“Yes, mistress.”
“Then go.”
Volusian vanished, and the room instantly returned to its previous temperature. Still, I couldn’t help a small shiver. Dorian and Maiwenn hadn’t found me, not exactly, but they’d come much closer to it than I would’ve liked. I knew sending Volusian away was the smart thing to do, but again, the question nagged at me:
Why would those two work together?
In some ways, that bothered me as much as Volusian’s visit. Time and distance had made me start to miss Dorian, and some of the old fondness was starting to return. The thought of him playing some game with Maiwenn made all of my kindly feelings start to crumble. What was he up to?
No matter how hard I tried to push it aside, it was yet another thing to keep me up at night. That, the fear of a gentry attack, and my own pining for my Otherworldly lands continued to wake me up sporadically. I spent my days exhausted, having to nap a lot in the afternoon to make up for what I missed when the rest of the world was sleeping. One night, about a week after Volusian’s visit, something else startled me out of sleep, though I couldn’t readily figure out what it was.
I lay there in the dark, panicked, stretching my senses to see what had made me wake up. There was nothing magical around, nothing out of the ordinary. I stayed awake for some time, listening and waiting, but still found nothing. I had finally allowed myself to begin to drift off again when a small pain in my pelvis brought me back to alertness. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing I’d ever experienced, but it certainly got my attention. A lot of the muscles in my abdomen and back tightened as well, and I caught my breath, waiting for it to pass. After several seconds, it did, and my body relaxed.
I rolled to my other side, wide awake now. I had no clock in my room and couldn’t say for sure how much time passed, but eventually, I felt that same muscle seizing and pain, only slightly more intense than before.
“Crap,” I said aloud.
I eased myself out of bed and turned on the light. I found some drawstring yoga pants that I put on with the oversize T-shirt I’d gone to sleep in. Trudging down the hall, I made my way to Candace and Charles’s bedroom door and knocked. She opened it in about five seconds, an athame in one hand and a gun in the other.
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, peering behind me.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But I think I might be in labor.”
“Has your water broken? Are your contractions more than five minutes apart?” Before I could even muster an answer, she turned and yelled, “Charles, wake up! Just like we practiced!”
And to my astonishment, it appeared they really
had
been practicing this. I was glad someone had because I certainly hadn’t. Most of what I knew about childbirth came from TV, when people would boil water and make bandages out of sheets. I was pretty sure modern medicine had advanced past that, but I hadn’t bothered taking any sort of labor class. There’d been too much else going on, and I figured I could always do it “later.” I’d kept telling myself I had plenty of time. In fact, that was the problem.
“It’s too early,” I said from the backseat of the Reeds’ car. Candace had taken it upon herself to drive because she was certain Charles would “follow the speed limit.” He rode in the passenger seat, carrying a bag they’d long ago packed on my behalf. “This has to be something else. I’m only ... what, twenty-nine weeks? I’ve got eleven more to go.”
“Twins come early all the time,” said Candace, in a matter-of-fact tone that made me think she’d been doing a lot of reading up on the subject.
“But why would mine?” I argued, knowing I sounded like a petulant child. “I’ve done everything right. The doctors always say everything’s fine with me.”
“Sometimes nature has its own ideas,” said Charles in that gentle way of his.
Indeed it did. When I was admitted to the hospital, the obstetrician on call was initially optimistic that they might be able to halt this labor and prolong the pregnancy, even though my contractions were picking up in frequency and intensity. Her words relieved me, even though she also mentioned something about future “bed rest” that made me uneasy. Still, that panicked voice inside me kept repeating,
Too early, too early!
If we could delay this, we had to, even if it meant me staying immobile and miserable. Health reasons were key, obviously, but there was also the simple fact that ... well, I wasn’t ready for my new arrivals just yet.
Once I was in a room and the doctor was able to examine me more closely, her story changed. “I’m afraid they’re coming whether you’re ready or not,” she told me, face serious. “I don’t know what kind of birthing plan you had, but we’re going to have to do an emergency C-section. They’re not turned the right way. Pretty common when twins come this early.”
Was she kidding? I didn’t have
any
plan, let alone a birthing one. My doctor in Ohio had also mentioned caesareans were common with twins. I admired the efficiency of the procedure but wasn’t thrilled about being cut open—or the extra recovery time. Still, wasn’t this exactly why I’d chosen to come to the human world for delivery? I’d wanted to be in the hands of modern medicine, and this was as modern as it got.
