“You’re dilated to six centimeters,” Tipi announced in her no-nonsense voice. “The child will be coming soon. It’s time to get in the water.” She and Zena lifted me off the bed, one to each arm, and guided me to the waiting tub, which was large enough to accommodate three people. As I eased into the warm water, I grasped the handholds molded into the tub to anchor myself.
“You, too, Serenity,” Tipi said, motioning to Hexe. “Your job is to catch your child as he shoots free, and bring him to the surface and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the stump where Hexe’s right hand should be.
“And do what?” Hexe prodded.
“...hand him to his mother.”
“Don’t worry, Sister,” Hexe said as he stripped down to his boxers. “I might be missing a hand, but I still have both arms. I’m perfectly capable of catching my son when he makes his appearance.”
As Hexe climbed into the water, Zena positioned herself behind the head of the birthing tub, within easy reach of me, while Tipi stood at its foot. The midwife-priestess held up her arms, her palms open and turned outward, and began chanting in Kymeran.
“What’s she saying?” I asked.
“It’s the Invocation of Nana,” Hexe explained. “I’ll translate; it won’t be exact, but it’s close enough:
When racked with labor pangs, and sore distressed,
We, your Daughters, invoke thee as the soul’s sure rest;
For thou, Nana, alone, canst give relief to pain,
Which the healer attempts to ease, but tries in vain.
Nana, Protector of the Child-Bed, venerable power;
Who bringest relief in labor’s direst hour;
We beseech thee: Deliver this woman.”
“What good is that supposed to do me—? Ahhhhh!” I cried out in agony and alarm as my entire body from the shoulders down suddenly pushed of its own accord. Zena leaned forward and placed her hands on my temples, pulling the pain from me as it crashed down like a wave from an angry sea. Tipi’s chanting became louder and more urgent than before, and I became dimly aware that the cadence of her voice now matched the timing of my contractions.
“Nana’s face is turned to you, now,” Zena whispered, her lips pressed close to my ear. “You and your child are under her protection—now push!”
I gritted my teeth and bore down as hard as I could, struggling to jettison my precious cargo. I was so exhausted, I felt as if I were trapped in a Möbius strip—that I had, somehow, always been in labor, and would always be in labor; that there was no baby, no future, just the eternity of striving to push something that was and, yet, was not, of myself from myself. I looked in the direction of Tipi, who was still at the foot of the tub, invoking the name of her goddess, and saw standing behind her the shadowy outline of a woman. As I struggled to bring the figure into focus, her face changed from that of young woman, to matron, to crone, and back again. As different as each visage was, one from the other, each face bore the same smile and the same pair of golden eyes.
I heard Hexe excitedly call out, as if from an impossible distance, “I see the baby’s head! I see his shoulder!” I took a deep breath and bore down a final time, forcing our baby out of my birth canal and into the arms of his father. “I’ve got him!” Hexe shouted, splashing about like a hillbilly trying to catch a catfish by hand.
As he brought our son to the surface, Tipi finally halted her chanting and stepped into the tub, using a ball syringe to suction the plugs of protective mucus from the baby’s nostrils and mouth so he could breathe on his own. Only then did he begin to cry, giving voice to a lusty, insistent squall.
“Is he okay?” I rasped.
“He’s more than okay, Tate—he’s perfect,” Hexe grinned as he placed our newborn son, still attached to his umbilical, onto my belly.
I had never been as exhausted and elated as I was at that moment. Esau, Boss Marz, the Maladanti, Hexe losing his hand, my parents disinheriting me—all those things lost their meaning as I gathered my child into my arms. I wept and laughed in equal measure, covering the top of his still-damp head with kisses as he waved his fists like a tiny boxer at the brave new world he now found himself in. I was so happy and relieved, I barely noticed the sorrowing look exchanged between Tipi and Zena as they noticed the number of fingers on my baby’s hands.
Hexe climbed out of the water and put his clothes back on, allowing Sister Tipi room to deliver and dispose of the afterbirth, and then sever the umbilical cord. The priestess handed the baby over to Hexe, who proudly cradled him in his arms as she and Zena helped me out of the birthing tub and back onto the bed.
