The baby kicks again. I wince. “Speaking of our luck, the little one will be born tomorrow in the middle of the celebration, with the way they’re acting now.”
“That is lucky, indeed.” He gives me a careful squeeze. “A spring equinox baby is one born right as the seasons turn again. It’s a fortunate birth.”
“If you say so.” I wander out from his arm, moving down the line of lanterns to the spring. I’ve descended those stone steps several times over the past five years. It’s tempting to reach down and run my fingers along the surface, but in my current state, I’m just as likely to fall in head-first. My balance seems permanently altered with this pregnancy. It hasn’t been a bad experience, but I won’t pretend I’m not looking forward to a time when my body is my own again.
“Let’s go back. If you want—”
“I do not need you to carry me.” I take a step toward him and freeze as something warm and wet gushes down my legs. I can tell the moment Sol understands what happens because he goes so still, I’m not certain he’s breathing. True fear rushes to the fore. My water just broke. The dragon midwife has talked me through this process time and again, arguing with Lenora, the human witch Ramanu showed up with one day. They don’t agree on anything about this pregnancy and the inevitable birth…except that the babe will be born mostly human and develop more dragon-like features as they get older. That should be reassuring, but there hasn’t been a dragon baby born by a human in generations.
“Sol, I need you to carry me back to the keep. Now.”
He bursts into motion, sweeping me carefully up and sprinting back toward the keep. That’s when the cramps that had been faintly plaguing me for what feels like days suddenly ramp up.
Sol practically kicks down the door, nearly taking out Lenora in the process. The dark-haired witch takes us in with wide eyes and then snaps at Sol, “Get her to the birthing room.” She turns and starts roaring for the midwife.
The less said about the birthing process, the better. There were moments when I thought it would last forever and moments when time passed too quickly. In some ways, it was easier for me than for Sol, because I was too focused on getting our child out of me to worry that I might not survive the event.
Several hours later, Lenora’s dark hair was plastered to her sharp face as she snarled at me to push one more time, Goddess damn it. It was enough. My child was born just after midnight on the spring equinox.
Lucky girl.
Sometime later, Lenora and Birch, the dragon midwife, have slipped from the room, leaving Sol and I alone with our daughter. She’s a strange little thing, all wrinkles and little hissing cries; as promised, she looks mostly human. When I first saw the blue tones, I thought she wasn’t breathing. It was only when Sol thrust the baby close to my face that I realized the blue was actually little downy scales. Aldis says blue is a lucky color, one that’s just as rare as my natural red hair in humans. Our daughter lies across my bare chest, silent at last as she sleeps.
I thought I knew love before. Terror. Protectiveness. It’s nothing like what rises inside me now. I look up and meet Sol’s gaze, seeing those feelings reflected in his dark eyes. A tear trickles out of the corner of my eye. “Tears really aren’t only for sad times, are they?” I sniff. My voice is raspy and almost weak. “We did it. She’s perfect.”
“You both are.” He smooths a hand across my temple. “Rest, Briar. I’ll watch over you.”
Exhaustion pulls at my eyelids, but I still manage to scoot over in the large bed and pat the space next to me. “Come here.”
He edges into the space and then carefully gathers me and our daughter to him. His heat soaks through my tired body. It’s almost enough to put me to sleep. But there’s one last thing to do before I can rest. “What should we name her?”
It’s an argument we’ve enjoyed having from the moment we found out I was pregnant. Occasionally words would get heated as we debated names, but we never landed on one that we both liked enough to short list it.
“I have an idea.”
I don’t have the strength to tense as his tentative tone. “Yes?”
“Hyacinth.” He brushes a thumb over our baby’s head. “It’s the only flower we’ve found that grows in both realms. Not a rose, but—”
My chest goes tight and hot. “I love it.” I wouldn’t want her to be named Rose after my last name. No matter how happy I am now, it doesn’t change that I left that part of me behind when I left the human realm. This is different, better. A way to honor both of her parents’ origins. “Hyacinth,” I whisper. “We have a great new world to show you.”