“Okay,” I said resolutely. Not that I had a choice. “Let’s do what we have to.”
Things moved quickly after that. In some ways, that was good. It gave me little time to worry because someone was constantly giving instructions or doing something to me. I was taken to an operating room with a flurry of activity, Candace by my side in scrubs. An anesthesiologist inserted something in my spine, and like that, all feeling below my waist disappeared. It was strange to say the least, but I was glad to be free of the pain of my contractions.
Whenever I thought of surgery, I thought of being knocked out and waking up later. So, even though I knew this spinal method was better, there was some part of my brain that said it wasn’t natural to be awake while people were operating on you. The medical staff erected a small curtain above my waist so that Candace and I couldn’t see what they were doing. I could feel it, though—yet had no pain from it. There was just the pressure of a knife in my skin and muscle. I winced.
“Are you okay?” asked Candace worriedly. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” I assured her, trying to put on a brave face. “It’s just ... strange.”
I had an easier time with the thought of monsters beating me up and tossing me around than calmly allowing a surgeon to cut into me. I wondered if that came from living among the gentry for so long or if it was simply my nature to resist being helpless in the hands of others.
Between the sheets and numbness, it wasn’t easy to tell how they were progressing. So, I was caught off-guard when a nurse said, “It’s the girl.”
She lifted the squirming baby up to give me a quick look, and I felt dizzier than any drug could have made me.
A girl
.
My daughter.
Everything I’d done these last seven months had been for both twins, but she had been the force that initially spurred me to action. Kiyo had given me argument after argument about how her brother was some terrible creature that couldn’t be allowed to live, yet I’d been unable to sacrifice her along the way. And now, here she was. I felt worlds away from where I’d been upon first seeing her on an ultrasound.
I had no time for further philosophical musings because they soon spirited her away. Her brother came shortly thereafter, presented to me in the same quick manner.
He made a small, piteous cry, and I tried to remember if the girl had cried or not. Everything had happened too quickly. Again, I got only a brief look before he was whisked away, with explanations of “oxygen” and “NICU.” In that momentary assessment, I didn’t see any conqueror of worlds. I only saw a baby, a very, very small one, who seemed surprised and upset to have to face what the world had in store for him.
I knew how he felt.
Even with the most intense part over, there was still more to do. There was the afterbirth to deal with, then the stitching and cleanup. My incision was stapled, and I couldn’t even fathom trying to explain that to a gentry. The entire process seemed too quick and too neatly wrapped up for its magnitude. Candace stayed as close as they’d let her throughout the whole ordeal, finally returning to my side when I was in presentable shape. She clasped her hands together, face shining.
“Did you see them?” she asked wonderingly. “Oh, Eugenie. They’re so beautiful.”
They were, I realized. My glimpses had been quick, but those images were etched permanently in my memory. I wanted to see them again, as soon as possible. I was forced to wait, though, while the staff did whatever it was the babies needed in the NICU. Tests were run, and there was nothing I could do but bide my time until the obstetrician sat down with me again.
“They’re both nearly three pounds each,” she said. “Which is fantastic. Twenty-nine weeks is definitely viable, but it’s always better the more weight they’ve got.” That would be Candace’s cooking and food agenda, I supposed. “Their lungs aren’t as developed as a full-term baby’s would be, of course, but we’re able to help with that. All in all, they’re in remarkably good shape. They’ll need to stay here for a while, but at this point, I’m really pleased with the prognosis.”
After a little more medical talk, they finally let me go to the twins. I was wheeled down, which seemed like overkill, but the nurses assured me I’d understand once some of my pain medication wore off. Candace and Charles accompanied me. He said something about having called Evan, but I didn’t pay much attention. My only thought was that the nurse needed to get me to NICU faster. When we reached it, I wasn’t fully prepared for what I found.
The twins were there, each in their own glass-encased bed. They weren’t the only things in the box. Each twin was connected to feeding tubes and a ventilator, a world of dizzying machinery. It all seemed too big and too scary for such little people. Something caught in my throat.
“I didn’t know there’d be so much ... stuff,” I managed to say.
The nurse had a kind, compassionate face. Exactly what you’d want from someone in this job. “I know the machinery’s intimidating, but don’t focus on that. Focus on what it’s doing. It’s helping make sure they’ll both get healthy and strong so they can go home with you.”
