A gift for a gift.
Slátra shifts, slithering around me to form the shape of the snug nest, easing so close I could tip forward and rest my head against her snout.
I hold her steady gaze, bolstered by it as I lift the stone and bring it to my chest—letting the past infuse me like a gulp of icy water. Taking me somewhere cold and dark, into a body weak and riddled with pain.
I realize, quite suddenly, that Slátra’s showing me the moment I met my daughter.
The moment I brought Kyzari into this world.
“That’s it, Your Majesty. One more push—”
Slátra’s deep bay cleaves the sky outside, urging me on. Through our shared bond, the same urgency echoes like a raging roar.
I bottle a scream, using it for leverage to bear down, feeling my body stretch as my youngling’s shoulders ease past. The rest comes smoothly, and with a gush of relief.
All my muscles melt so abruptly my head falls back against the headboard.
I gulp shuddered breaths as nervous tension fills the room …
I pushed for so long. Too long, by the looks my birthing maids pass to each other, quietly moving around the pallet like white-robed ghosts.
A deafening quiet prevails, ruffled only by brisk patting sounds.
Panicked murmurs come from the two maids looking down at my youngling on the pallet between my parted legs. A pallet that’s already claimed too many of my loved ones.
It will not claim another.
It will not claim my child.
I leverage up against the stone headboard, looking at the maid trying to rub life into my limp, lifeless young. “Give me the child.”
“Your Majesty, we’re doing everything we can.” She looks up, all the color gone from her face, and I see the truth in her solemn stare. She believes my baby is too far gone.
Slátra roars loud enough to rattle the windowpanes.
The maid dashes a nervous glance at the open balcony doors. “She’s—She’s been without for too—”
“GIVE HER TO ME.”
A bulge of blue flame pours past the doors, casting the room in an azure glow.
The maid flinches, then rushes into action. Snips our cord and swaddlesmy daughter.
I tear open my slumbershift to the tune of beating wings, buttons popping from nape to navel, revealing my naked breasts. Some of the maids drop their chins, as though to offer me privacy.
I know better. Know they’re hiding the tears in their eyes. Proof they’ve already lost hope.
They believe mine is useless. I don’t accept that.
Silver light floods the suite, Slátra skimming so close to the palace I’m battered by the cold waft of her beating wings as my daughter is set upon my chest. I don’t waste time looking at her features, taking her in or smelling her—quick to unwrap her from the bind and drape her limp body across my breasts, using the crook of my arm to cradle her head.
I rub her back in firm but gentle strokes, singing the song Mah sang to me in this very room. A tune that always made me feel happy and safe.
Loved.
Liu ath na, juu ta ne guile no …
Too la too. Too la too.
