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Vojalie nodded. She then raised her arms high and spoke a string of blessings for the child whose life had just begun.
Batya held Quinlan’s gaze as Vojalie’s voice rose and fell in the poetic cadence of the ancient words. She willed him to understand her love and knew she’d succeeded when a smile curved his lips and an affectionate expression lit his eyes.
I love you, too, he pathed.
An image rose in her mind, of a young girl flying a kite on a windy evening down a long sloping hill. She had dark eyes and hair as black as night. The colors arrived, of the green grasses on the hill, the girl’s red dress, and the purple kite, splashing over the image, bringing the beauty of the scene to life. This would be her next painting, the one she would execute long before her daughter came into the world.
But the inscribed brass plate at the bottom, the letters in a lovely script, stunned her the most, Viola, Queen of Ferrenden Peace.
She almost said something to Quinlan and Vojalie, but a mysterious instinct stopped her, that to do so would jeopardize not just her child, but Rosamunde as well. She remained silent. And when she drew within once more, the same image remained, but the brass plate had disappeared. Her daughter’s future was hers alone to know.
What an incredible turn in the journey of her life, that she would stand opposite one of the realm rulers, bound to him as his blood rose, now pregnant with a future queen.
Her father had told her to embrace the mystery.
And so she had.
The End
