over any of his children. Yet he had the welfare of his city to consider. He was not really in a position to fight, but giving the Princesses over might cause the warlord to make more demands, perhaps even for the crown itself. To make matters worse, his own little son was dying.
         They had prayed at the temple and made sacrifices to various gods, only to receive nothing for their efforts. Metaniera shook her head sadly as she looked down at her son, wishing she could alleviate his pain. His cries turned to whimpers as she stroked him, humming a soft song. It was only within the refuge of sleep that any of them could escape their problems.
     
    o0o
     
         Thalassa was the eldest daughter of Celeus and Metaniera, and was well aware of the warlord's threat against her parents. She had no desire to marry him and knew that her parents didn't want to force her into marriage, either. But with the welfare of the city at stake, Thalassa was afraid that she might have to steel herself and agree to be the wife to a man who might possibly mistreat her and betray her father. All of them had prayed to the gods, but to no avail.
         The princess knew she should not be out here at night, but her bedroom felt confining, and she liked having fresh air and walking while she thought. She knew better than to roam the city after dark, especially without a guard, but the walled courtyard of the small Eleusinian Palace afforded safety and privacy. Despite the lackluster results of Abas's work – a gardener could no more control the weather than a King – the garden was still an enjoyable place. She had grown up here in the palace, and dreaded the thought of leaving it.
         As she sat down on a bench, she saw a figure move furtively through the shadows. After a moment, she recognized the lanky and small figure of the gardener. Ever since she had first set eyes upon Abas, she had fostered an intense dislike of the squirrelly-looking boy and preferred to avoid his company, all the more when he became a man. Whenever she wanted to take a walk in the garden, she would look around to see if he was working, for he had a way of looking at her that made her feel dirty inside.