by Kaylin Lee
Ella got up from her chair and came over to mine, and then she clambered into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. I nuzzled her tousled dark hair as she nestled her head against my shoulder. My tears flowed even faster.
“It’s going to be fine, Zel,” came her muffled voice. “I promise.”
Did she know she’d echoed Gregor’s words to me?
I wrapped my arms around her thin, warm body and held her tight, rocking back and forth. Why was she comforting me? I should be comforting her! And how did she know everything would be fine? I wasn’t sure we stood much chance of lasting very long without her father.
“Your daddy isn’t coming back,” I said, hating the blunt way the words tripped right off my tongue. Why hadn’t I found a way to soften the words? How could I take care of this girl on my own? I couldn’t do this. I just couldn’t. She’d be better off with Gregor or someone else—another neighbor, perhaps. Not me.
Ella’s body tensed. “Not ever?” Her voice was muffled, her face pressed hard against my collarbone now. She held me even tighter than before.
“Not ever, Ella. It’s …” I rubbed her back. “It’s just you and me now. I’ll stay with you. I’ll take care of you, just like your daddy did. I promise.” Another stricken promise.
Her little arms wrapped around my neck and held me tight, as though she could sense I wanted to flee. Sobs wracked her body, but she made no sound as she cried. I could only feel the wetness from her tears soaking into my shoulder where she kept her face pressed against me.
That night, I held her in the big bed in the upstairs room as the rain beat against the windows outside. It was cold without suffio, but I’d dressed us in warm sweaters over our nightgowns and piled all the spare blankets on top of the bed.
Ella’s eyes were red and swollen, and she hadn’t spoken since dinner. She’d kept by my side as I’d cleaned up the kitchen and readied the bed, wanting to hold my hand or the folds of my skirt at all times as though she didn’t dare let me out of her sight.
Now that we were in bed, though she must have been exhausted from all the crying, she refused to shut her eyes and go to sleep. “Ella, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. It’s time to sleep.”
She only blinked those red-rimmed eyes at me and snuggled closer to my protruding belly. The baby moved rapidly, pressing hard against my belly, and I couldn’t help but flinch at the pressure. Ella furrowed her brow.
“It’s fine, Ella. The baby inside me is moving, saying hello to you.” Ella kept frowning, but nodded slowly. “But now it’s time to sleep. Got it?”
She placed one small hand on my belly, and the baby kicked again. “Oh!” Her eyes widened, and then she giggled. It was the most perfect sound I’d heard in months. “The baby?”
I blinked back another wave of tears. We didn’t need any more of those tonight. “Yes. The baby will be coming out soon, I think. And then you’ll have a friend to play with. How about that?”
She nodded again, this time more eagerly. And then she frowned again. “You’re the baby’s mother, Zel?”
“Yes. I’m the … I’m the mother.” What a strange and terrifying phrase. It sounded impossibly foreign on my lips, but as it turned out, I should have been more worried about the indignant expression on Ella’s young face.
“But … what about me? Who’s my mother? Are you my mother now?”
My stomach sank. What could I possibly say in response to that? I couldn’t replace her mother, or her father, for that matter. I was just … me. A killer. A creature of the shadows. By my mere presence, I was bringing more danger to her already difficult life.
“No,” I said, my voice catching on the word. “But I can be your stepmother.”
More indignation. Ella’s eyebrows sank lower, and she jutted out her lower lip. For the first time in hours, she looked away from me and kept her eyes on the blanket by her face, twisting it and turning it with her fingers.
Would she cry again? Had I said the wrong thing? But how could I lie to her?
Finally, after several long moments, she spoke again. “But I’ll love you like a mother,” she whispered. She didn’t look at me as she said it. She only stared at the blanket, a fierce and determined look coming over her face.
How could this small girl be so strong? I would be a terrible mother. I’d inevitably fail her by getting caught by the trackers or simply being unable to provide for her. How could I accept such love from a girl who had already lost everything, knowing I had nothing but secrets and danger to give her in return?
