Prologue #2
The woman peered at him through a few strands of her lank, white hair.
Under her hood, he could see the little lumps of her cat ears pushing on the fabric, and the tip of her tail poked out from under her cloak.
Constant exposure to the cold and street living had dried the skin of her cheeks, and little lines marked the corners of her eyes.
The shadows under them suggested she’d barely slept.
“He was born yesterday morning.” When she spoke, he saw her fangs which showed she was a true cat fairy just like Reesing and Aisi.
A girl would have been so much easier. If Reesing and Aisi had a boy next, his problem would've been entirely solved. For a moment, he almost considered getting back into the carriage and trying to find another poor woman with a baby girl.
The chances were low, and it had to be a newborn cat fairy. Everyone would question things if the baby looked too old, and Aisi would surely notice despite her poor eyesight because the size and weight wouldn’t be right. Newborns were much different than babies who were a month or two old.
How many other homeless cat fairies with the right coloring would happen to have a newborn?
“My wife and I have desperately wanted a child for twenty-five years,” he lied so she’d hopefully assume him to simply be an older, rich man. “She’s barren.”
“Then get a consort,” said the woman.
“I can’t bear to sleep with anyone but my wife, even for a child, and it practically kills her every day that she can’t have a baby. It’s all we’ve ever wanted. I'll pay you.”
She pursed her lips which made her gaunt face narrower, and she tried to shrink against the wall. “You expect me to give up my baby for a coin like-like an item?”
The baby gave a weak cry from the rags, and Reesing glanced at what little he could see of her nearly flat chest beyond the cloak.
Her knuckles showing through the holes of her frayed gloves looked ready to burst through the skin, and he was sure her ribs stuck out beneath her clothes.
The baby had managed to grow in a body that hadn’t been properly fed, and he’d even survived the birth which had likely happened in a dark, frozen alley.
How much more could he take?
“I could give you money, and perhaps you’d eat well for a time and make enough milk,” said Reesing.
“If it ran out and you still had no prospects, you and the baby will be in the same position again. If you give him to me, he’ll never know hunger or cold.
He’ll have a wet nurse, food, and the best clothes we can afford.
He’ll have a warm bed every night and a physician if he’s ever ill.
He’ll have good job prospects when he’s older, and he’ll never have anything but love from us.
If you keep him, he may die. Please. I’m asking you to help my wife.
Give her something she’s never had the chance to have, and give your son a chance at a good life. ”
She ducked her head as the snowflakes increased, and a few, carried by the wind, drifted over and settled on the rags.
He could almost hear her thoughts. Maybe she’d manage somehow.
If she chewed food down to mush, mixed it with a little water, and passed it to the child bit by bit, she could possibly keep him alive if her breasts went dry.
Perhaps she’d find more scraps of cloth for a blanket and to wrap his bottom.
She might scrape them both by. Or not. A Mother, desperate to keep her baby fed in such circumstances, would forgo her scant meals.
She might use her cloak for him when the wind howled while they huddled in a hidden nook.
One day, her starved, cold body might give out, and then, he’d die too with no one to care for him.
She might live and have to watch him wither until Elira took his little soul like she'd taken Tivar’s.
Her frail shoulders shook as she turned away and bent her head to whisper to her son.
Reesing didn’t catch her words, but he could guess.
She turned and held out the baby who started fussing as if he understood things and didn’t want to leave his Mother.
Reesing carefully took the boy in his arms and pulled a fat coin purse from his pocket to give to her.
She quickly stuffed it down the front of her dress and drew her cloak tighter about her.
“His name is Anore,” she whispered.
“It’s beautiful.” He shifted his cloak over the child to better protect him.
“I read it somewhere once in a book about Earth. The Greenlander humans use it, and it means success, joy, and freedom. I want those things for h-him...” Her voice broke, and her face crumpled before she ducked her head.
“He’ll have all of those things. I promise.”
He could feel her longing eyes on him as he got into the carriage. The snow picked up outside of the window after he shut the door. Elswere urged the horses on, and she disappeared from view.
Reesing peeled away the rags to wrap the blankets around the baby who waved his fists and wailed at the strange new person holding him.
