David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

After saying his piece, the merchant turned to leave.

“And by the way, Master DuTaureau,” he called out over his shoulder before disappearing into one of the adjacent hallways. “I know you think yourself ugly, but you are not. You are simply different. Remember that.”

And then he was gone. Patrick shook his head, looked to make sure no one else was coming to stall him, and exited through the mansion’s back door. The early afternoon air kissed his flesh, pricking his neck. It was a cool day, the humidity bearable for once. It will get much colder soon , he thought, and the memory of Mordeina’s frigid winter nights made him wrap his oversized arms around himself.

He strolled through the rear courtyard until he found Rachida sitting on a wooden bench, tossing bits of bread into the stream that lolled along lazily behind the Gemcroft mansion. Gulls, geese, and whippoorwills-the latter of which were thankfully silent, as their incessant nightly tweeting had brought him close to insanity on many an evening-swooped down, snatching the bits of bread from the water, swallowing each in a single gulp.

Rachida was, of course, a vision of splendor. On this day she wore a simple white dress that flowed around her body like the water in the stream below, hinting ever so slightly at the exquisite shape hidden beneath. Her dark hair draped lazily over her shoulders, and a stray sunray pierced the canopy above, shining only on her shoulder, turning the wisp of hair that rested there a brilliant gold.

She didn’t look up as he approached, keeping her focus on feeding the birds. Patrick dropped his sword onto the grass, slid onto the bench beside her, and sat back. It was amazing that he still felt comfortable around her after their excursion to the temple, but it was true. Every other woman he had lain with had treated him differently afterward, whereas Rachida acted as if nothing had changed. He appreciated that, but sometimes he wondered if it were truly better. It was as if their time together was so unmemorable that it had been wiped from her memory altogether. And seeing the way she acted with Moira, the way the two women brushed up against each other, their gazes lingering far too long, made her lack of interest in him all the more painful.

Some things are for the best , he thought.

Patrick shivered and leaned forward, waiting for her to make the first move. She did, slowly turning her head toward him, gazing on him as if she were busy contemplating one of life’s grand mysteries.

“What did they say?” she asked.

“Deacon told me to meet him later,” he replied. “I will fetch the mare this evening and be on my way.”

“That’s too bad,” she said. “I will miss you.”

“All my ladies claim that,” Patrick said with a chuckle. “I never believe them.”

Rachida paused for a moment and began rubbing her stomach.

“You do understand that we will likely never see each other again?” she said, her alluring eyes staring blankly ahead. “You will go and live your life in Paradise, and I will die here, defending my home from whatever may come.”

“That’s…that’s nonsense,” Patrick said, a lump rising in his throat. “You aren’t staying here. You aren’t fighting. Your husband is bringing you to his estate in the Pebble Islands. He told me as much only a few minutes ago.”

She laughed, though it was a humorless sound.

“Yes, Peytr tries to play the nobleman. He will demand I come, but when I decline, he will go off with his lover, Bryce, leaving me behind with only a token argument.”

Patrick shook his head. “But why are you staying?” he asked, incredulous. “And why were you in such a rush to get pregnant if you were planning to simply throw it all away a month later?”

She shrugged. “I am an idealist. I never thought it would come to this.”

“But what will you gain from your obstinacy? You owe these people nothing!”

“Oh, but I do. I owe Moira my love, and I refuse to leave her to die.” She glanced down at her hand, which still rubbed the satiny fabric over her belly. “And I refuse to run from my home, and the home of my child. Should I die protecting Haven, at least he will die with me without having to exist in a world where men and women are slaves to the ones that created them.”

Patrick froze.

“Your child?”

She looked at him then, and her eyes blazed with compassion. “Yes, my child, Patrick. The one you gave to me.”

“You mean…it actually worked?”

Grabbing his hand, she guided it until it rested atop her stomach. His fingers slid over the fabric, feeling the hint of flesh underneath.

“Yes, Patrick. The spell worked. Your seed found purchase, and now a life is growing inside me. Here, let me show you.”

She reached up with her free hand and gently touched him on his right temple. She closed her eyes and began breathing heavily, muttering words he didn’t understand.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered as bright light assaulted Patrick’s vision. “And see.”

He did, and he saw what was inside of her, a tiny, beating heart within a clump of matter the shape of a bean. The bean rested within a nest of fluid, surrounded by a clear wall that contained an interconnected web of pulsing red lines. The image overwhelmed him. Never before had he seen life in the way he was seeing it now, and his heart filled with joy.

A child , he thought. A son. I have been granted a son.

Rachida pulled her fingers away from him, and the image shattered. He was once more in the rear of the courtyard, sitting on the bench before the stream. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he looked blindly at the splendor all around them. He reached out for her, but she backed away. His hand fell from her stomach, whacking against the wooden bench with a thud .

“The child is yours, but it is not,” Rachida said, and he sensed she was trying to remain firm for some reason.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

She glanced down and began to rub her stomach again.

“This child, this miracle, is to be the only one of his kind, the offspring of two opposite yet equally perfect bloodlines. He will be a great leader of men, and he will carry Peytr’s name. Should we prevail when Karak comes for us, should we win our freedom, my son will be the one who leads humankind to greatness. It will be his destiny.” She looked at him then, and her front teeth bit into her plump lower lip. “I mean no disrespect, Patrick. You must understand. Peytr knows of our tryst, and he knows of my pregnancy, and he is at peace with it. Given his desires, he never wished to put a child in me, but he is more than happy to have an heir. However, only the three of us-you, my husband, and myself-know what actually transpired, and it must stay that way, for the good of the people our son will one day lead. Do you understand?”

Patrick shook his head. In truth, he didn’t. It tore him up inside. The impossible had happened, and he’d sired a child. Two of the different First Families had intermixed to create a life. Yet now, when he could finally have a son of his own, he was being told he must not have anything to do with it? Was this his lot in life, to remain a timeless freak who would forever be alone? Not even his child would know him. And if Rachida insisted on following the path she had chosen, the boy would never reach the light of day. He looked at her, saw the determination in her eyes, and knew he could never deny her what she wished. If it was to be his destiny to be immortal and lonesome, then so be it.

Unless…

“I don’t care what you say,” he said. “You’re leaving.”

“What?”

“The only thing that matters is that this child lives. You will leave with Peytr, you will find safety on the islands, and you will only return if and when it is safe to do so.”