Sarah
Warm, golden sunlight beats down on my skin. I blink into it, squinting against the onslaught of differing colors and the sense that I’m somewhere totally and completely unfamiliar. I’m in a bed, that’s obvious. The sheets beneath me are soft as butter and smell like roses with a faint hint of pine. A delicate lace canopy hangs from the posters of the bed, drifting in a warm spring breeze. The light–golden with hues of magenta and violet–drifts over a domed ceiling and reflects rainbows on the intricate floral wallpaper hugging the room, which is….
I sit bolt upright and hug a thick, satin duvet to my chest. Where the fuck am I?
Several windows line the far wall, the view on the other side of the glass obstructed by multicolored stained glass. I turn my head slowly toward a strange object on the bedside table. It’s no bigger than my forearm, and a pale circle of light floats over its pointed tip. Slowly, I reach out and touch the light with my finger where it disperses in a pale puff of mist before swirling back together again.
Chills like I’ve never felt before lick up and back down my spine before I throw myself out of the bed. The drop is longer than I expected. I cry out as my ankle twists to the side.
But no one runs to my aid, or better yet, barges through the wide, heavy looking wooden doors on the opposite wall from the windows. In fact, it’s totally quiet.
I vaguely remember Isaac cutting my hair free from the orrery and handing me down to Sydney. I remember being swept into sleep when Ryatt appeared, their voices mingling into a strange lullaby.
But now I’m alone.
I run my hands down my stomach, over the silken fabric of a plain, light blue night dress that brushes my ankles. A cream colored robe hangs on a hook near the door. I pad across thick, bouncy carpet that feels like heaven on my bare feet. I shrug into the robe, expecting the doors to be locked, but I slowly turn one of the knobs and silently pull it open with ease.
A small sitting room appears, washed in light that must be the sunset. A tray rests on a low coffee table between two couches, a tea kettle sending wisps of steam into the air. Vases of fresh flowers decorate the otherwise simple room. A few bookshelves hug the walls. A fireplace lies dormant, nothing decorating its hearth.
But an archway leads into another room–a foyer. Two more rooms branch off of it on either side–an office of some kind with a single desk, some empty bookshelves, and a large bathroom with a shower and clawfoot bathtub.
My heart races as I slowly edge toward what I believe are the doors leading outside of whatever this place is. Surely, these are locked.
I pull the door open and swallow back a gasp.
Gold. Gold everywhere. Alabaster columns stretch to the sky where the ceiling is covered in sweeping murals like something out of a history book. The ground is all golden tile–an intricate mural. And the corridor stretches on for what seems like forever.
Long, desperately expensive looking carpet runners stretch the length of the corridor. I stand at the center of the hallway, unsure which direction to turn. Everything looks the same. I pinch my arm as I choose to walk to the right.
Did I die? Am I in the Goddess’s palace right now, somewhere high in the heavens?
I nearly jump out of my skin when a pair of maids in pretty, starched white uniforms exit through a doorway, both of them giving me radiant smiles and slight bobs of their heads as they pass me.
I whirl to watch them walk away.
No one is stopping me from leaving the room I woke up in. No one is chasing me, yelling at me to come back, to halt.
In fact, there’s a warm feeling to this place. It’s huge, yes, wherever I am, but I feel… safe.
I shiver nonetheless, tucking my robe tight around my waist. I’m not wearing a bra. I pause in the middle of the hallway and close my eyes, wincing as I run my hands down over my hips. I’m wearing underwear, at least, but someone definitely put them on for me while I was asleep, or knocked out cold, whichever it was.
A low, guttural groan drifts down the hallway, setting all of the fine, downy hair on my body on edge. Soft whispers of encouragement follow, all female.
“I don’t give a shit. Where is he? Why isn’t he here?” Kenna’s voice is broken by exhaustion and pain.
I recognize that tone. My own cries of pain and echoes of feeling utterly, completely alone during Blake’s birth come rushing back to the forefront of my memory.
I take off at a sprint before my brain has a chance to catch up with my body, sliding to a stop in front of a door that’s slightly ajar.
