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He smiled. “Your actions speak far louder than words. You’ve earned your place here.”
I turned to see Kian watching me, pride and love radiating from his gaze. Alya dabbed at her eyes.
“Come, let us celebrate Kate’s induction,” Turok declared. Musicians struck up a lively tune as the smell of roasting meats filled the air. My Surlon family gathered close, embracing me, clasping my shoulder, murmuring words of acceptance.
I wandered through the festivities in a daze of wonder, my fingertips brushing the cool metal crown. To think I had crashed here a stranger barely surviving the harsh terrain. Now these people claimed me as their own.
Kian appeared at my side, two mugs of ale in hand. “You’ve worked hard for this honor, my love,” he said, kissing my cheek. “No one deserves it more.”
I leaned into him, overcome with gratitude. “I can’t believe Turok bestowed this on me. He who once saw me as an intruder.”
“You’ve won his respect. Just as you’ve won all of ours.” Kian stroked my hair, mindful of the crown. “This is your home, Kate. These are your people.”
I gazed out at the celebration, taking in the smiling Surlon faces, the smells of home cooking, the musicians playing songs I now knew by heart. “You’re right,” I said softly. “This is my home.”
Kian wrapped an arm around me as we drank our cider. I had found where I belonged in this village, with these people, with this man who had become my husband.
My hand drifted down to rest on my swollen belly, full of anticipation for our daughter soon to be born. She would have a wonderful community here.
Epilogue
Kate
The suns had barely crested the horizon when the first contractions hit. I gasped, both hands flying to cradle my swollen belly. The baby was coming.
Kian was up in an instant, anxiety and excitement warring on his face. “Is it time?”
I managed a nod, clenching my teeth as another contraction seized my body.
In minutes, Alya arrived with Marah and two other village women experienced in childbirth. They ushered me into the bedroom and helped me change into a soft birthing gown. I knelt on a pile of furs laid atop a low platform, gripping Kian’s hand each time the contractions came. He murmured encouragement, though his tension was palpable.
For hours I labored, focused inward as my body worked to bring our child into the world. The Surlon women monitored me closely, applying herbs and salves to ease the pain. At times I wanted to scream, but mostly I channeled everything into each push.
Finally, as the village awoke beyond our walls, the baby crowned. “One more push,” Alya coached. With a primal cry, I bore down with all my strength. Our daughter slipped free of me. Her first vigorous cries filled the room.
Joyful laughter and tears flowed as Alya placed the wailing infant on my chest. She was perfect, with downy blue skin and hair the color of golden straw. Kian wrapped his arms around us, awestruck.
After the cord was cut and I delivered the afterbirth, the women helped me clean up and settle comfortably with our swaddled newborn to nurse. She latched on hungrily. Kian perched beside us, unable to take his eyes off his daughter.
“What should we name her?” I asked softly, exhausted but deeply content.
“I think she looks like a Leila,” Kian said after a moment’s thought.
I smiled. “It’s perfect.”
We sat in silence then, lost in memorizing our baby girl’s every detail as she nursed. Her tiny hand curled around my finger, and in that instant I knew I would do anything for her.
Over the next few days, Alya and the others cared for me as I recovered. Kian proudly presented Leila to the village. I gained strength and learned the rhythms of motherhood—nursing, changing, bathing, soothing midnight cries. My world narrowed to the perfect bundle cradled in my arms.
When Leila was one week old, I carried her out to the pastures for the first time to properly meet Willow. My beloved sirocco nuzzled the infant tenderly, bonding with her as well.
In that moment, a rush of psychic energy flowed into me once more. Startled, I realized I could sense Leila’s unformed thoughts, feel her comfort and contentment. My connection to the siroccos had returned. Not at full strength as before, but no longer muted as it had been late in pregnancy. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Surlon gods.
Over the next months, I treasured every milestone as Leila grew—her first real smile, giggles, rolling over, sitting up. She was alert and active. Kian joked she had my fiery spirit.
My rapport with the siroccos remained, though it had changed. I could still readily communicate with Willow, but I no longer controlled the wild herds. With Leila, our bond was unique—I often knew her needs before she fussed. Flashes of her emotions came through at times. It was a gentle psychic tether between mother and child.
I resumed many of my regular duties once Leila could be out and about in the village. The other women taught me tricks to strap her close or sling her on my back during cooking, sewing and foraging. She attended her first village feast at three months old.