I gave a weak nod and hastily ran a hand over my eyes. Had I really been afraid of these two? And how could anyone have wanted to harm them? They were so tiny, like little dolls, and looked so terribly helpless. I felt guilty and ineffectual, like I should have done something to delay their birth. Or like I should be doing something
now
. I was their mother. Wasn’t it my job to protect them? I supposed, so far, I had, but now it was out of my hands.
They didn’t look like the downy, cherublike babies on TV. There was a fragility to their limbs, hands, and feet that, again, reminded me of dolls. Their skin was pink and blotchy, yet I could tell I was the parent they’d taken after. They had my coloring and didn’t appear to have inherited any of Kiyo’s features. Small blessings.
“What will you call them?” asked Charles.
Unlike everything else in this ordeal, I actually had an answer for that. My long days had given me a lot of time to ponder names, which were a much safer mental challenge than the rest of my life. It would be nice to say I’d come up with really symbolic names or names of great people who’d left some impact on my life. Nope. It was a much simpler matter than that. I simply gave them names I liked. Ordinary names. The kinds of names a person shaped—not ones that shaped a person.
“Ivy and Isaac,” I said. I was a fan of alliteration.
Candace and Charles seemed pleased by the choices. I’d once heard her go off on “the ridiculous things people name their children these days,” so I think she was relieved I hadn’t made up some weird monstrosity for them.
“These are amazing times we live in,” she said, looking down at Ivy. “Imagine having these little ones a hundred years ago. What would’ve happened then?”
Or, I thought, what would’ve happened if they’d been born in the Otherworld? Because I had to assume they would’ve come early there too, in a position not suitable for natural birth. Dorian had seemed confident of his healers’ magic to handle anything, but I wasn’t so sure—especially considering the gentry track record with infants. I couldn’t believe anything the Otherworld could offer would match the care the twins were getting now. And I knew in that moment that everything I’d been through—turning my back on the Otherworld, coping with boredom, keeping away from magic—had all been worth it.
I gazed at my children and sighed happily. “We’re exactly where we need to be.”
Chapter 10
The next few weeks were surreal, and for the first time since coming to Alabama, I no longer worried about the Otherworld or filling my time. Isaac and Ivy consumed my life.
Not that there was much I could do for them. They were in the hands of the doctors and NICU nurses. Initially, I was able to pump breast milk for the twins to supplement the high-calorie formula they were also being fed. I was a little weirded out by being hooked up to a machine, but it was worth it to feel like I was contributing something. In time, it became clear I was one of those women who simply couldn’t produce milk very well, and I wondered if it was the result of my half-gentry heritage, since their women often had similar problems. Regardless, after two weeks, I stopped my attempts, and the twins went on a strictly formula diet. Some of the nurses tried to reassure me that the best antibodies came in the early days and that I’d done a good job in giving what I could. I knew current thinking recommended breast-feeding for much longer, however, again making me feel woefully inadequate.
So, my contribution simply became frequent, daily visits. I watched my children and the machines that supported them, silently counting each breath and heartbeat. I liked to think that Isaac and Ivy could sense my presence, even from inside their boxes. Maybe that was just wishful thinking, but it gave me some hope. I was rarely alone in my visits. One of the Reeds was almost always with me, and I took comfort from that too.
It was probably one of the most stressful times in my life, but progress was made in tiny, agonizing steps. The twins’ prognosis remained good, and before long I was allowed to touch them inside their compartments. The first time I did it, brushing Ivy’s hand, was like a miracle unfolding before me. I was certain I’d never felt anything so soft. And as the one-month mark neared, I was told Isaac and Ivy might have to stay for only one more month, based on their progress. I barely heard that part because it was immediately followed by two pieces of good news. The doctors expected the ventilators to come off soon and also that the twins would be in good enough condition that I could hold them.
“I can’t even imagine that,” I said to Evan as he drove me home that evening. “From the minute they were born, they’ve been these fragile, unreal little things.... To be able to hold them ...” I sighed and leaned my head back. “I can’t wait.”
He flashed me a quick smile. “I hope you’ll let the rest of us have a turn.” I smiled back. In the beginning, I’d thought his visits were simply as a kindness to me. Soon, I’d realized he was coming to regard the twins with as much affection as his aunt and uncle did. He’d gaze at them wonderingly, eyes shining as he let himself get lost in thought.
“Well, there are two of them,” I joked. “The problem might be having enough hands to hold them.”
“Not in this family,” he said, chuckling. “You’re going to have to fight us off.”