Before I can push it open, another maid steps out carrying a tray full of untouched food and drinks. Her eyes are downcast and disappointed as she steps past me without a word.
Kenna’s pinched silhouette is hugged by a halo of sunlight as I slide through the door and close it with a soft click behind me. She turns her head to look at me. Her dark, wavy brown hair falling over her back and shoulders is damp with sweat. “Sarah?”
“You’re in labor,” I say stupidly. It’s painfully obvious what’s happening right now. Kenna is stooped, gripping the back of an armchair as she rides out an absolutely crushing contraction but does so with so much grace that the only telling sign is the way her belly tightens through her thin, knee-length dress.
“Grab that vase,” she says weakly, motioning to the side table next to the door.
I pick it up, confused. “Why?”
“I want you,” she breathes, her brow furrowed as pain radiates behind her glassy silver eyes, “to hit me over the head with it and put me out of my misery.”
I huff a breath and set the vase back down. “Kenna, how long–”
“Three days,” she grits out.
“Where’s your midwife?”
“Back in Veiled Valley.” She slowly straightens and clutches her back, trying to pace on unsteady feet. “Evander was called away, and I decided to come here. I went into early labor during the jump and have been suffering slowly ever since.”
“Are we in Moonrise?”
She gives me an odd look. “Did you just wake up? You arrived over a day ago.” She tries to sit down but decides against it, pacing instead. “Yes, you’re in Moonrise. Sydney is here too, somewhere. Last I heard my father and Isaac were returning to Crescent Falls to try to fetch Evander, but that was yesterday.”
My stomach hollows out. Did something happen to Evander? Is that why he’s not here right now?
“He’s fine,” she grunts, using the wall to keep steady as she paces from one side of the room to the other. “Brie is with my mom.”
“Why are you alone? I’m sure they’re midwives here.”
“I told everyone to get out and leave me alone.”
“Oh.” I start backing toward the door. “I understand.” I do, honestly. The last thing I wanted when I was this far into labor was being touched and fussed over.
I also did this on my own, though.
It was the worst feeling.
Kenna’s eyes are wet with frustrated tears as she turns to look at me and shakes her head. “Stay.”
“Okay,” I say quickly and sink into one of the armchairs.
“Evander will get here in time,” she says confidently.
I nod. “Yes, he will.”
“If not, I’m going to kill him.”
“I’ll help hide the body.”
Her eyes meet mine and her forehead creases, but she doesn’t laugh. She sucks in a breath and clutches the footboard of the huge bed in the corner of the room, rocking her hips before straining. “I think I have another day or so.”
“That’s a very long time–”
“No for a shifter. That’s my problem.” She rests her forehead against the headboard. “The women in my family always have a horrible time in labor. My grandma died and was resurrected, you know. So was my mom when I came four months early. Oh, and Mom had to stop time to give Aunt Maddy a rest before she somehow managed to deliver a nearly ten pound Ryan into the world with a head the size of a bowling ball–OUCH!” Her howl of pain echoes through my bones.
I sit absolutely still, not even daring to breathe as she rocks through the contraction.
But then a snapping sound bursts through the room. I’m out of my seat and rushing toward her at the same moment her water breaks.
“Goddess, finally,” she breathes, relieved.
“Kenna, I need to go get help.”
“Don’t bother. This is happening right now, Sarah.”
I look at her in disbelief. “You’re going to deliver this baby by yourself?”
“Well, you’re here.”
“Kenna, I’m a botanist, not a midwife!”
She looks pale as she straightens up and waddles toward one of the armchairs, cradling her stomach. “All you have to do is make sure I don’t die or bleed out. I’ll do the rest.”
This is insane. I gape at her as she rides through another contraction, then another, each coming within seconds of each other. Kenna is nearly silent, which is worrying me greatly. When she finally bellows with pain, I launch toward the door.
“Do not leave!” she begs, but I shake my head.
“I don’t know how to deliver a baby, Kenna!”
“Just hold my hand. I already sent the alert through the mind-link.” She sinks to the ground on her knees and pitches forward, thrusting a hand between her thighs. “I’m fine. It just hurts. And Evander–” she chokes on his name. It’s a desperate, painful sound. “He should be here. I wanted to wait for him. I can’t.”
