Tolive.
Lio lo na, lo na—
Slátra chuffs, then pulls back. I frown, looking down as my daughter’s blue face bunches up.
She releases a wobbly wail that pitches through the room, and I make a similar sound, almost crumbling beneath the crush of relief that drops on my chest.
I tremble, loosening from a knot I didn’t realize I was bound within, distantly aware of the maids gasping, praising the Creators. Some drop to their knees, crying out or kissing the ground.
My daughter breathes deep before screaming again—shrill and trebled. Like she sank to the edge of her end and rose up frightened, desperately trying to get away.
I tuck her closer. Comfort her as Slátra sniffs us both, unsurprised when I hear murmurs of how my bleeding has begun to slow. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, with her.
Time blurs …
Slátra stays despite the calm that settles through the suite; a quiet sentinel while I sing, smoothing my thumb across my daughter’s brow. I repeat the motion until all the rumples ease from her face.
I kiss her head, search for Kaan in her delicate features. Find him in the tone of her skin and the strong cut of her cheeks. Certainly not in the tuft of white hair that’s so like Mah’s.
My throat clogs at the thought, knowing how proud she’d be if she were here.
Even though I’m not so proud of myself.
Mah bound for love against all odds, straining political ties. She found a way to compromise everything but the love she had for Pah, while staying fair and just to her folk. To her responsibilities as The Shade Queen.
I’ve taken the only path I was able to see, but nonetheless, a path that cost Kaan …this.
Being here as I birthed. Meeting his daughter for the first time. Hailing her into the world with his strength and warm presence.
Slátra keens as more tears slip down my cheeks, and I quietly vow to be stronger.
Better.
To smooth the injustices in this world. To make it a better place, one way or another. For our daughter.
For—
“Her name is Kyzari,” I announce to the room with all the strength I can muster, reciting Mah’s middle name past the lump in my throat.
A quiet ode to both her and Kaan.
My only hope is that one dae Kaan and Kyzari will see the connection now threaded through the generations. That beyond the heavy sentiment of endowing her with a piece of my beautiful, lovely Mah, there’s a broader reason I gave my daughter a name that starts with K.
“Kyzari Neván Vaegor,” I whisper, becausefuckTyroth for forcing me to take his name. For not giving me the choice.
Mine will live on. Through my daughter.
From my peripheral, I see every maid dip their head, one of them moving to the desk. She jots Kyzari’s name on the official announcement scroll that’s passed through the door—no doubt handed to one of the many guards filling the hall outside. Soon to be read to the crowds packing Arithia’s streets full, waiting to hear of the outcome of my labor.
A maid drapes a shawl around my shoulders, protecting my modesty while Kyzari nuzzles my breast, rooting for sustenance. Again, I mourn the absence of Mah’s counsel, awkwardly nudging my nipple into Kyzari’s mouth.
She suctions, tugging softly. Her little hand pads around, coming to rest on my finger.
A smile lifts my lips.
All the fight leaves both of our bodies as we find a gentle rhythm, nestled together like both dragons on Kaan’s málmr.
I choose to ignore the quiet sense that this moment is a gift. That it won’t last.