I propped myself against the headboard and reached out to take our son from Hexe, so I could breastfeed him. Suddenly Tipi and Zena gasped out loud in surprise and dropped to their knees.
“All Hail the Blood of Arum!” the priestesses proclaimed in unison. “All Hail the Heirs of Adon!”
It wasn’t until I looked down into my newborn son’s tiny, wrinkled face, and saw him looking up at me, that I understood the reason behind their adoration. For while my child might have his mother’s hands—he had his father’s eyes.
Chapter 30
“I can’t believe we went through so much drama for something so tiny,” I said in a hushed voice as I watched my new son nurse. “But it was worth every second.”
Tipi and Zena, their jobs now done, had withdrawn from the birthing chamber to allow Hexe and me time to bond with our new child. Hexe was stretched alongside me on the bed, staring at his son in open awe. He chuckled as the baby wrapped his tiny hand around his left index finger.
“Now that he’s here, what do you think we should call him?” he asked.
“I’ve been wondering that, myself,” I admitted. “I thought we had a little more time to pick out a name. Boy, was I wrong about that.”
Before we could discuss the topic any further, I heard what sounded like an all-too-familiar voice raised in argument just outside the door. A second later the door to the birthing chamber flew open and in came my mother, full steam ahead, trailing Sister Tipi in her wake.
“How dare you tell me I can’t see my own daughter and grandchild?” my mother exclaimed, displaying her finest high dudgeon.
“Madam, please!” Tipi exhorted. “It is tradition that the first hour of the newborn’s life be shared with the parents.”
“What utter hogwash! Honestly, what kind of hospital is this?”
“It’s all right, Sister,” I said wearily.
The priestess gave me a dubious look, but withdrew from the room without further argument. I braced myself for the barrage of backhanded compliments and thinly veiled insults that were sure to follow. But to my surprise, my mother swooped down upon me, throwing her arms about my neck.
“I’m so sorry, Timmy, for everything I’ve said and how I’ve treated you! I love you more than you can ever know, sweetheart—I’m afraid I just don’t know how to show it. I didn’t really have anything to model myself on. My own parents didn’t know how to deal with who I was, either, except to shun me for dreaming of a life outside the farm. And now I’ve become as narrow-minded and reactionary as they were! Please say you forgive me for being such a horrid bitch and making life so difficult for you all this time.”
“Of course I forgive you, Mom,” I said, returning her hug. I looked up at Hexe, who was staring, openmouthed, at my mother’s unabashed display of affection. I was glad I wasn’t the only one gobsmacked.
“If I had any idea you were so close to delivering, I never would have allowed you to leave!” she said as she started to fuss with my pillows. “I never wanted to drive you away, but that’s what I always seem to end up doing. Your father and I dropped everything the moment Clarence gave us the call. We would have been here sooner but this . . . whatever you call it . . . isn’t on any GPS.”
“Mom, calm down and take a breath.” I smiled. “And say hello to your grandson.”
As I held up the baby for her to inspect, my moth
er gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh. My. God. Timmy—he’s beautiful!” She sobbed, tears of joy filling her eyes. It was the happiest I had ever seen my mother in my life. “May I hold him?”
I smiled and nodded, adding my own tears to the mix. My mother carefully scooped him into her arms, cupping the back of his tiny little head in one hand as she beamed down at her first grandchild.
“Who’s got the prettiest gold eyes?” she cooed. “You do. Yes, you do.” The smile on her face faltered as she noticed Hexe watching her in approval. “I owe you an even bigger apology than I do my daughter. Can you possibly find it in your heart to forgive a foolish old woman who has said so many cruel and careless things to you? I have been unfair to you from the very start, accusing you of being a manipulative gold digger trying to magic your way to my daughter’s inheritance, just like my in-laws treated me when Timothy and I fell in love. I refused to see just how much you love my daughter, and how deeply she loves you. And—dear Lord! What happened to your hand?”
