Book 1: Brutality

Blessings

27

"I feel blessed" — Big Sean

~Trigger Warning~

I keep waiting to hate Elora. I keep waiting to look at her and see Barathalion.

I don't.

Instead, I see the unicorn more clearly than ever, once her daughter had been cleaned up and unfolded from birth. Her hair trails, a silken banner straight from the unicorn's mane and her eyes are as depthless as her other mother's.

How could I hate her? She's the daughter of my saviour.

In these long, slow days after the birth, as I lie in bed resting and healing, Valindra weaving nearby, my daughter in my arms, the sunlight pouring in a golden glow around us, I find myself thinking of my own mother.

But now, I find I can think of her without the old bitterness, anger and horror. For the first time, I feel like I truly understand Ryenne.

Why she did what she did, when she learned she was pregnant with Keya. Why she ran, even though she knew Myriil would find her, and what he would do when he did.

Because any risk was worth taking for her child. Any chance, however small, had to be taken, if it would secure her child's safety and freedom. Nothing, nothing in any world, mattered more than her child.

I know, because that's exactly how I feel about Elora, in these first days of her life.

As soon as I'm up and about, Valindra and I take Elora to the goblin village to be blessed. It's a simple ceremony by the Knot, with Edhelel pronouncing the blessing while daubing Elora's forehead with honey, water and blood.

She uses some of her own blood, which is a great honour, and then stabs Elora's hand for the Knot. She screams, face crumpling, and I flinch a little, but Edhelel dabs my daughter's blood on the Knot and puts her under the protection of the trees.

She then hands her back to me, grinning broadly. "Good job, Albia," she says. "Excellently done."

I nod, cuddling the still-howling Elora close. I catch her waving hand and with a flash of the unicorn's power, heal her. She stops screaming and coos, curling up in my arms.

The blessing feast lies ready on the trestle tables set up in the goblins' square. I stand, flower-crowned, holding my newly blessed child and accepting congratulations.

Valindra stands beside me, holding Lindor. We both hold ourselves straighter, Valindra lifting her head, as the goblins and other forest fey file past, urging their personal blessings on us and regarding us with awe.

And, indeed, who can now doubt that we are a pair of powerful, high-ranked women? Both of us fertile, with healthy, living children, both of us with special gifts, living together inside one of the Great Trees? No wonder the dryads edge away with wonderstruck expressions and the goblins bow low, hoping for our favour.

Gael comes up and Valindra stiffens, but he ignores her to bow to me. "Congratulations, Albia." He hesitates. "I trust it is congratulations? Are you happy with the child?"

I nod, beaming. In my arms, Elora stirs, fussing a little. I'm going to have to feed her soon.

"Good." He nods in satisfaction and turns to Valindra. "And you, Valindra? How are you and Lindor coping?"

"Well enough, as you see," she says coldly. "We're quite used to babies in our house, you know." In her arms, Lindor struggles, and she bounces him on her hip. "No, Lindor. Mama can't put you down here. You might fall off the edge."

"Well, I'm glad you are all happy." Gael gives me a flickering glance. "Whatever the circumstances." He gives Lindor a poke. "Be nice to your sister now, Lindor." He heads off to the banquet table.

"I suppose Elora is Lindor's sister now, isn't she?" says Vlindra thoughtfully. "In a sense. Don't you think, Albia...?"

I hardly hear her. I'm frowning after Gael. Does he suspect...? With an effort, I turn back. Even if he does, Gael won't use his suspicions to harm me. He's not the type.

Still, the thought's enough to cast a shadow on the moment. I hunch over Elora, as though trying to protect her from the stoop of a hawk.

I think again of my mother, and a fierce fear and determination seize me: I can't let anything happen to this child. I can't let anyone bring her harm. Not Barathalion, not anyone. Ever.

"Hey." Valindra's voice calls me back. She nudges me. "None of that now. This is a happy day."

I pull myself together and nod. She's right. I hoist up a smile and greet the next well-wisher.

Later, when I'm following Valindra home, Lindor grizzling over her shoulder while Elora sleeps in my arms, I think again of Barathalion and tighten my grip on my daughter. If Barathalion ever learned of her, he'd stop at nothing to get his hands on her.

Fathering a child—even illegitimately, on a mortal girl—would raise his chances of inheriting the throne astronomically. He'd snatch her away the instant he found out about her, parade her around the High Court as his daughter. His miracle child.

He'd be King Elbauthin's favoured son, right at the head of the line for succession. He'd brag endlessly about how he fathered a child and his brothers didn't. The courtiers would be all over him. He'd be unassailable.

But Barathalion doesn't know about Philomel. And he never will.

It was common knowledge at Court that Elbauthin has been getting impatient with his sons' infertility for a few decades now. I saw him bully Deryth and Barathalion about it a few times, like at the ball: making pointed remarks about their lack of offspring at Court functions, while the courtiers tittered and the Princes squirmed.

I felt sorry for them—then. Now, I feel nothing but malicious glee as I imagine Barathalion writhing, infuriated and helpless, before one of his father's jeers while the whole Court sneers and snickers.

Later, he'll go home, gnashing his teeth and wondering furiously how to remedy the situation, and all the while I have a beautiful little girl who he doesn't know a thing about, and never will!

Take a bite of that and chew, Lion-boy!

~Fun Fact~

Rubber bands last longer when refrigerated.

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