“It’s a girl,” Marius Lockwood whispered.
“A perfect little girl.”

He sat down in the chair next to his wife’s bedside. The
bundle of red blankets in his arms stirred, and a tiny hand popped out from
between the folds. He rocked the baby gently, hoping the small grunts and
whimpers wouldn’t turn into full on screaming. “Shh,” he whispered,
guiding the soft little hand toward the child’s quivering lips. After a few
tense seconds, a miniature thumb disappeared into the mouth and the squeaks melted
into small suckling noises.

“Lyonet,” he said daring a voice louder than a
whisper this time. Still, the figure on the bed didn’t stir. “Please,
love. It’s been hours. Please wake up.” He held his breath and stole a
glance at the foot of the bed for at least the thousandth time, reassuring
himself yet again that the terrifying sight from earlier was gone.

He could breathe again now. It was only a bed, only clean
blankets neatly folded over the mattress. Still, images of piles of bloody
cloth and heartrending screams assaulted him nearly every time he blinked.
Sleep might never be possible again. He cuddled the infant closer, pressing his
cheek close to her nose, just to be certain she breathed.

“How is she?” A quiet voice broke the near
silence, startling him enough that the whole chair twitched. It was only
Sabelina, the caretaker.

He looked over at the bed, trying not to cringe at the sight
of his wife’s too-pale face, and lifted one shoulder. “That woman…the
healer…she said it might be hours before she wakes…before…before we know
anything.” His voice refused to remain steady when he tried to speak, but
he no longer cared.

Sabelina finished straightening the blankets again, and came
to stand behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Where did she come
from, that healer? Who sent her?”

“I don’t know, do I? She just appeared, right when the
midwife…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. Both
of them knew what would have happened–what nearly had happened–if the
midwife had remained here alone. Marius pressed his lips together in a tight
line and, for one second, tore his eyes away from Lyonet to give Sabelina a
look he knew she’d understand.

She did. She understood the situation as well as he did.
Perhaps better. “What will it cost?”

He let out a low chuckle. “More than I can ever afford
to pay.”  The infant in his arms, his tiny daughter, moved again,
letting out a little squeak before her perfect little lips closed around her
thumb again. “But less than I’d be willing to.” He bent to kiss the
child’s soft, new forehead, inhaling deeply of her scent.

“Are you going to tell her?” Sabelina’s voice was
barely a whisper. Though she stood only inches away, he wouldn’t have been able
to hear her if he hadn’t been anticipating the question. 

He didn’t know how much Sabelina had seen, didn’t know
whether she was asking one question or two, but he moved his head slowly from
side to side one time, the only answer he had for any question at all.

If Sabelina had seen everything, then she might tell Lyonet
herself, might spill all of his secrets. He had no power over her and wouldn’t
have asked for any. She might tell, and it might destroy everything. All he
could do was hope she saw things the way he did, that she would understand why
he couldn’t tell Lyonet, why he never wanted her to know. If Lyonet lived…oh
please, Maker, let her live…he would do anything to spare her more pain.
She’d been through too much already. 

Sabelina’s hand fell warm and soft onto his back again,
landing just between his shoulder blades. Unexpected tears sprang into his eyes
and dripped down his cheeks. He moved forward, away from her comfort, and shook
his head again. He couldn’t. Not now. Lyonet could–no, was going to–wake up
at any moment now. He needed to smile, to be in a place of celebration.

The hand dropped away immediately, and he knew Sabelina
understood. “How is the tiny one?”

He turned and forced himself to smile, pulling back the
blankets from around the little face as he did. The baby was tiny, so much
smaller than Tallen had been. Smaller, even, than…no, not today. Today was
for happiness, not for mourning. But this little girl was the smallest
baby he’d ever held. She was warm and soft in his arms, though, her sweet little
face framed with a shock of black-and-red hair that stood on end, even after he
tried to smooth it down.

“May I?” Sabelina asked, extending her arms toward
the child.

He stiffened. Right now, the tiny weight of his daughter
felt like the only thing tethering him to the world.

