Page 61 of Boundless
CHAPTER TWENTY
Diplomacy
DAEGA
QUITE Alot of people had come up to her after her pregnancy was announced and told her how she glowed, how carrying young was such a precious time, such a wonderful gift, that they missed when they'd been pregnant withtheirchildren.
But Daega hated it. Everything was swollen and stiff and painful and oversensitive. She was always tired and on the verge of a breakdown, always hungry and gassy and in need of a piss. Her dreams were strange and every little sound and smell had her wanting to crawl out of her skin. She could notwaitto get this thing out of her body and get on with things, and she'd told her mother several times by now that she had no idea how the older woman had managed to stomach doing this four times.
As soon as Len had left to go on his all-important tea-drinking vision quest her already precarious mood tipped into sourness, and she found herself hunkering under the covers and sulking, just waiting for her husband to return because he was the only company she felt like she could stand most of the time. She toyed with reading, with going for a walk, but in the end, she settled into yet another nap in a long string of gratuitous, indulgent naps.
But this one carried a dream that was stranger than all her other dreams had ever been. This one had a taste, a sour tang that fought against a bitter smokiness and dragged her mind down deep, all the way into the heated core of the earth, it seemed.
But it wasn't molten ore she found, the only flames the gentle flickering of amber light that felt more like a heartbeat. It thumped and thrummed all around her, through her, singing to her own heart and synching with her breaths.
She closed her dream-eyes, taking a deep breath, and when she opened them again she was in a much colder and less welcoming place, for all its brightness and light. Thunder rolled through slick stone walls, shivering up her legs, and she crouched in order to curl up into a tight ball. She didn't like that sound, so angry and unfettered, and she especially didn't like that it was impossible to tell where it was coming from, no matter how closely she listened.
A hand on her shoulder startled her, sending her sprawling on the cool shivering tiles, but the presence behind was gentle, comforting, and she sank back into the strong clutch of shadow easily, full of trust. The rumbling stopped once she was in the thick of it, and she sighed, letting herself sink deeper.
Another shift in the dreaming, and now she beheld a stunning tapestry, so huge and intricate that she couldn't tell much about it, only that the shimmering threads that made it were alive and hummed against her fingers when she reached out to touch them. To the left the threads were darker, many thin and bare and tattered with age and uncommon wear, and she shuddered, not liking the smell of rust that wafted to her when she tried to get closer. Right in front of her the threads plumped and brightened, but also tangled, writhing together like a nest of rodents. And when she tried to look right she found she couldn't, her head locked ahead. But she could see the barest peek of it out of the corner of her eye, just an impression of bright colors woven together in a riot of texture and vivid color, the warmth from the earth room returning to bathe her right side.
"You can do it, you know," a voice murmured, too soft to be identifiable. "You're already doing so well."
She shivered. It didn't truly feel that way; she wasted so much time being wavering and unsure, following her heart instead of her head. Len was the clever one, the one with a plan of action and several backups, just in case. She hadn’t told her husband, but she was full of doubts about motherhood; if she wasthiscranky about being pregnant, then how much worse would it be once the baby was here? And she’d be expected to lead and rule, too? She was just one person—could she truly do all that?
She must have spoken aloud, or perhaps the presence simply heard her thoughts. They laughed, trailing a comforting hand over her shoulder. "Love must guide you, now. Logic tangles and obscures, but your love is a beacon. Have faith. Trust."
Chimes cut through, waking Daega with a snort. She wiped the string of drool from the corner of her mouth and threw on a robe. "Come in, then," she called, twisting her hair up into a bun.
Her mother stepped into her tent, warming her chest. "Mum," she greeted the matriarch, going gladly into the older woman's embrace.
"My darling child," Gayeh cried in Draka, pressing a kiss to her temple and nuzzling her face with a soft cheek briefly. "How are you, today, my heart?"
"Tired," Daega admitted, dropping onto a pouf beside her mother. “And you? Are you well?"
"Oh, yes." Gayeh waved a hand dismissively. "How is the babe?"
Daega could feel how dopey her smile was. "Very well. Active. Earlier today when Len checked he said he thought we were having a boy."
Gayeh gasped and clapped her hands together. "A boy! How lovely. Have you thought at all about names?"
"Too much," Daega admitted, cradling the swell of her stomach reverently. "What name do you give to the savior of two peoples? How do I do such a life justice?"
Gayeh snorted. "Well for starters, you stop thinking like that. I love Lenlethael, but those elves place too much weight on their children. Can you really not just let the wee thing be for a time?"
Daega bit her lip. "We want to, of course. But things are so dire now. Doesn't that...change things?"
Gayeh shrugged. "I don't think it has to, dearest. As his parents you can shield him from the worst of it, can you not?"
"But what if we can't?"
"Then you can't. But if you bring him into this world expecting everything of him...well, is that really what you want?"
Daega huffed, sagging in her seat. "Bloody gods, why is it all so cunting difficult?"
Gayeh laughed, a delicate, breathy sound, and patted her daughter's knee. "It's never easy, but youdohave the lion's share of difficulty in all this. I don't envy you, my heart. But you are strong—you always have been. And you have a good partner at your side, and that counts for a lot."
Daega smiled, her insides melting as she thought of Len. "Aye, it does. Can you believe that maniac thinks he'll be a poor father?"
