“Push!” Edith barked.
“Rest will come later,” I whispered, heel of my hand digging into her neck. “Push, my queen.”
“Next time, you’re doing this!” she snarled, head snapping forward, bearing down with a groan that rattled the room. Her body stretched taut as a bowstring, threatening to snap. My heart thundered at the terrible, exquisite beauty of her strain.
I held my scarred wife, soaked with water and her own blood, as our babe was born.
Edith scooped the infant, lifting it above the birthing tub. Bluish-purple blotches marked its skin, red and white residue clinging to folds, dark blood caught in tiny creases.
A burst of fierce pride swelled in my soul. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Edith placed the babe on Nienna’s chest.
I stared down at the child, taking its first gasping breaths. My queen, my wife, mylifeclutched it close; a shocked laugh mingled with a sob.
“Greetings, little one,” she choked out.
The newborn scrunched its face, offended by the light, sound, air—the world—and screamed.
I laughed, unable to stop myself, then reached around to trace a tiny foot. The little body was so small—terribly so—barely as long as my forearm.
“Welcome to the world, Your Highness,” Edith said, grinning, wiping blood from her hands. “She will be a fine ruler one day.”
“Talathia,” I murmured, thumb brushing the tiniest of toes. She writhed, wailing at the sensation.
Tsunami growled, ending in a sharp, barking chuff. She’d grown quieter as the labor progressed, but no less bothersome. Her maw pressed against the doors as far as she could reach without shattering glass, nostrils flaring to drink in the scent.
Nienna hushed the babe, offering her breast, but the infant turned away, screaming.
Tsunami keened, a pleading wail that filled the room.
“She will calm,” Edith murmured, bending over us, guiding little Talathia back to the breast.
My strong, beautiful, radiantly fierce wife rested her head against my shoulder, bloodshot eyes meeting mine. We both understood.
“She’ll not rest until it’s over.”
I couldn’t comprehend it. Unprecedented in any history, any world, yet I scoffed. “Rest.”
I detached from my wife, letting bathwater cascade down my body. My thin tunic clung to my chest, trousers sagging at my hips, dragged down by the soaked weight.
“A knife,” I ordered, holding out my hand.
Edith frowned, but a healer obeyed, dropping a silver dagger into my palm. I stepped out, sloshing bloodied water across rugs, then grabbed the cord tethering mother to babe. Folding it, I eased the blade through and severed it.
Then I reached down to take my heir into my arms.
She shrieked, fists pressed to her cheeks as if to hide from the world. I cradled her against my chest, tucking her tight.
Tsunami’s lips curled, nostrils flaring in urgency, almost whimpering.
“Trouble,” I muttered, crossing the room. “You’ll be nothing but trouble.” The babe kicked for emphasis, turning her face toward me to scream in defiance.
As I approached the blue-green dragon, I shifted Talathia in my arms. Even the smallest of Tsunami’s teeth dwarfed her. Wood groaned and glass cracked as she strained, lips stretching, reaching, lipping at the air as if the meager handspan could close the distance.
It wasn’t Nienna’s milk that would calm the child.
It was her dragon.