We reached Candace and Charles’s house, and I felt like I was floating ten feet off the ground. My mood was brighter than it had been in some time, and my physical condition was equally good. Spending so much time sitting and waiting had given me a chance to heal from most of the side effects of surgery. My staples had been removed ages ago, and I’d even gone back on birth control pills out of habit, though sex was pretty far off my radar just now. The waiting and inactivity were probably the only positive parts of the twins being confined to the NICU. I had no doubt that had things been different with them, I would’ve been out foolishly taxing my body long before its time.
“Looks like a visitor,” said Evan, turning the car off.
I followed his gaze. I’d been so consumed by my own joy that I hadn’t even noticed a strange car parked in the driveway. It was nothing I recognized, though I did spot a rental sticker on it. I wasn’t particularly concerned, since Candace’s clients sometimes came by in person. Plus, if there’d been some danger, I knew she would have called us and warned us away.
We walked inside, and I could hear voices from the kitchen. I practically sprinted in, anxious to share the good news with Candace and Charles. Like Evan had said, I had no doubt they’d be lining up to take their turns holding the twins. When I entered the kitchen and saw who was there, though, I came to an abrupt halt. My happy words faltered on my lips, but a few seconds later, a new joy spread through me.
“Roland!”
I hurried into his arms, and he gripped me tightly. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him. The Reeds had become an adoptive family to me, but they could never replace Roland and my mom. Not having those two around during this part of my life felt strange and wrong sometimes.
When he finally released me, I saw his eyes were wet with emotion. “It’s good to see you,” he said gruffly. “We’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too,” I said, feeling very young. “And Mom.”
Introductions were made with Evan, and then we all sat down at the table. Pictures of the twins were scattered everywhere. The NICU had been no deterrent to Candace, who brought a camera nearly every day.
“I heard the good news,” Roland said. “I’m so happy for you. They’re beautiful.”
“And we got some good news about them today.” How could I have forgotten my big announcement? As expected, Candace and Charles were delighted at the thought of holding Isaac and Ivy. “You need to come see them,” I added to Roland. “We could go back tonight. Or in the morning. How long will you be around?”
It was at that moment, as the question left my lips, that I realized something. Roland wasn’t supposed to be here. That had been an unquestionable part of the plan from its inception. Roland could be tracked, and no matter how much we might miss each other, distance was the safest option. I met his eyes and could tell he knew what I had just realized.
“Not sure,” he said vaguely. “But I can definitely make time to see them.” His evasive answer didn’t surprise me. His presence must mean there’d been some Otherworldly development, and that wasn’t a topic we could discuss with the Reeds. A glint in his eye told me we’d talk about it later, and I gave a quick nod of understanding.
Dinner was requisite, of course, and conversation shifted to happier topics, like the twins and Candace’s cooking. I couldn’t get enough of talking about Isaac and Ivy, yet at the same time, a nagging feeling dimmed some of my joy. Roland being here couldn’t be a good thing.
Our chance to talk finally came later when Evan left and Candace and Charles settled down to watch the evening news. Roland and I went on a walk around the Reeds’ vast property, ensuring we’d have ample privacy.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “I’m glad you’re here—you have no idea how glad—but there must be a reason you’d risk someone from the Otherworld following you.”
Roland sighed and came to a halt beside a pecan tree. “That’s the thing. There’s no risk because no one’s trying to find you anymore.”
I stared incredulously. “What? That’s ... that’s impossible. Of course they are. Kingdoms were on the verge of war because of me.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “They’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
“Bigger things than the divisive prophecy saying my son will lead their armies into conquering this world?”
“Amazingly, yes.” He gazed up at the starry sky, gathering his thoughts. “I guess it started ... oh, I don’t know ... a month or maybe a month and a half ago. It seems the Otherworld—or rather, large parts of it—were struck by a blight.”
“What does that entail exactly?” I asked. For some reason, “blight” made me think of barren fields and locust plagues.
“Winter,” he said bluntly. “Perpetual winter. And not just any winter—pretty much the worst you can imagine. It came without warning. Steady snow and frigid temperatures that kill people and crops. I wouldn’t have believed it until I saw it myself.”
“Which kingdoms?” I asked, frowning. Most of the lands remained in a permanent climate—a pleasant one—like mine and Dorian’s kingdoms. Some monarchs did have their kingdoms cycle through four seasons, but they did so with the same kind of preparation that we did in the human world, making sure there were provisions put aside for the winter. Maiwenn’s kingdom was like this.
Roland’s face was grim. “All of them. At least, most of the ones in your ‘neighborhood.’ Some farther-out ones were spared, but everything you know was struck.”
