Page 159 of Crown of Darkness
“You were right. It’s a little girl,” the nurse says, her gaze drifting between my mother and me. She tilts the baby toward my mother.
A girl.
My mother takes the bundle in her arms, and every inch of dread I’ve ever felt sinks its icy daggers through my chest.
“Don’t you dare touch her.” I try to push up onto my hands, but my body spasms again.
“Hush now,” my mother croons as my baby cries. “Look how beautiful you are.”
I don’t even know what she looks like.
“Give her back!” I scream, reaching for my baby.No, please. Not this. Anything but this….“Give her back!”
“She doesn’t belong to you anymore,” my mother says, lifting my baby and smiling down at her. “She is mine. Mine to raise as I see fit. Mine to mold. Mine to destroy if I so choose.”
No.
I try to shove my way out of the birthing bed, but my limbs are so weak and I’m still shaking.
“Mother.” Andraste appears at the queen’s side, and rests a hand on my mother’s arm. “May I see my niece?”
My mother offers my baby to my sister, and Andraste gathers her safely into her arms.
“Please.” I reach toward them. Toward my daughter.
Andraste moves back to the bed, still cooing at the bundle.
“Andraste,” Mother barks.
“She should see her,” my sister snaps back, shooting Mother a fierce look. “Let her see her. You’ve won. Grant her this one small mercy.”
I try to haul myself out of bed, but my body is still wracked with contractions. And I don’t know if Adaia replies, because all I can see is the bundle in my sister’s arms.
Andraste kneels on the bed beside me and eases back the linens.
My baby.
She’s so little. So perfect. All scrunched up and red-faced and squalling. Her hair is matted to her skin with a thick waxy coating, and her face screws up as she cries. The second I touch her, she turns her snuffling mouth toward me, trying to latch on to my finger.
And my heart breaks in two.
I promised. I promised I’d protect you forever and I can’t….
“Please,” I beg Andraste.
Take her away. Get her out of here. Protect her.
And our eyes meet as if she hears me.
It’s been a long time since she’s heard me.
“What do you want to name her?” my sister whispers, and I know this is the only thing I might have.
“Amaya. Call her Amaya.”
A slight variation in honor of his mother.
“That’s enough,” my mother says coldly.
