Page 311 of May: Bloom & Bane

“He would like,” Rasen repeats serenely, “to come in.”

“Then he’d better get in here,” I say, “before the baby falls asleep.”

Kaeran takes one heavy step inside the room, reluctantly conceding. He posts himself against the far wall and resumes not looking at anyone.

Rasen crosses the room and kneels beside the nest. “May I?” he asks, respectful as always.

“She’s been waiting to meet you.”

Ashán lifts Vaelína from my chest himself and lays her in the Horseman’s arms—the antler-branch on my belly answers before she even settles, gold blooming through the room like a slow dawn. The mark rises, tracing its branching path from the place it lived above my womb, pouring down Rasen’s arms, and gathers over the tiny girl in his hands, settling across her shoulder blades.

“It held for your mother through everything. Every hour of dark,” he murmurs, bowing his forehead to hers. “It is yours now, little one. And as long as I draw breath, Famine will never touch you—no hunger. No want. No empty winter. Not you. Not ever.”

Vaelína stares up at him and sneezes. “Hih….chu!” A puff of gold dust scatters across Rasen’s face.

“She has blessed me back,” he whispers in awe.

“That’s not—” Sage starts.

“She has blessed me back.”

By the wall, Kaeran hasn’t moved. Instead, he has inspected the crib. The ceiling beams. The window latches. And the treeline beyond the glass. He has looked at every single thing in this room except my daughter. But I’m the only one who can feel the truth of him, and that truth is roaring right now. The desire to hold her comes off that man like heat off a forge—and wrapped around it, rusted shut, is a certainty so old it has fused to his bones: hands like mine are not for things like her. He will stand there all night radiating menace at the walls, if I don’t intervene. I rise from the nest, slowly, waving off both my mates with a look, and I lift Vaelína from Rasen’s arms. I cross the room, and Kaeran’s bell tilts downward. Then down even further. Panic grips him.

“Hold your arms like Rasen did,” I murmur.

“I don’t⁠—”

“Kaeran.” I look up at him. All the way up. “I know.”

He’s still for a moment, and then he slowly uncrosses his arms. They assemble themselves into an awkward, angular cradle. A siege engine attempting origami. I place my daughter in hands that have only held a warhammer. He locks every muscle at once, and holds her the way soldiers hold explosives fully capable of detonation. He’s barely breathing, his elbows are welded, and he’s staring down at her like she is the single most dangerous thing ever placed in his custody—I think she might be.

Vaelína stares, unblinking. One violet eye, and one black, taking in the scars. Her shadow rises, finds one scarred finger, and closes around it.

His bell tilts upward. “... She’s small.”

“She is,” I agree.

“Hm.” His thumb moves slowly and settles over her tiny fist. He doesn’t say anything else. But I can feel what’s happening inside all that armor, and I will keep it to myself forever—because that’s what you do when a brute shows you where the door is.

CHAPTER 93

life & death are finally at ease

—ASHÁN & SAGE

The house is finally asleep. The last of the family left hours ago—Damon with one braid less than he arrived with. Droot escorted home half-conscious in a danish coma, and the brute lingering on the porch a moment longer than security required. The fire has burned down to embers. Frost draws slow patterns up the window glass.

We cannot stop staring at them. Eden is curled deep in the heart of the nest, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting against the edge of the petal pod. Vaelína sleeps inside the bloom with both fists thrown above her head, utterly surrendered, her little golden heart flickering steady beneath its window.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

“She sleeps like Eden,” Sage murmurs.

“She scowls like you,” I add.

“She does not scowl.”

“She scowled at Damon.”