Page 307 of May: Bloom & Bane

“She understands better than anyone in this room,” I say softly. “That’s rather the point.”

He crosses the room like a man walking onto an ice lake, his bad leg dragging slightly more than usual. He lowers himself onto the edge of the nest. I realize with a pang that he doesn’t trust himself to hold her standing. He arranges his stitched forearms into a cradle. And then braces. All three of them brace. I lay Vaelína into his arms. Nothing happens. No hiss. No smoke. No blistering heat crawling beneath his stitches. Just a green baby-girl settling into a nest of scars and silver thread, blinking her mismatched eyes in wonder.

“It doesn’t—” He whispers. “It doesn’t burn.”

“No,” I whisper back. “I didn’t think it would.”

“Why doesn’t it burn?”

“Perhaps,” Therael says quietly from the window, “even curses know better than to touch our little blessing.”

Vaelína yawns and grips the seam of his stitched wrist.

“S-she’s holding on to me,” Damien stutters. His thumb traces once over her tiny knuckles, as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. This enormous, silver-stitched man bows his head over the daughter of the reaper he cut twelve times, and his shoulders shake. Once.

“Hey, little one.” His breath stutters. “I owe your father a debt I can never pay. But look at you. Look at what he kept.”

Nobody speaks; even Arteus has gone still against Therael’s collar.

Damien tilts his head, listening to something none of us can hear, and a watery laugh escapes him.

“Jack wants me to tell you she’s prettier than both her fathers.”

“Obviously,” Ashán says.

“And Luci—” His voice catches. Whatever Lucifer is saying takes a long moment to reach Damien’s voice. “... Luci says the wait was worth it.”

“I waited so long, I was so patient—” comes a familiar voice from the stairs.

“You threatened to climb the trellis, Saelûn*,” Andrik’s voice rumbles from somewhere behind her.

“Climb it, PATIENTLY.”

The door bursts open, and my sister is basically climbing on top of me, already crying, hands making the universal grabby gesture.

“Give me—oh my God, look at her—Eden, LOOK at her!”

“I have been, all morning.” I smile.

“Her hair!” Damien passes her to Lumi. “She has your hair, and their eyes—oh no, oh NO—she’s going to be beautiful and wild—hello, hi, little love, I’m your Aunt Lumi, or you can call me Aunt Snowdrop, or—you’ll figure something out, I’m sure. I’m your FAVORITE, we’re not letting the bunny vote⁠—”

Vaelína blinks up at her with curious, wide eyes. Lumi’s gaze snags and her mouth falls open.

“Eden. EDEN. The tiny little wing buds!”

“Aren’t they precious?” I smile.

“There are WING BUDS.” She looks up at Sage and Ashán, tears spilling over, laughing. “Andrik told me about the crib clearance. Looks like you were right.”

“We were right,” they say together, insufferably.

“Widening the crib was the correct call,” Damien adds from the corner.

Andrik’s giant form fills the doorway, lowering his antlers to clear the frame. One enormous arm curled around his chest. Bundled against all that fur, wrapped in wool with two dark curls escaping her little cap, is Eirlys. Her wide dark eyes blink around the room. Riding between Andrik’s antlers is my favorite little bunny sprite.

“He won an argument,” Andrik retorts flatly.

“CHIRP.”