“It was an . . . accident,” Hexe replied evenly as he took the baby from my mother and placed him in the bassinette next to the bed. “And I accept your apology, Mrs. Eresby. Compared to what your daughter has had to deal with from my side of the family, I have nothing to complain about. I’m just glad that we can restart our relationship on new ground.”
Suddenly the door to the birthing chamber flew open again, this time to allow a six-foot-tall teddy bear carrying a clutch of Mylar balloons printed with cartoon storks to lumber into the room. “Someone get the door, will you?” my father’s voice said from somewhere behind the giant plush toy.
“There you are, Timothy!” my mother exclaimed. “What kept you?”
“Trying to squeeze this damned stuffed bear through the entrance of this place is like trying to—well, you know what it’s like,” my father grumbled as he dropped his burden onto the rocking chair. “Hello, Princess. Are you okay? What about the baby?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” I assured him as he kissed my cheek. “As for the baby—you can see for yourself.”
My father grinned as he peered into the bassinette. “He kind of looks like my grandfather.”
“Timothy, all babies look like your grandfather: wrinkled and bald,” my mother replied, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, but this one definitely has the Eresby nose,” he grinned, tapping his own for emphasis. “Don’t you, champ?”
“Oops! I think somebody’s hungry,” I said, reaching into the bassinette as the baby began to fuss. As I exposed my breast for a second feeding, my father blushed and quickly looked away.
“Maybe we should head out, Millie?” he suggested. “Let the new mom and her baby get some rest?”
“You’re right, dear,” my mother agreed. “There is so much that still needs to be bought: baby clothes, furniture, toys . . . not to mention baby-proofing the house!”
“Mom, I appreciate the concern—but I don’t think he’s going to be sticking his fingers into electrical sockets just yet,” I pointed out.
“Well, better safe than sorry, I always say! Come along, Timothy—next stop Neiman-Marcus!”
As my mother turned to leave, she froze upon seeing Lady Syra and Captain Horn standing in the doorway. The two women stood at rigid attention, regarding one another for a long moment.
“Syra.”
“Millicent.”
To my surprise, my mother abruptly smiled and threw her arms around Lady Syra, kissing her on the cheek. “Isn’t it wonderful? We’re grandmothers!”
The moment the door closed behind my parents, I fixed Syra with a suspicious stare. “Okay—what did you do to her?”
“Honestly, my dear! Is it really so hard to believe that the birth of a grandchild might change your mother’s mind?”
“There’s a difference between a change of heart and a transplant,” I replied. “What spell is she under?”
“It’s called the ‘Walls of Jericho.’” Lady Syra sighed, surrendering the charade. “It’s designed to bring down the barricades around the heart of whoever drinks it. While I was waiting for you in the Grand Salon, I used the occasion to slip a small amount of the potion into her decanter. I didn’t put that much in her bourbon—well, maybe a little bit more than usual. You know your mother. But the emotion she showed you today isn’t fake or manufactured. I figured it was the least I could do, seeing how much of her animosity and fear of magic is related to me. Now—where’s my grandbaby?”
As Lady Syra drew closer, her smile abruptly disappeared, to be replaced by a look of genuine shock. “I don’t understand,” she gasped. “The child has human hands . . . but its eyes—! How can such a thing be possible?”
“They said the same thing when Hexe was born. Your family did not believe the child of a Servitor would breed true, either,” Horn said proudly. “I still remember to this day the joy I felt when our son opened his eyes for the first time. . . .”
Hexe looked at his father in surprise. “You were present at my birthing?”
“Of course I was,” Captain Horn said with a sad smile. “It was the first, and last, time I held you as a baby. It broke my heart to surrender my rights as your father, but even as I did so, I was proud to know my son would, some day, be Witch King.”
“Yes, but you, at least, are Kymeran,” Lady Syra countered. “There’s never been a half-human Heir Apparent in all our history, much less a Witch King.”
