“Yes?”
“What were you thinking about earlier?”
I do not pretend to misunderstand, but I need to know more before I can fully commit to a whole explanation. “A lot of things…Can you tell me about Lily’s mother?”
“Elara was a pure-blood Krovenian noble, from a small allied house, Vorovka, in the eastern hills. Her family had been close to mine for several generations. Our marriage was arranged when we were both twenty-two. We were not in love. Not in the way humans use the word. There was no Blood Calling. Krovenians without a Calling do not feel passion. We feel — deep regard, when we are fortunate. Respect. Sometimes friendship. We do not feel what I feel for you. We do not know that we are missing it.” His eyes are on his daughter’s face. “But Elara and I were lucky in that at least we became best friends. She was kind, funny, and gentle. She loved Lily from the moment she knew Lily existed. She died suddenly, two years ago,” he says. “It was sudden. A Krovenian equivalent of what humans call an aneurysm. There was no warning. She was at breakfast with me in the small dining room in the morning and gone by lunch. Lily was only two years old.”
“I did not know how to be both parents to her. I told myself I was being a good father by providing for her, by reading her bedtime stories, facetiming her every night when I was away. But I was hiding from the empty seat at the breakfast table.”
“I understand some of what you were feeling. My mother died of cancer,” I say softly, “when I was four years old. The same age Lily is now. I do not remember her well. I was so small, but I remember the smell of her perfume and the sound of her humming in the kitchen — she always hummed when she cooked, she could not help it. I remember the way she braidedmy hair every morning. But I have to look at photos to remember her face.” I take a breath. “My father was devastated when she died. He shut down for a few months. But then he kept showing up, Viktor. He kept doing his best. He read me bedtime stories even when his voice would crack halfway through. He learned how to braid my hair. He hired help. He grieved openly with me, which was not standard parenting practice in our small town in those days, but it was the right thing to do. He has been a good father my whole life. He still is. He lives in Dubai now and we talk on the phone every week.”
“Thank you for that,” he answers. “It’s good to hear a positive outcome.”
“And thank you for all you said to me this morning about the Blood Calling. It was good to hear you explain everything.”
“No decisions need to be made immediately. We can talk about it after…” he waves his hand at Lily’s still form.
“Yes,” I agree. “After.”
The light beginsto change at the windows, hinting at the pale gray and soft pink of dawn.
The physician comes in for his next check. He places a hand on Lily’s small forehead, checks her pulse and looks at the thermometer. His whole face transforms. “It has broken,” he says. “She has come through.”
I burst into tears I did not realize I was holding.
Viktor closes his eyes and bows his head over his daughter’s tiny hand.
The physician smiles for the first time in twelve hours. He explains the next steps in his gentle calm voice. Lily will sleep deeply for several more hours and wake hungry. She will be tired for a day or two, but her body has safely completed the milestone. She is officially a small step closer to full Krovenianmaturity, with the slightly stronger fangs and sharper senses. He recommends light food, plenty of water, plenty of rest. He says he will return in the afternoon for one more check.
He bows and leaves.
Viktor and I are once again alone with Lily.
She sleeps peacefully now. Her cheeks are pink in the normal way, not the fever way. Her breathing is even. Max is still tucked under her chin.
Then I sink back in my soft armchair and close my eyes, just for a moment. Just to rest them. I have been awake for over twenty hours. The chair is so soft and the room is so warm. My eyes drift closed...
Chapter Eight
Viktor
Hazel sleeps in the armchair across from me.
She has been beside me for over twenty hours.
Lily finally sleeps peacefully in the small bed between us too. Her cheeks are pink in the normal way and her breathing is even.
The relief is bone-deep. I had not let myself name how afraid I was. For weeks I had been watching for this. The Krovenian childhood fever does not warn you, it simply arrives. My own fever came when I was five. My mother sat at my bedside for four days without sleeping, and on the third day the physician spoke quietly to my father in the corridor. I remember being very hot and very tired and dreaming that I was running across a wide field and could not reach the other side.
Nikolai’s came earlier than mine, at four. His was mild. He was up and demanding breakfast by the second morning. He has always been the easier brother. Sebastian’s was harder than Nikolai’s but easier than mine.
Lily’s came at four, like Nikolai’s. She is through it after twelve hours. Thank the gods.
Then I look at Hazel again. My beautiful mate. Her hair is long and flowing over her shoulders, her features somehow more exquisite at rest. She did not leave. I had braced myself, the moment the physician said the words, for Hazel to step gracefully back and let the staff take over. That is what nannies do, in my world. The royal physician arrives, a nurse is positioned in the adjoining room, the family withdraws. The nanny offers comfort but does not stay through the long hours of the sickbed. That is not her job.
But Hazel rolled up her sleeves, wrung out the first cloth and sat down and did not get up except to change her clothes once. And every time she leaned forward to press a fresh cool cloth to Lily’s small forehead, I saw what was in her face. Love. For my daughter. Real, deep, unguarded love. And I saw it when she looked at me too.
My female loves us. She has not said it yet, but I know it to be true.