She closed her eyes and her breathing slowed as she drifted toward sleep, but I couldn’t relax. I held myself still in the bed beside her, worries and fears tormenting me. I’d lost myself in Draicia. Then I’d lost Darien. I’d found shelter here only to see disaster come upon the family who’d sheltered me. And now, I was going to bring a new baby into this nightmare world, all while caring for a small girl who had lost everything, just like me. It was foolish to think I could do this.
But then again, perhaps that was my answer. If Ella could resolve to love me when she had nothing left to give, couldn’t I at least try to do the same?
“That’s fine, Ella.” I whispered the words softly so I wouldn’t wake her. “I’ll … I’ll love you, too.”
Chapter 12
“Twins. You’re too large to just have one in there, my dear. It must be twins.”
“What?” My brain was foggy from exhaustion. I’d been up most of the night with labor pains, and now I lay in the big bed upstairs on a pile of extra linens, gaping like a fool at the midwife Gregor had hired.
“Two babies.” She enunciated the words slowly, and I glared at her. I knew what twins meant. I just didn’t— I couldn’t— How did she expect me to do this?
Then the labor pains made me groan, overtaking me in waves, each one worse than the last. How could I possibly survive this? Twins? How could I deliver one baby, much less two? Or care for them all by myself? She had to be mistaken.
The midwife held my hand. “Breathe,” she said again. I wanted to slap her, but I huffed out an annoyed breath. “There you go. That’s it. Again. Relax, and breathe. You can’t fight this, Zel, is it? You can’t fight it. These babies need to come out. So just relax.”
Darien. Now he would be a proper target for my anger. How could he have done this to me? He’d promised to be with me. And instead, he’d— He’d—
Another wave of pain overtook me. I didn’t know what infuriated me more. That he’d given me a baby—no, twins!—and then died, leaving me to do this on my own? Or that he’d died for me, for us, in the ultimate act of love, and now we’d have to spend the rest of our lives without him and without his love? How could he? How could he!
It could have been minutes or hours. I thought of nothing but the babies Darien and I had brought in to the world. And then, when I was more exhausted than I’d ever thought possible, the midwife placed a squalling, red-faced baby at my breast. I stared down in surprise. My … my baby.
“They’re both girls,” said the midwife. “Two strong, healthy girls. Congratulations, honey.”
“But … where is the other one?” Panic scrambled through me.
“Oh, she’s right here.” She gestured to the squirmy bundle in her arms. “It’s best you feed them one at a time, at least at first.”
Ella’s sweet, concerned gaze flitted from me, to one baby, then the other, and back to me, as though she didn’t quite know where to settle.
I looked down at the baby girl who nursed earnestly at my breast, her face screwed up in determination, for all the world like she would never let go. How had I gone from being a monster, a killer, locked alone in a tower, to a … a mother? I gripped the baby’s warm, tiny body a little tighter. It was too much. Too perfect. I didn’t deserve this.
When I’d nursed both babies and learned to wrap them up properly, the midwife set them beside me in two small bassinettes—once again, no doubt, procured by Gregor. The babies slep
t, their perfect eyes shut in little half-moons, their mouths occasionally making sucking motions even in their sleep. I couldn’t bring myself to look away, tired though I was, and neither could Ella. She perched on the bed beside me, staring at the babies with an awestruck look on her face.
The midwife gathered her things. “Before the plague, I’d have to fill out certificates for each baby. But as you know, things are a bit chaotic out there now. I could fill out certificates if I could find the forms, but I wouldn’t be able to find anyone to take them.” She shrugged. “You can still name your babies now, if you like.”
Oh! Names! I hadn’t even thought of them yet. I was still shocked I’d made it all the way to this point, with two healthy babies sleeping beside me. “Names? I …”
Ella gaped at me. “They already have names?”