“And yet he has been chosen,” Hexe said. “Perhaps our child is a sign—a guidepost for the future of not only Golgotham, but the human race as well, proof that Kymerans and humans not only can coexist peacefully, but are capable of transcending the darkness that has plagued us for so many centuries.”
“It is going to be difficult to coerce even the moderate members of the Aristocracy to accept a hybrid Heir Apparent,” Lady Syra said worriedly. “And that doesn’t even include the host of problems that will arise once news of your amputation spreads.”
“The child has been born, my hand has been lost—these things cannot be changed, no more than we can alter the outcome of the Sufferance or undo the slaughter of the dragons,” Hexe said firmly. “Golgotham is on the verge of great change—whether for good or bad depends on whether we embrace the future or fight to reclaim the past. I believe that is why Esau has returned, and why he has worked so hard to destroy me—and my son.”
“I agree,” Syra said. “But none of this will be easy. There are a number of aristos who would have no problem following your uncle into the bowels of hell over something like this.”
As I listened to Hexe and his mother discuss the ramifications of our child’s birth, I found my attention starting to drift and my eyes growing heavy. The next thing I knew my head was bobbing up and down like one of the CONGRATULATIONS! balloons tied to the giant teddy bear.
“All of this can wait, for the time being,” Lady Syra said. “It’s best your father and I leave, and allow Tate some time to rest. You must be exhausted, poor girl,” she said, bending down to kiss my forehead. She then smiled at her grandson, curled in the crook of my arm. “And as for you, young man: Welcome to the Royal Family.”
Once his parents left, Hexe took the baby from me and placed him back in the bassinette. “He’s sound asleep,” he whispered. “I’m going to step out for a few minutes and find something to eat. I’ll be right back.”
I looked over and smiled at the sight of my son, lying buttered-side up, oblivious to the chaos his arrival in the world would soon start. I placed a gentle hand on one of his feet, marveling at how tiny and perfectly formed it was. I must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing I knew the baby’s foot was no longer in my hand and he was making a mewling sound like a kitten. I looked up to see one of the pink-robed Daughters of Nana lifting my son out of the bassinette.
“What are you doing with my child?” I asked.
“I’m just taking him to be bathed and change his diaper,” the priestess replied, turning h
er cowled head in such a way that I did not have a clear view of her face. Although she did not appear to be either Zena or Tipi, there was something familiar about her voice.
“Why can’t you do those things here in the room?” I asked suspiciously.
Instead of answering me, the priestess simply turned and fled to the door, clutching my son to her breast. As she ran, the cowl on the robe fell away, revealing slate-blue hair.
“Bring back my baby!” I screamed as I clambered out of bed, only to discover that my legs had been replaced by bundles of cooked noodles. I was able to take only five or six steps before stumbling and falling to the floor. “Somebody, please, stop her! She stole my baby!”
The next thing I knew Hexe was there, helping me back onto my feet. “Tate—what’s happened? Are you all right?”
I frantically shook my head as I clung to Hexe. “It was her! I mean, it was him! Uncle Esau kidnapped our baby!”
Chapter 31
“I’ve got all available units scouring the streets in search of Erys,” Captain Horn said, trying his best to sound confident and in charge as he watched his son pace furiously back and forth in the front parlor. “I’ve got my best dowsers on the case. They should be able to draw a bead on her general location. Then we’ll cordon off the area and do a house-by-house search.”
It was less than an hour after the kidnapping, and Hexe and I were already home. I had downed a panacea at the Temple of Nana in order to restore my stamina before leaving, and was now feeling back to normal, if somewhat sore. Hexe and I, along with his parents, were gathered in the front parlor, waiting to hear from the kidnapper.
“I wouldn’t bet on your dowsers turning up anything of use,” Hexe said bitterly. “Esau’s too good a wizard to be tracked that easily.”
“Esau?” Horn frowned. “I thought you said it was Madam Erys who took the baby. And what could your uncle possibly have to do with all this? The man was murdered by Skua’s useless punk of a son, Skal, over six months ago.”
Magic and Loss g-3 Page 27
