Page 32 of The Storm
Sometime around dawn the next morning, Renata sang a soft song about Midwinter Night and the stars shining from the heavens. It was a song of praise and thanksgiving and hope for longer and brighter days ahead.
Outside of battle songs, it was the first time Max had heard her sing.
Chapter Seven
“Why are we doing this?” She tromped up the hill behind the house.
“Because it’s a lovely tradition, it’s cheerful, and if we don’t get some fresh air in the next few hours, we’re going to be out of luck for the next day.”
Renata could see the storm clouds moving across a distant ridge. Max was right. They’d slept through the early morning and woken together when the sun was high. And though it was shining off the newly fallen snow at the moment, by evening another wave of the storm would be on them.
“Christmas trees are a human tradition.”
“So?” Max grinned. “Irin already cut branches to bring in the house for Midwinter. This is just… a little more greenery.”
“It’s a tree. In the house.” Even though she didn’t quite understand why Max wanted to participate in the human tradition of a Christmas tree, she nevertheless scanned the slopes for a suitable specimen. “Is this Ava’s doing?”
Ava was mated to Malachi, one of Maxim’s brothers. They lived together in Istanbul at the scribe house, but Ava had grown up in the human world and still identified strongly with it, even after discovering her magic.
“Ava started it a few years ago in Prague, right before the babies were born, but we kept it up. The children like it, and it’s cheerful.” Max put his hands on his hips and squinted at the snow-covered slopes. “We often have to drive quite far for a tree at home, but there are so many here.”
“Yes, the humans here have their pick of trees to kill.” She walked over to one that looked appropriate. “This one?” It was a few inches taller than she was and would reach nearly to the rafters.
Max said, “Are you sure you want one that big?”
“If we’re going to cut one, we shouldn’t cut a small one.” She cocked her head. “And this will smell lovely in the house. I do love the smell.”
He walked around the tree, and Renata watched him as he examined it. He’d wrapped up in his parka and boots, leaving his head bare because they weren’t walking far. His dark blond hair shone in the sun, and his skin, naturally pale, was ruddy and sun-kissed.
Max had always been one of the most attractive men she’d ever known. All Irin were naturally handsome because of their angelic blood, but even among them, Max stood out.
He caught her watching him. “What?” He brushed his hair. “I was crawling in the brush.”
Renata shook her head. “You don’t have anything in your hair.”
He frowned. “Then—”
“You would make beautiful children,” she said quickly. “That’s all I was thinking.”
“I would with you.” Color rode high on his cheekbones. “Do you want children?”
She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it. The only man she wanted was Max, and Max had never been hers. Renata had been convinced that one day she would hear about him meeting hisreshonand mating. Probably Sari would tell her. Or Ava. Someone would casually let it drop in conversation. Renata had forced herself to imagine it over and over, forming different scenarios as if preparation would guard her heart from devastation.
Because losing himwoulddevastate her. She’d been prepared for that. What she hadn’t been prepared for was a future with him.
“I don’t know if I want children,” she said. “What I do—whatwedo isn’t friendly to family life. My roots were torn once. I don’t know if I want new ones.”
Max paused. “You know… it used to be that scribes and singers would take sabbaticals to bear children. They would find a place—sometimes isolated like this—and have their children quietly. Raise them until they were independent and ready for training. For boys, it’s only thirteen years before we enter training.”
“For girls it depends on geography. I never left home.”
“Because you were preparing to follow your mother as an archivist.”
She nodded. “I know what you’re saying. We live long lives. Raising children is a short season.”
“We could come here, Renata. Or we could raise our children in Istanbul with Ava and Malachi’s. Join the community there.”
She felt her heart pick up when he said “our children.”
