Book 1: Brutality

Contradictions

22

"If a man never contradicts himself, the reason must be that he virtually never says anything at all." — Erwin Schrödinger

~Trigger Warning~

Valindra sits beside me, taking up Lindor. "Why did you do that, Albia? It's not as though you can outrun a pregnancy!"

It's then that I realise that it's real, all of it. This is happening.

I'm pregnant. With Barathalion's child.

"No, don't faint again!" Valindra's voice pulls me back from the growing haze. She slaps me across the face, lightly, but with enough sting that I blink. "Stay with me, Albia. You have to face this."

She's right. I nod, gulping, even as my will crumbles before this new catastrophe. I wipe away tears.

Valindra shakes her head. "So many women I know would give anything to have a child," she murmurs, "and you act like you've heard your own death sentence. Why don't you want this child, Albia?"

All I can do is sit, the curse freezing my very bones.

"Does it have something to do with the father?" she asks at last. Her tone is delicate, tentative. "With...how this child was conceived?" Her gaze bores into me. "Who is the father, Albia? What did he do?"

I stare at her, my face burning with frustration. I would love above all things to explain — the words burn on my tongue, the whole story, ready to shout it to her, to the forest, to the entire world. I get up to snatch the notebook and sit back next to her, indicating it urgently. Maybe—

But no. My pencil freezes when I try to write the words, the curse stopping my fingers. I lift my hands to sign, but the curse yanks them back into my lap. All I can do is stare at her imploringly, tears running.

She sighs. "Can't tell me?"

I can't even shake my head to this — that would be referring to the events of that night, which the curse forbids. The closest I can get is I don't want this baby. My hands shakes as I write. How can I get rid of it?

"Get rid of it?" Valindra blinks, completely nonplussed. "You mean, before it's born?"

I nod fervently. It's a strange thought, but I've heard human women do it all the time. Maybe Valindra knows something. But her blank look isn't encouraging. Nor is her response.

"I'm not sure," she says, frowning. "I...There are several methods I know something of — From mortal women. But I'm no expert, Albia. And...they're very dangerous. They could kill you."

How?

She explains and I regret asking. I hold my stomach — the irony isn't lost on me — and lean away, feeling sick. I shake my head weakly.

"Well, we would be better off avoiding those," she agrees. She frowns some more. "We could go Ironside, I suppose. There are doctors...I think. But I really don't know how to go about that."

Neither do I and so we sit in dismal silence. Outside, twilight is gathering.

"Well, if you really don't want the child," she says eventually, "there's always the changeling spell, you know. Wait until it's born, then switch it out with a human baby. You're not a faerie commoner after all, there's nothing stopping you..."

I shake my head, shuddering. I can't do that. I could never do that. Do to some poor, innocent human infant what was done to me? Leave some hapless mortal mother with my strange, wild faerie baby? Abandon my defenceless child, alone in the human world?

I blink at this last thought. Here's a contradiction: I want, with all my heart, to be rid of this baby, but at the same time, I can't bear to think of it growing up as a miserable, lonely faerie child on the Ironside. I hate this baby and I want to protect it! Perverse but true.

Valindra sighs and stands up, lighting the glow-lamp with a stroke of her hand. She begins bustling around, making dinner. Practical as ever — we still need to eat. Though, I feel like I'll never be hungry again.

On the bench beside me, Lindor's fallen asleep. I pull him onto my lap, cradling his weight. He wakes up momentarily, opening his eyes, before falling asleep again. I cuddle him close, tears pricking my eyes. I wish he was my child, instead of this rape-bred bastard growing inside me.

I let out a silent, despairing moan. Why, out of all the women Barathalion bedded over hundreds of years — human and faerie both — did I have to be the only one to conceive?

For, as Elbauthin pointed out, he's never fathered a child in all his long centuries. There has never even been the rumour of a child. The consensus at Court was that he and his brother Deryth — along with Curuion most likely — were all as infertile as frozen ice floes.

So why me? What makes me different from all the rest?

And, of course, as soon as I ask the right question, I immediately know the answer.

The unicorn.

After the rape, the unicorn blessed me, I remember that wonderful feeling of warmth, spreading inside me like sunlight. That touch must have done more than heal me; it must have galvanised Barathalion's sterile seed, brought it to life, so I conceived.

So this isn't just Barathalion's child, or mine. It's also the unicorn's

And then I realise that I daren't do anything to harm this child, before or after its birth. It's nearly impossible to imagine the unicorn angry, but I have to assume it could happen.

And what would be more likely to anger her than doing harm to her child? And what might she do to me then?

So I'm stuck with this baby, at least until it's birth. And what, oh what, am I going to do with it then?

The scent of Valindra's cooking tantalises me. Meat and acorn bread. I remember that earlier moment of apprehension, that faerie gifts were seldom free and I give a grim, silent laugh.

I guess I haven't finished paying after all.

~Fun Fact~

People are more creative in the shower.

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