The implications didn’t hit me immediately, and when they did, I wasn’t sure I believed them. “You don’t mean ... not ... not
my
kingdoms.”
His only answer was a nod.
“That’s not possible. I mean, the Thorn Land’s a desert! And besides, I would know... .” Yet, even as I spoke, I wondered if that was true. Would I know? I had removed myself from the land, leaving it to Jasmine’s care. I didn’t connect with it in a deep way anymore. All I had was that steady humming that told me my bond to my kingdoms was in place—a bond, I realized, that had felt numb recently. I’d written it off to distance or Jasmine’s caretaking. “It’s not because of Jasmine, is it? Like, did the land not accept her?”
“You’re missing the point again, Eugenie. It’s
everywhere.
Yours. Dorian’s. Everyone’s.”
“Dorian’s ...”
That was what really drove the point home. Despite Roland’s words, there was some part of me that could still blame my absence for the blight in my own lands. Other kingdoms’ suffering could be written off to weak monarchs. But Dorian? Dorian was strong. His bond to his kingdom was rock solid, his control of it absolute. If there was any monarch whose power would protect his land against impossible odds, it would be Dorian, followed closely by Maiwenn.
“Oh my God,” I said. “That’s what they wanted, isn’t it? Dorian and Maiwenn summoned Volusian to come to me with some message, and I sent him away. I thought it was a ploy, but it wasn’t—was it? They were trying to tell me about this.”
“Most likely,” agreed Roland. “I hadn’t heard about that. Dorian only recently got in touch with me to convince me to come over and see it for myself. Then he begged me to let you know what was happening.”
“Dorian doesn’t beg,” I murmured, still stunned.
Roland stared off into the shadows, his face troubled. “Under most circumstances, I wouldn’t have told you. People can’t live in cold like that, and those who survive have no food. You know how I feel about the gentry. But when I actually saw it ... the death and sickness. Well. I don’t know, Eugenie. I don’t like them, but no one should suffer like that. Not even the gentry.”
I sank down to the grass, mostly because I felt exhausted in mind rather than body. My lands. My kingdoms were suffering ... had been suffering for a long time ... and I hadn’t known. Maybe I could leave Otherworldly politics behind. Maybe I could even leave my enemies behind. But the land was part of me. I was responsible for it, and I had failed it.
“I don’t know what I can do,” I said. “Even if I went back ... I mean, if Dorian and Maiwenn haven’t come up with any ideas, I’m not sure I could do better.”
“They mentioned something about uniting powers to attempt to break the spell.... I didn’t really follow that, though.” Roland’s tone conveyed that even if he pitied the gentry for their suffering, their magic was still something he had no use for. “Dorian also has some ideas about who’s responsible.”
Of course he would. Even if his own magical attempts proved ineffectual, Dorian wouldn’t sit idly by. He’d try to solve this mystery. My knowledge of the situation was limited, but I tried to figure out where his thought process might go. I jumped back to one of Roland’s earlier comments, about how some outlying kingdoms hadn’t been affected.
“Who isn’t under the blight?” I asked. “You said a few weren’t.”
“The Yew Land is one,” said Roland, looking surprised at my leap. “That’s who Dorian thinks—”
“—is responsible?” I guessed.
“How did you know that?”
“Because as much as I hate to admit it, I know how Dorian thinks. If some places were affected and some weren’t, I’d look at the unaffected ones too.”
“That’s what Dorian said.” Roland didn’t look pleased that I could “think like Dorian,” and I could definitely understand his dismay. “But that’s not all. Apparently, they’re making quite a profit off of food. Their land—and I guess their, what, subsidiaries?—are still able to grow and produce food, and they have no qualms about selling it to the stricken lands at very, very high prices.”
I was aghast. “That’s terrible.”
Roland shrugged. “But some of the monarchs are willing to pay, rather than see their people suffer. And it’s better than the alternative... .”
I looked up sharply at his ominous tone. “What alternative?”
“Stealing.”
“From the Yew Land?” I certainly didn’t endorse theft but was surprised Roland would care one way or another about gentry stealing from each other.
“No,” he said. “From humans. There are gentry who have been raiding our world for food and supplies.”
I gaped, unable to immediately form a response. I knew better than to say “that’s impossible” again, but it was still hard to believe. “If there were elementals going on food rampages, I think I would’ve heard about that. They’re not exactly subtle, and there are only a handful of gentry who can cross over in true form.” Dorian was one, but I knew with absolute confidence he’d never lower himself to that.