‘Yes.’ Finn reached for her hand. ‘She is a powerful queen. Murias has had some victories in the war, and Falias has been looking for a way to destabilise my advantage over the Crystal Castle. Moronoe may have used her magic to help your pregnancy in the first place. That, I do not know. But I do know that if she has my child in her kingdom, she can use it against me.’
‘You talk about your children as if they are weapons. All of you. This scheming, it’s so….’ Faye exhaled, exhausted. ‘I don’t know what to believe. If the baby’s yours, why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘Moronoe and Levantiana constructed a web of magic around you, Faye…I didn’t know. I am sorry.’
Though it was a dream, Faye still felt Finn’s familiar magic coursing through their linked hands.
‘How can I believe you?’ she whispered. ‘How can I believe anything?’
‘You don’t have to believe me, Faye.’ Finn drew her to him softly and kissed her cheek. ‘But you are the mother of my child now.’
She woke with a start, still feeling Finn’s hand in hers. Regardless of what she thought of Finn, she couldn’t deny that the link was still strong between them.
If the baby was Finn’s, then it thrust her even deeper into the faerie world. Faye had no idea how she’d be able to navigate the road ahead of her.
But at the same time, if it was Finn’s baby, then it gave her more power over him than she had ever had.
Faye watched the dawn filter in through her curtains and felt the baby kick for the first time. It was a sudden, strange sensation, like a cross between a hiccup and a punch. Not painful, but odd.
Startled, she rested her hand gently on her belly, waiting for it to kick again. Obligingly, the baby seemed to feel her hand or hear her expectation, because Faye felt a – was it a foot or a hand, perhaps a knee – lunge under her hand.
My baby.
She was filled with a sudden rush of love and tenderness, but also a wave of strength and power.
Faye knew in that moment that she would protect this baby from anything. She would go to war for her baby; fight monsters, faerie queens and whatever other terror came her way. She would willingly lie down in front of a speeding train, lose an arm or a leg, sacrifice anything if it meant that she would keep her baby safe.
It was clear this baby would have a great significance to the faerie kingdoms. But the identity of his biological father, Faye realised, was almost irrelevant. This washerbaby,herchild,hermagic. It was the magic of every woman to be able to create life inside herself, and the folly of men to believe that they could burn a brand of ownership onto a child after the fact.
Whoever the father of this child was, he would be born a Morgan. And a Morgan – male or female – had the power of the witch running in their veins.
43
Faye woke up early, confused by the wetness she lay in until she realised that her waters had broken. Carefully, she hauled herself out of bed and went to the bathroom, trying to clean herself up. The stretchy jersey nightdress she’d started wearing at night was soaked through. She peeled it off and ran the shower, climbing carefully into the bath and out again to wash herself as best she could.
Gabriel wasn’t there. It wasn’t unusual – often he’d be gone in the early morning, walking the shore – but today she needed him. Faye resisted feeling abandoned and instead, she called the midwife, who asked if her contractions had started – they hadn’t, as far as Faye could tell – and said that she’d be out to check on Faye in an hour or so.In the meantime, just take it easy and let me know if anything changes, the midwife said cheerily at the end of the phone.Have a cup of tea and put your feet up.
It was July, and the height of a heatwave. Soon it would be Lughnasadh, the old Celtic festival of the first harvest. When she was a child, Grandmother had taught her how to make corn dollies with wheat fresh from the fields around Abercolme. It was a symbolic gesture, saving the ripe corn to use in winter.
Faye stood naked at her bedroom window, looking out on the garden below. Life was in bloom everywhere. She was part of nature, and in her late pregnancy, she’d come to understand much more instinctively the symbolism of the ripe corn goddesses of the old ways that Moddie had told her about. She was as ripe with life as the apple tree below. It was so heavy with fruit that they dropped off onto the lawn and wooden decking below with loud thumps; sometimes, it woke her in the night.
With one hand on her belly, she thought of all the things she looked forward to sharing with her child: telling him the stories that Grandmother had told her; making corn dollies; foraging for plants at the seashore.
Already, the sun was relentlessly hot. The roses were parched and the fresh herbs were browning at the edges of their delicate leaves, even though she’d been watering them faithfully. Nature wasn’t kind, or moral. It was an eternal cycle of life and death. It drew no distinctions between hunger and glut.
Apprehension made her step away from the window, though she couldn’t explain why. She got dressed and made her way carefully down the stairs. She’d need to let the midwife in the shop door.
Downstairs, she made a cup of peppermint tea in the kitchenette. There were still no contractions, and she wondered when they would start. Rather than sitting, she opened the shop door and stood in the early morning sun to drink her tea.
Gabriel, I need you– she spoke his name into the air.The baby is coming. Please, I need you here.He had promised to be with her, and he wasn’t here. She picked up her phone and called his number – and heard his ringtone from the soft chair in front of the fireplace. He’d left it behind.
Her own phone rang again almost instantly. It was the midwife saying that her car wouldn’t start – she’d be with Faye as soon as she could. Were there any contractions yet? Faye toldher there weren’t, and asked whether that was usual.Yes, that’s quite usual, don’t worry, the midwife said.Let me know if they start. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Faye finished her tea and made some toast, but she was fidgety. She decided to walk down to the beach. Walking was supposed to induce labour, wasn’t it? She missed it; she’d hardly been there in the past few months. She ignored the fact that she was already technically in labour; that the contractions could come at any time, and the midwife had told her to put her feet up. And if she walked down to the beach, she’d probably find Gabriel.
She knew it was dangerous to go there, but she felt a sudden impatience with the caution that had kept her away from it out of fear.I need to walk, she thought.I need the air.
She felt like a duck, waddling down to the beach. She took the quieter road that went around the village rather than through it – she didn’t really want to see anyone and have them ask about the baby.