He seemed a bit small to Reesing, but some babies were like that, so Aisi shouldn't be suspicious. Overall, he was quite blessed since he didn’t look sickly or have anything wrong with him.
Some might wonder in the years to come when they peered at his face and noticed he didn’t share the same nose or chin as anyone else in the family. His eyes weren't the right shade of green either. At least his hair was white like the fur on his tail and ears. He’d pass as a member of the family.
Reesing would figure out the harder things later. For now, he'd saved his wife from a pain he never wanted her to experience.
“You’ll be our little Prince Tivar now.” He tucked the wrapped child against his chest and rocked him slightly. The baby squinted and grew quiet as he seemed to accept his new lot in life. “You’ll know freedom and joy.”
***
The wind howled, and snow lashed at the windows later. It was warm in the bedroom where Aisi sat against a pile of pillows and held the baby to her breast. She was still pale and weak, and Reesing’s gut twisted since he could have lost her too.
If he had, he would’ve gone outside and allowed the cold to take him.
After his parents had fallen through the ice when a bridge collapsed as their carriage was going over it last year, he'd thought nothing would hurt so much again. Now, the baby’s death was like a sharp knife in his chest.
Aisi seemed to suspect nothing as she squinted at the suckling baby, and even though she was exhausted from birth and blood loss, her eyes were joyful as she hummed to Tivar.
“I’ll be going,” said the midwife. “If you need me in the night, send someone.”
“I will,” said Reesing. “Or I’ll drag the physician out of bed.” He’d been laid up for two days since tinctures only did so much for stones in the bladder.
“I’ll come by to check on you tomorrow morning,” said the midwife.
Aisi thanked her. She wouldn’t notice it, but Reesing detected the tension in the midwife’s eyes. Guilt tugged on him since she’d have to bury the dead baby tucked in her bag.
As she left the room with it slung over her shoulder, Reesing glanced at the faint bulge. The real Tivar would be buried in Ymir’s dirt, and he would never know the embrace of his Mother.
He forced his eyes back to his wife and the new Tivar.
The old Tivar would have the Goddess to hold and soothe him as she did all babies who died.
Maybe he’d be sent back to be a happy boy or girl somewhere else.
The new baby was saved now, and Aisi didn’t have to feel the knife still jabbing his chest.
While his wife started to sing to what she thought was her true child, he told himself it was worth it.
He’d fix things some other time. Somehow, he would. They’d have their family now, and the people would be saved later.
***
Tivar grew into a chubby baby with rosy cheeks. As the months passed, he smiled, giggled, and learned to crawl. Reesing was sure his first babbled word was “Dada.” He stood and took his first steps. Soon, he was running about the halls of the Castle.
Reesing couldn’t help but love his fake son.
It helped to ease the ache in his heart that never fully went away and worsened when he pictured the real Tivar alone and deep in the dirt of the midwife’s herb garden.
Tivar would run to him for a hug with a smile and his tail swishing, and the pain would ease.
On February 1st, 1631, Reesing sat him in an armchair, told him not to fidget, set the new swaddled baby against him, and said that was his little brother.
Tivar cocked one of his pointy, fuzzy ears as he studied the new addition to their family. Finally, he leaned down to plant a wet kiss on the baby’s forehead.
“My brother.”
“Yes, he’s your brother,” said Reesing.
The new child had to be the heir to save the lands or the Crown would die and the people along with it. Tivar couldn’t take the throne. Reesing should admit the truth to his wife and tell the children before they were grown.
The only way around it was to take new land and save his people that way.
He wasn't supposed to since Elira had told the first of the Cleel line to be happy with what he had. Some said the land would supposedly die if he disobeyed the command, but the East Forest Kingdom was green and full of abundance. Food and such could be transported north. The Iceland fairies could spread out, and they wouldn’t have to entirely give up the gorgeous region Elira had blessed them with since winter and snow-frosted lands were one of her favorite things. It would be harder, but doable.
Reesing could do it.
Or he could tell the truth and put his second son on the throne, which would reveal his lie to everyone. Tivar might feel like he was less.
He watched his wife swing Tivar up into the air one morning and listened to his oldest son’s giggles. Even though she would still love both of their boys the same, the hidden truth would gut her too. The more time passed, the harder it grew. He needed more time.
Only a little more.