“Well …” I bit my lip and appraised the babies. The baby on the left, the first baby I’d held, had golden skin and hair and delicate pink lips. Her mouth made a fierce sucking motion again in her sleep, and Ella giggled. I thought of the colorful flowers that Belen had said grew wild and stubborn among thickets of thorns in the Badlands in the spring and summer. Perhaps she would be strong, like they were. She would need to be. They both would. “Her name is Briar Rose.”
Ella shifted. “That’s a weird name.”
I laughed, and the midwife smiled at me, her eyes crinkling. “It’s a strong name is what it is,” said the midwife, nudging Ella. “She’s strong enough to grow anywhere. Right, Zel?”
“Right.” I stroked the second baby’s soft, smooth hair. Her face was utterly peaceful in sleep. Her skin was pale and flawless, her lips rosy red, and her hair dark as night. The black fringe of her long eyelashes stood out on her cheeks, a stark contrast to her light skin.
One evening, when I’d first arrived in Asylia, Ella’s father had shared with me his favorite book, a translated encyclopedia of natural wonders written by a Western explorer who had been among the first Westerners to make contact with our isolated walled cities here in Theros. I’d pored over the book by the light of the luminous long after he and Ella had gone to bed that night.
One place had stood out over the rest—a mountain called Alba’s Peak, covered with snow year-round, that offered unparalleled views of the rising sun. The peace and perfection of that far-off place had called to me as I’d hunched over the book at the kitchen table, mourning Darien, worrying about the future. I’d fallen asleep that night thinking of dawn sunlight glistening off sparkling snow. And now, looking at my sweet, bright-skinned baby girl, I felt the same peace.
“Alba,” I said. “Her name is Alba.”
Chapter 13
“The queen passed away.” Ella lowered the newspaper she was holding, her beautiful face serious and concerned. We sat together at the kitchen table, sipping lukewarm water and sweating even so early in the morning. Summer in Asylia was a force to be reckoned with. The twins were still sound asleep, thankfully, and Ella and I had stolen downstairs for a quiet morning without them.
“Last night?”
Ella turned the paper toward me, and I craned my head to read it. After three years of plague with no cure, we’d lost a fifth of the city’s population, yet still, the deaths kept coming. Queen Cassia had taken ill three days earlier. What would the king do now? His sanity had been in question for years before the plague. My hands shook, and I hid them in my lap.
Asylia’s government still existed, but some days, the city seemed to be held together by threads. If they stopped providing victus for food, what would we do? There was no way to sneak in or out of the city. Not for the living, anyway. These days, they only opened the gates to remove the dead.
I leaned back in my chair, took another sip of water from my glass, and set it back on the worn wooden table. Coffee was a distant memory. We were on the verge of running out of victus, but I could not bring myself to leave Ella and the girls alone again.
This morning, there had only been a fine gray powder in the victus canister. I had to go out. I couldn’t put it off any longer.
“I better find some mourning garments, then. And go to the market before it gets any later. The line will be down the block already.”
Ella nodded solemnly. “Look in my mother’s chest. There should be something dark in there.”
“Thank you.” Ella, my sweet, dedicated, determined helper. I could always count on her to watch the girls for me or to help with the chores—whatever needed doing, she did without complaint. In the past three years, she seemed to have aged ten.
As always, when I thought such things, I couldn’t look directly at her. My hot skin grew itchy and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. We’d survived for three years. That was something, wasn’t it? Since her father had passed away, I’d cared for her as if she were one of my own daughters. I taught her to read and write and do sums. We shared countless, companionable meals together. We played together with the twins as they grew from squalling babies into fierce, strong-willed toddlers. Everyone else in the Merchant Quarter survived on victus and water these days, just like us. She would have no easier life with a different family. Would she?
No matter how many times I tried to persuade myself of that fact, I could never quite shake the feeling that I’d stolen Ella’s childhood by relying so much on her help.