“Never mind.” Sabelina withdrew her arms but
circled around him and leaned in close to the child in his arms, instead.
“Welcome,” she said, brushing just one finger over those soft,
colorful strands of silky hair.

The baby blinked, and then her whole face scrunched up
tightly before her whole body erupted into a giant sneeze, startling all of
them, but mostly the baby, whose eyes went very wide with confusion.

He looked at Sabelina in alarm.

This time, she didn’t touch him, although he could tell she
wanted to offer him comfort. “Babies sneeze, Marius,” she said
gently.

Did they? Even when they were healthy? He couldn’t remember
if Tallen had, if…

“Yes,” she said, as though he’d asked the question
aloud. Maybe he had. He couldn’t tell anymore. “It’s normal.”

He looked down at the tiny face. The baby looked fine. Her
eyes were clear and bright, a deep violet blue that would probably turn more
violet in time. He bent and kissed her little forehead. As he did, she wiggled
and sneezed again, right in his face.

Behind him, Sabelina chuckled.

“My baby!” The voice was strained and weak, and it
made Marius’s heart race. Clutching the infant close to his chest, he moved to
sit on the edge of the bed.

“I’m right here, Lya. It’s all right. Everything is all
right.”

“Where is my baby?” The words came out in a
panicked sob. “She’s not breathing, Marius, she isn’t breathing.”

He tried to ignore the way his own heart pounded, and his
breaths refused to come. “She’s breathing, love. She’s fine. She’s right
here.” With one hand, he brushed the sweaty strands of hair away from his
wife’s forehead and out of her still-closed eyes and his other hand to press
the tiny bundle to her chest. “She’s right here.”

It was only when the baby wriggled against her mother while
letting out a squeak far too big for something so tiny that Lyonet finally
opened her eyes. They were a shocking red color that Marius tried to ignore.
He’d only seen that color one time before, and that was the time he was not going
to think about today.

After several more panicked seconds, Lyonet’s arms finally
closed around the now-squalling infant. She sat up too fast, scooping the child
close to her and pressing her lips against the little forehead. “She’s
warm,” she whispered.

“Yes.” Marius reached for more pillows to pile
behind Lya, allowing her to sit up a bit. “She’s warm. Just like she’s
supposed to be. She’s perfect love. You’re both safe and well.”

Behind him, he could hear Sabelina opening the cabinet where
they kept the extra bedding. After a few seconds, she appeared next to the bed
with even more pillows, and soon, Lyonet was able to sit up enough to relax and
get a good look at her daughter.

“Is she…?” Lyonet peeled back the blankets
around the child, struggling to look her over, peering closely at the little
chest rising and falling.

“Shh…” Marius closed his hand over the baby’s
hair, reassuring both of them. All the motion had disrupted the child, and she
now began to fuss, her eyes scrunching in protest, her cheeks turning red.
“She’s fine. You’re fine, aren’t you little one? The midwife says she’s
perfect.” The healer had said the same thing, but, of course, he wasn’t
going to say that out loud, not now.

“Look at her,” Sabelina whispered. “She is
perfect. And good lungs, too,” she added with a chuckle as the baby let
out an ear-splitting squall.

A tiny bit of color finally filtered into Lyonet’s cheeks,
and her breathing steadied. For the first time all day, Marius felt something
like relief wash over him.

“Where is the midwife now?” Lyonet asked as she
cuddled the baby close, shushing her and kissing her downy head as the infant
relaxed in her mother’s arms, the cries quieting.

“She had another birth to attend to.” Sabelina
fluffed more pillows and arranged the blankets on the bed. “She left once
she was certain that both of you were all right. Are you hungry? You must be.
Let me go and fetch you some tea and soup.” Without waiting for an answer
she disappeared from the room. Lyonet watched her leave and then turned her
gaze to Marius.

“Is there something you’re not telling me? Are you sure
the baby is all right?” She pressed her lips to the infant’s forehead.

“She seems perfect and strong. Just like Tallen
was.”

