Rune and Ruin

9 - Flail

391 B.C. - City of Caere, Coast of the Tasurian Peninsula, Spring, Month of Maius

Thania

Have they never seen a babe before?

I am certain the gods have never been so... flippant... before. Their voices had started as a whisper, many many years ago, when I was only as high as my papa's waist. It grew stronger until it became a deep, echoing tone. That, I believe, was a proper portrayal of the divine beings that control us poor, pathetic mortals.

Ever since the Falx came striding back into my life, the voice has gained clarity, as if the gods are standing right next to me. Hearing them still makes me tired, but it's not the overwhelming, knee-weakening exhaustion of before.

And... the voice is a woman, who seems to find humor at the most inconvenient of times.

Sometimes, I wonder if I've lost my sanity. Maybe this is all some delusion of a broken mind. Perhaps I died on the warmarch? After all, it seems utter madness to think that an Acera slave, a nobody, unimportant, was chosen to bed the Warlord of Rune, the Fyrrin, and then ran away to bear his child in secret, and then-

Wake up, Thania. You're missing it.

I force my eyes to open. They feel as if they've been glued shut with honey, and my mouth is as dry as dirt on the hottest summer day. It tastes similar, too. One side of my body is burning hot from head to toe, the other is too cold except for one toasty spot near my hip. I try to curl more tightly into the warmth, but my limbs won't cooperate.

"There's Mama," I hear a dark, low voice croon. "Wake up, sweetheart. You must be hungry and thirsty."

I peer up into a pair of honeycomb-brown eyes twinkling with amusement. It takes a long moment to place the handsome, angular face. "See, Mama is awake, now." Lord Tems murmurs. I turn my head, which takes far too much effort, to find my daughter nestled in her father's arms, sitting stretched out on the bed on my other side.

Oh, yes. Then, the Warlord has returned and is holding my babe in hands able to crush her into nothing more than dust, his massive arms practically hiding my daughter from view.

I can't tell if Falx is angry. He's partially shifted, with scales running up and down his arms, across his neck, and over the backs of his hands. His wings are folded against his back. His horns are curling from the top of his head... but his claws are retracted and my eyes are too blurry to make out the color of his irises. He's ready to toss himself into battle, but this is typical for most of the past week.

A frown crosses his face as Leda starts to whine and squirm.

"She wants to play," I hear myself say faintly, recognizing the mutinous look in Leda's bright blue eyes.

"What does she enjoy, love?" Falx asks me in a voice even deeper than Lord Tems. I don't miss how his scale-plated, obscenely large biceps tighten just the slightest bit as if I'm going to snatch Leda from him.

Or, maybe he's flinching from her tiny teeth seeking purchase on those rock-hard scales.

"Leda, no biting," I say faintly. I glance around slowly, feeling as though my head is stuffed full of wool. I finally manage to blurt out. "She loves to swim."

"It's too cold." A voice harsher than the worst winter day draws my attention. General Quintus frowns from the corner of the room where he's lurking, arms crossed over his chest, scales dark as onyx blending with the shadows.

"Leda is Tasuri," Falx murmurs. "She has her fire to heat her blood." Leda begins to slap both her palms on his arm, over and over.

"She's only a babe," Lord Tems protests, just as General Quintus snaps, "she's a hatchling."