Hurried voices and thundering footsteps echo from beyond the door. Kenna looks up at me, her eyes heavy and wet with tears. “Please stay, Sarah.”
“I won’t leave,” I mouth as the door opens wide and several maids rush in, followed by what I believe are healers.
But Kenna isn’t happy about this at all. “GET OUT!” she screeches at the healers in their gray robes. They whirl on their heels and dart back out of the room. “The rest of you–I need blankets, hot water, my kit from the infirmary downstairs. You, get me some tea with bloodbane and hyacinth. Go. Go now!”
Everyone funnels out and my relief wanes.
“You’re really doing this on your own, aren’t you?” I ask as I kneel by her side.
“His head is out,” she pants. I help her lay down on her back. “Get a few towels from the bathroom.”
I’m honestly impressed by this. Kenna isn’t afraid at all right now.
I come back to her side with all of the towels I can hold. I help her lay them out where she needs them. She tilts her head and screams through another contraction, her anguish bouncing off every wall.
“Where is your mom?” I ask breathlessly as she guides my hand between her legs. Sure enough, there’s a baby there.
“With Brie,” she pants, wincing. “His shoulders are stuck, Sarah. I need you to turn him.”
“Kenna, please,” I beg. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You won’t hurt me for very long,” she assures me with what I can only describe as her best attempt at a smile. “I’d do it myself but I can’t reach. I’m going to press down on my belly while you turn him, ever so–so slightly–” She screams again and I jump into action, but then the door bursts open, slamming against the wall.
Kenna sits up, her eyes flaring. “Where have you BEEN?!”
I whip my head around. Evander stands pale in the doorway beside Sydney.
“SYDNEY GET OUT!” Kenna screeches.
Sydney’s mouth pops open in a delirious smile. He claps Evander on the shoulder, who looks dirty and significantly worse for wear, and then shoves him into the room.
Sydney meets my eyes for a flicker of a second before he shuts the door behind Evander.
“Sarah, do it now,” Kenna grunts as Evander rushes toward us.
“What are you–” Evander tries to ask, but Kenna’s scream as I carefully, oh so carefully, turn her son’s shoulder just a touch.
I gasp, choking on an elated scream, as the baby slides free into my waiting hands.
“Kenna? Kenna–” Evander cries, climbing over his mate and clutching her face between his hands. “Sweetheart–”
“It’s a boy,” I say weakly, wrapping the perfectly pink baby in a towel. I pat him down vigorously while Kenna mumbles something to Evander, who relaxes, sinking back on his knees.
“You asshole,” she laughs, heaving several breaths. “I knew you’d get here in time. You just had to do it at the last second.”
Tears run down Evander’s cheeks, the biggest smile on his face as he caresses his mate’s damp, red face.
I jerk back to awareness when the baby in my arms screeches. “Uhm, what do I do now?”
Kenna remains on her back when the door opens again and a maid returns, pale and nervous, with a large medical bag in her arms. She sets it down, does a quick scan of the room, and retreats with a squeak, murmuring something about Queen Ella coming shortly.
“Cut the cord, Evander, please,” Kenna whispers as I continue to clutch the squirming baby in my arms, wrapped protectively in a towel. Evander digs through her midwifery kit and gets the tools he needs, everything shiny and exotic to my numb brain, and cuts his son free.
I promptly hand Evander the baby and scoot backward until my back bumps into the side of the long, antique-looking couch, and watch the happy couple meet their newborn son for the first time.
I barely notice Ella arriving with two healers, who quietly begin to examine Kenna, and the maids who follow with food and tea.
I jump when Ella places a hand on my shoulder. She looks remarkably casual right now in a soft dark green sweater and khaki pants, her long dark hair swept into a bun on the top of her head.
“Hi, there.”
“Can I leave now?”
She laughs, nodding. “I’m sure this was quite a surprise after coming out of a power reduction coma.”
She helps me to my feet. My legs shake like I’m the one who just had a baby. “There’s someone waiting for you outside.”