Ella acknowledged me with a nod and went back to the newspaper. When was the last time she’d smiled or laughed? What kind of child was content to be a helper, a worker, and had no flights of fancy or playful times of her own?
As a child trapped in my tower, I’d reveled in stories of the dreamy, frivolous world of Butterflower and her friends in the seaside city of Lerenia, but Ella had no escape from our prison here. Someday, I vowed to myself, that would have to change.
~
The morning sun beat down on the dirty, garbage-strewn street. I came upon the end of the line for victus three blocks from the nearest market in the Merchant Quarter. Not a good sign.
I bit my lip as I appraised the people waiting in line. Their bodies sagged and they fanned themselves listlessly in the overwhelming heat. From the look of things, they’d already been here for hours. I’d have to try a different market. Perhaps I’d have more luck at a smaller market in the Common Quarter.
I pulled Ella’s mother’s hat further down over my head to shade my face in the hot sun as I made my way through the Merchant Quarter to the Common Quarter boundary.
At first, I was disoriented. I’d only been to the Common Quarter a few times since coming to Asylia three years ago. Eventually, I realized the streams of people weaving their way through the narrow, crooked streets must be heading to the nearest market, so I simply followed the crowds.
The Common Quarter had more shade than the Merchant Quarter. The buildings were taller, for one thing. I peered up at one cluster of towering stone apartments as I passed. The buildings stretched crookedly up toward the bright, summer sky, as though each subsequent level had been thrown there haphazardly by a mover mage who had gone onto the next task. The Common Quarter was far more crowded than our quarter. They probably needed more housing and were likely happy to take whatever they could get.
I found the end of the victus line. The market entrance was still visible down the street, so the queue had to be shorter than the line at our own market, and it was actually moving. I shrugged and took my place. I had to get victus and get home before the girls woke up. I didn’t want Ella to deal with hungry toddlers by herself for too long today.
“Little scamp!”
I jumped guiltily before realizing that the woman in front of me was addressing a child, not me.
She got hold of a small girl, no older than Ella, and proceeded to tickle her until her giggles echoed on the street around us. Then she let the girl go and sent her forward. “Back to your mama, now. Hurry, scamp!” The woman laughed as the girl scurried back to her mother.
“Thank you, Silla!” The girl’s mother called out with a wave from where she
stood with two other children, several places ahead of us in line.
Silla laughed and patted one of the girls with her on the head. “These little ones! What would they do without us, hmm?” She smiled at me, as though expecting a response.
My mind went blank.
The girl beside her ducked away from her hand. “Aw, Ma …we just wanted to talk. We weren’t gonna go play nowhere.”
“Anywhere, child. It’s play anywhere. And besides, everyone’s got to stay with their mama in this line. That’s the rule, isn’t it?”
The child nodded grudgingly, and her mother ruffled her hair again. They both laughed as she ducked away a second time. “Ma!”
The woman, Silla, laughed and nudged me. “Got to keep them on their toes, don’t you think? Get ’em smiling while you can. Before you know it, they’ll be gangly youths who’d rather whine than smile, won’t they?”
I managed to give her a jerky nod of agreement. What on earth did I know about youths besides the fact that I was one myself, not long ago?
The woman glanced around me and then gave me a knowing smile. “Ah, I see. No littles of your own yet. Just wait, my dear. Your time will come. Then you’ll want all the giggles you can get out of them before they get big like this one.” She nudged the skinny girl beside her, who gave me a shy grin before turning back to her younger brother.
Big like that one, huh? Ella had to be almost exactly her age, and I’d never seen Ella grin like that, much less break into peals of giggles like the girl further ahead in the line.
I gave the woman another awkward nod. What could I say in response? Actually, I have three little ones at home, and they barely smile, much less giggle or laugh? My eight-year-old would rather read the newspaper than a children’s book, and my twin toddlers think a big bowl of victus is a special treat? My face flushed, and I twisted my braid around my fingers.
After a moment of my silence, the woman shrugged and turned back toward the front of the line.