It wasn’t enough reassurance, not for either of them. Their
first daughter, too, had seemed fine enough at her birth. For a few hours, at
least. But now wasn’t the time to think about that. Now was the time to think
about Tallen. He’d seemed fine at his birth–and he had been. He was still a
happy and healthy child. Now that this baby had survived her precarious birth,
there was no reason to believe she wouldn’t always be as perfect as she
appeared right now.

In fact, she sounded very healthy and strong indeed as she
opened her tiny pink mouth and let out a terrific squall. Marius bent to pick
her up, so he could rock her and attempt to calm her again, but Lyonet blocked
him, cuddling the child in close. “She’s hungry. She needs to be with
me.”

He hesitated. “Are you sure? You should be resting,
Lya. You need to regain your strength.”

Although her arms shook with just the effort of lifting the
child to her breast, Lyonet set her jaw and gave him a stern look. “She
has to eat, Marius. I’m all right.”

The baby’s squalls were beginning to reach deafening levels,
illuminating Lyonet’s point all too well. Rocking and bouncing weren’t going to
work this time. And, although he knew Sabelina could go into town and find
someone to feed the child if necessary, but that would take time and cause
unnecessary upset–to both the child and to his wife. And that had to be worse
than the exertion of Lyonet feeding the child herself.

So, he sat down on the bed again, where he would be able to
reach both of them if they needed him.

After a few fraught minutes, the baby’s deafening squalls
turned into contented suckling noises. Although the exertion had brought beads
of sweat to Lyonet’s still-too-pale face, the contented way she stared down at
their daughter allowed Marius to breathe easily for the first time in the last
two days.

“You almost died,” he said quietly, though he
regretted the words almost the instant they were out of his mouth. He didn’t
need to upset Lyonet any further. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“The midwife said…”

“I heard what she said, Marius.” Lyonet stared
intently at the top of the baby’s head. “I would never survive another
birth after this one.”

For several moments, he struggled to breathe again. She’d
heard. He hadn’t thought she could hear anything today. If she’d heard that,
then… He swallowed hard, trying to keep himself composed. This conversation
was difficult enough without adding to it. If she’d heard anything else, she
would let him know soon enough. He’d deal with it then. And if she hadn’t…
He’d carry the burden alone. She didn’t need it, not when he could take it for
her.

“Yes, he whispered. “She’s to be the last
child.”

They hadn’t discussed more children. After their first,
they’d stopped having those kinds of discussions about the future. Both times
since, they’d just known, finally, they were ready to try again. He knew,
though, that both of them had believed, deep down, that someday all the rooms
in the upstairs hallway would be filled. 

Lyonet’s bottom lip disappeared, but she still kept her eyes
trained on the baby–on their perfect, beautiful new daughter.

He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt much too thick.
“Well… I can’t imagine why anyone needs more than two children. A son
and a daughter make a perfectly matched set.

The words were the wrong ones. They both knew that. But
they’d also both learned long ago that sometimes there were no right words. All
he could do was bend and lock his eyes with his wife’s, praying fervently that
she would see his heart.

She blinked and gave a single nod.

“You’ve given me wonderful children, Lya. Tallen is
already preparing to take my place as a fine guildmaster, and this little
one… She’ll be the talk of every ball by the time she can walk. We’ll love
her all the more since she’s the last one.”

“You’ll spoil her all the more, you mean,” Lya
said, a tiny glint of humor in her eyes which nearly made him melt with relief.

“That too.” He bent over to kiss his daughter’s
silky hair, basking in her warm, milky, living scent. “What shall we
name her?”

Lyonet was quiet for a long time–for so long, Marius
supposed that his entire world was about to come to a screeching halt yet
again.

But finally, she gently cupped the baby’s head in her hand.
Keeping her eyes locked firmly on their daughter, not on him, she said,
“Ellarowan.”

He took several deep breaths, working to make sure his voice
was steady and calm before he spoke. “Ellarowan? You’re sure?”

“She’s to be my last child. It’s my last chance to
honor her, to remember.”

“Well, it is a beautiful name. Hello, Ellarowan.”
He bent to kiss the baby’s head once more.