Richelle Mead Dark Swan Bundle: Storm Born, Thorn Queen, Iron Crowned & Shadow Heir (103 page)

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Authors: Richelle Mead

BOOK: Richelle Mead Dark Swan Bundle: Storm Born, Thorn Queen, Iron Crowned & Shadow Heir
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“As my mistress wishes,” Volusian replied. “Do you have any further commands for me then?”
“Just the same ones as before. Avoid the Otherworld. Don't come here again. Unless ...” Inspiration hit. “If they try to summon you, come here immediately if you're able.” I didn't know if Dorian and Maiwenn would attempt the feat again, but it would require a complicated set of spells. If Volusian could get to me first, I could probably strengthen our bond to prevent others' influence. “Come to me if
anyone
attempts to summon or compel you. Do you understand?”
“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.

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