She pounds again, shaking the door with her fury. “I want to see my husband. Now!”
“He’s not here,” I repeat.
“I swear to all the gods,” she shouts. “If you don’t open this door, I will ram it down.”
Moonlight trickles through the windows as I step back and eye the sturdiness of the door. It won’t come down without a battering ram.
“Good night, Briley.” With determined hands, I tie my dressing gown tighter and turn toward my bedroom.
“Sol,” she calls out, her tone desperate. “Please, I cannot give birth without my husband.”
Oh, the sky above. I cannot do that to her.
With the dagger still secured in my hand, I unlock the door and ease it open. Torchlight bathes a petite woman in an orange glow. She holds it higher, revealing her rounded abdomen and the coat of sweat on her forehead.
Her long red hair streams out like ribbons behind her as she hurries into the cottage and jerks her gaze around. “Where is he?”
As I turn to face the bedroom door, it opens, and Praxis fills the opening. Briley rushes to where he stands and embraces him. They pull apart the moment she lets out a loud moan and bends in half.
The warrior’s eyes widen as he reaches for his wife. “Briley, are you all right?”
“No,” she says between pants. “I’m going to have this child tonight.”
“Sol, will hel—”
Briley throws up her hand and speaks in a rush of harsh words. “I don’t want Kyanite scum to touch me.”
Before I muster a reply, she lets out another loud moan. Uncertainty fills Praxis’ eyes as they dart to me. I push aside my frustration at having been awakened during the night and hurry to where they stand.
“You don’t have time to leave.” Without waiting for her reply, I take her by the arm and guide her to the spare bedroom.
Worry drums against my heart, not because I doubt my ability to help her. I have attended hundreds of births. Instead, I dread something bad happening and her blaming me simply because I’m a Kyanite.
She settles on the bed and curls her fingers around the bedcovers as she grunts and bears down.
Hades! She’s already pushing.
Forgetting my worries, and her hatred for me, I move into healer mode, yanking up her nightdress and dressing gown to prepare for the child.
“Grab cloth,” I say to Praxis.
He fetches a clean cloth and returns to Briley’s side, holding her hand and encouraging her.
On her fourth push, she delivers a tiny baby, and I bring him to her stomach.
Tears fill Briley’s eyes as she touches his red hair. “My baby.”
I work on cutting and tying the cord as Praxis reaches for a cloth and lays it over his son.
“Rub his back,” I say.
Praxis follows my order, rubbing the linen against the boy’s back. After a moment, the tiny infant’s wails pierce the small cottage.
“Oh, Praxis,” Briley says as she brings the child closer. “He’s perfect.”
Gauging the quickness of the birth, I wonder if she has more children. Most women push for a long time to deliver their first. I shove aside those thoughts as I take in the sight of mother, father, and child. It never gets old—welcoming a new life into the world.
“Praxis.” Happiness shines in Briley’s eyes as she raises her son’s arm. “He has the birthmark.”
