Page 32 of A Single Thread Of Hope

They were tiny. How could something be so small and hold such power over my happiness? I sat by their incubators—all three pushed close together because I was worried they’d miss each other—pumping milk, in awe. They were truly amazing.

My whole body felt like it had been in a battle. I’d won, but it had been tough. I still looked pregnant. My vagina felt like I’d stuffed it in the garbage disposal.

But the babies were worth every single moment of uncomfortableness and pain. Teron said they were small, but they were healthy, because even though they were premature, they were still Demigods, delivered by two other Demigods, with the support of an actual God. They were never going to follow normal preemie conventions, and already, they were strong enough to be bottle fed, which was a relief. It would take a lot of pressure off Teron, and it was one more major milestone they’d already conquered.

Once a day, I got to hold them, and today, I’d held all three at once. The sense of rightness wasn’t something I would everforget, even if it was terrifying and I’d been convinced I’d drop at least one.

Griff sat in the corner, constantly here, protecting the babies. Or sometimes he was here as Teron, though he was so exhausted, I was pretty sure he willingly gave up control to Griff.

All the guys took rotations sitting with me, or making me go and rest, or eat. They’d been terrified; that much had been obvious. Nate had looked so shaky, I was worried he was about to have his own medical episode.

With all of us taking turns at sitting in the nursery with the babies through the day, it meant they were never alone. I was never alone. Right now, it was Cy stretched out beside me in his human form, his sweats low on his hips as he pressed as close to me as possible on the chaise lounge.

I no longer saw the threads, and wondered if that power had been transferred to the babies. I was also curious if the threads tying me to the guys had disintegrated upon their birth—or were they still with me? I guess we wouldn’t know until the babies were older.

“It’s hard to imagine that something so tiny could have such a big responsibility to the world. I almost want to hide them from it, to ensure they live a normal life.”

Cy gave me a sad smile. “They were born from apple seeds, Wren. They were never going to have a normal, human life. But we’ll do what we can to make sure that they get to be children. That they feel safe and secure, until they’re ready to grasp their destiny.”

I sighed. He was right. “You never told me why our thread looked the way it did, by the way. I haven’t forgotten.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t think you would forget. It’s a really long story, and not particularly interesting.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Before…” When he said that, I intrinsically knew he meant the time before the fall of the Minoans. Before the old Goddess had died, and the Minotaurs had perished. “I didn’t always live on Crete. My mother was a princess here, and my father liked the lifestyle of the island—so much more relaxed than the mainland—so while I grew up here, and it was my home, I was equally as tied to Greece and their Mythics. So I wandered a little while. I met my siblings, and when I tell you there were a lot of them, I mean it. More came after the great war, and there are some I’ve never met, but the older ones I made an effort to spend time with.”

“Like Clee?”

He nodded. “Yes, Asclepius, and his adopted father, Chiron. He was a centaur.” My eyes bugged out of my head, and he let out a soft laugh. “But also, I spent a decade singing songs with Orpheus and his wife Eurydice, before the whole thing with the Underworld. I traveled all over, meeting siblings who either loved or loathed our father. I ended up in Delphi with my oldest brother, Delphos. That’s where the course of my life changed forever.”

Pulling me closer, he rubbed his cheek against mine reassuringly, but I didn’t interrupt. “He told me I needed to return to Crete, that an Oracle had made a prediction, and whether or not the Minoans heeded their own prophecy, my fate would forever be tied to the island. He said that a little bird would fly in on the winds of change. If I wasn’t here when that happened, the wheel would veer, the outcome would be terrible, and I would never know true love or happiness. I’m pretty sure that last part was just the universe putting the screws to me to ensure that I stayed. An incentive, of sorts.” He smirked.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re telling me that our fates were tied long before I existed. Hell, before any of my discernible ancestors existed.”

He shrugged, his fingers stroking through the ends of my hair. “Not you-you, exactly. The idea of you, I guess. If the Fates had succeeded in diverting your fate, it would have been someone else like you. Pure and strong. Loving. Steadfast. It could have been in your lifetime, or another thousand years from now. There could have been a thousand you’s before this, each one slightly thrown off the course of their fate by some small act. We’ll never know.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips across mine, and I sat there, too stunned to kiss him back. “I’m very glad it’s you, though.”

Griff let out a menacing huff from the other side of the room, right beside the cribs. Pulling back, Cy laughed at the giant Gryphon, who could probably actually eat him in a single bite in dog form. “Sorry, big guy. You’re going to have to learn to share, but I’ll try and keep it contained to when you’re the much more reasonable human version of you.”

I had anecdotal evidence that Teron didn’t mind sharing at all.

The silence consumed us once more, and it was so comfortable. If it wasn’t for the nagging feeling in my chest that it wasn’t going to stay this way forever, I might have even been content.

“Have you decided what to name them?”

They’d been in the world two days, and I had still only named Bran. Now that I was able to see them, and hold them, I had more ideas. Everyone had bounced around suggestions, from Shanahan to Gerald to Clitus, which apparently meant splendid and famous, and was the name of some Roman soldier, but was spelled like Clitorous and sounded like Cletus. Tryp got no more suggestion chances after that one.

“Bran, for Baby One. In honor of the woman who took me in, Zelda Byrne. My dad’s name was Eric, and it doesn’t feel rightnaming him Eric, like I’m trying to replace him, so I thought Emeric was pretty close. For Baby Two.”

Cy smiled. “Both great names,” he said, brushing his lips over my shoulder again, like he couldn’t help himself. “And Baby Three?”

I shrugged. I really didn’t know. “Do you have any suggestions?”

He thought it over, standing to stare at the baby in his incubator, his head covered with a tiny knit cap. “When I was wasting endless years, waiting for you, I lived with a fisherman down by the sea. He was strong, and kind. He once ran into a burning hut to save a litter of kittens that had been living beneath his nets and tarps. Not his equipment, which would have been expensive to replace. Not his ledgers, or any of the hundreds of other things that would have made his life easier. He brought out all those kittens, and the hissing and spitting, terrified mother cat, only slightly singed.

“It was just one example of his goodness. He took me in and fed me when he thought I was just a mangy street dog. His name was Zale. It means the strength of the sea, I think. Seems fitting for a baby born on the most beautiful island in the world.”

Zale. It felt right, deep down in my chest. “Zale. I love it.” Moving to stand beside Cy, I looked down at all three babies. “Bran, Emeric and Zale. Welcome to the world, little ones.”

---