The very reason I’m so certain it’s going to crumble in my grip the moment I drop my guard.
Kaan stiffens beneath me.
I look up, frowning at the concern hardening his features. “What’s wrong?”
“Siharna’s gone into labor.” He clears his throat and refolds the lark. “We need to go. Now.”
Adistant scream shakes me to the soul, making me picture Siharna charging into battle, spear in hand as she eyes her target, all the tendons in her neck stretched.
My grip on the handrail tightens.
I look over my shoulder, out the lofty stairwell window that offers a clear view of the compound’s snow-covered courtyard. Of Siharna’s home, my gaze drawn to a second-story window glinting like a golden eye.
A breeze tugs the gauzy curtain that’s failing to hide the commotion beyond; Siharna’s bold silhouette pacing back and forth like a pendulum, embarking on the journey that takes too many to an early grave.
Hand on her belly, she pauses, curls forward as she no doubt wrestles through a contraction, releasing another ferocious scream.
I look away and charge up the last few stairs, softening my steps before I reach the door to the spare slumbersuite. Peeking through, I see Korie still coiled on the pallet beneath the soft pink-and-purple quilt Mah stitched long ago … like a fresh hatchling amongst an oversized nest. Her curls are puddled around her as she slumbers, thumb in her mouth, drenched in the warm light of the heaving hearth.
I watch her little chest rise and fall, begging the Creators to keep Siharna safe. For Korie to have the chance to hug her mah again while her heart is still beating, and for Siharna to bear the gift of watching her daughter grow.
That’s all I ask.
Please.
Gently closing the door, I repress the urge to move into the end suite and assure myself that Raeve is there. Alive. Wrap her in my arms until this tightness eases from my chest. Or perhaps simply wake her so I don’t feel so alone, helpless and …scared.
Terrified I’m going to lose somebody else I love.
Forcing myself back down the stairs, I snatch one of Pyrok’s lootedbottles off the table, just dropping onto the seater when Siharna releases another drudging scream.
I retrieve Borg from my pocket, twirl him through my trembling fingers while I pop the cork on the alcohol and draw deep. Hiss as the potent spirits pool in my belly like a churn of Rygun’s flame, leaving my tongue tasting like something that got stuck in a pipe and died.
“Fuck,” I rasp, tilting the bottle to stare at it. Shaking my head, I draw another swig, then unplug Borg’s jar. Set it on the seater as he gushes free in a churn of pale, billowy smog.
“Well, well …” He stretches and twists, gathering mass until he’s leering over me like a lanky, posturing cloud, black eyes narrowed on me drawing another deep swig of—without question—the worst shit I’ve ever tasted. “You’re trying to get back in my good mists, aren’t you?”
“Maybe I just missed your face?”
“That makes more sense.” He churns, peering behind me. No doubt looking at himself in the window’s reflection. “I amparticularlypleasant to gaze upon. Wait— There’s snow out there. Are we near The Fade?” He stills, then whips back like the flick of a Moonplume’s tail and compounds into a corner, becoming an opaque lump no bigger than my fist. “You’re going to tip me back out in the Mists!”
His gaze bounces around like he’s trying to find somewhere more suitable to hide. Glimpsing his jar, he snaps toward it like a slingshot—so fast he bottlenecks, working to glug into the small space before he finally slips through.
I sigh, grab the jar, and shake it. “Borg, we’ve been through this.” I peer into the hollow before I give him another shake. “I’m not tipping you anywhere except onto this seater for a sip or two. Or are you not hungry?”
He slips out, pools across the wide cushion, then recongeals before me, so large his head skims the low ceiling. “Of course I am. What a silly question.” Arching close, his inky eyes narrow, and the hairs on my arms lift from the cool swish of his proximity. “I do hope you’re not lying to me, Kaan Vaegor. A waif’s trust doesn’t magically regenerate. Once it’s gone, you’ll have an eternal enemy in every one of my brothers—big and small.”
“Have I ever lied to you, old friend?”
“Well … no. But I spend a lot of time on my own.” He dips so close I’m almost forced to go cross-eyed just to hold his gloomy gaze. Like he’s trying to peer through the fibers of my soul. “The mind does love tospin.”
That, above all, is something I understand.
Another valiant scream rips across the courtyard.
Borg gusts past me like a swift-moving cloud, his tether to the jar thinning to a mere thread as he flattens his face against the pane. “Is someone being maimed?”
I draw another drink from the bottle, hissing through my answer. “Auntie’s in labor.”
