Chapter 43
Forty-Three
Elowen awoke curled in Midas’ arms, the familiar warmth of him pressed to her back. But her body was wrong—tight with discomfort, her stomach cramping in slow, sickening waves. She gasped, barely audible, but Midas stirred instantly.
“Elowen,” he whispered, sitting up.
She clutched at her abdomen. “Something’s wrong.”
The scent hit him then. Blood.
Midas didn’t ask questions. He gathered her into his arms, laid her carefully on a pile of furs separate from the boys, and lit the fire brighter with a sharp breath of heat.
She bled for hours, quietly wincing so she didn’t disturb her sons despite her heart screaming in agony. She knew what was happening—they both did. But to speak it into existence made it real, and neither of them were ready to face it yet.
Midas held her hand when her body shook with pain. He whispered to her when the worst of it passed, his forehead pressed to hers, his voice a soft stream of love and apology. She cried without sound. He cleaned the blood from her carefully.
The next morning, the boys bounded toward them at the mouth of the cave, laughing, arms full of wildflowers and bits of bark they’d carved into toy animals.
“Look what we made for the baby!” Kalen shouted.
Elowen sat by the fire, wrapped in a thick blanket. Her face was pale. Midas stood nearby, unmoving. The boys approached eagerly. She covered her mouth with one hand. The other trembled in her lap. The boys stopped.
Auric looked up at Midas. “Papa?”
Midas knelt, slowly, lowering himself to their eye level. His expression was soft, but hollowed.
“I need you to listen,” he said. They quieted instantly. “There is no easy way to say this.” He paused, glanced at Elowen, then back to them. “The life your mother carried…it is gone.”
The silence that followed stabbed her in the chest.
Auric blinked. “Gone?”
Elowen lowered her hand to her womb, still cramping and already feeling empty. Her voice was barely there. “I lost the baby.”
Kalen stared at her. “No,” he said sharply. “You’re wrong. We made food. We made toys.”
Midas touched his shoulder as Auric stepped forward, tears already in his eyes. “Where did they go?”
Elowen’s throat closed. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”
Kalen dropped the toy in his hand. It hit the stone floor with a dull clatter. And then he ran off, deeper into the cave.
Later, long after the sun had fallen behind the ridge, Elowen sat outside the cave alone. She clutched the small wooden carving Kalen had dropped, her thumb running along its uneven edges.
Midas found her there.
“I can’t stop thinking,” she whispered, “about how much they loved someone who never had a name.”
Midas nodded.
“Do you think they’ll hate me for this?”
“No,” he said. “They are hurting. But they could never hate you.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t know how to help them understand.”
“You don’t need to. They are young, their hearts are fiery like mine,” he said softly. “They will come back to you when they are ready to learn more.”
The toys remained untouched. The fire burned low. The laughter that once rang through the stone corridors had faded into silence.
Elowen sat on the fur-lined nest, her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She had braided her hair to keep her hands busy, but her fingers trembled. Her eyes were dry, but only because even tears had abandoned her.
The boys stood a few feet away, fidgeting. Nervous. Eyes flickering between her and each other. Finally, Kalen spoke:
“Why did it die?”
Elowen looked up slowly and swallowed. “Sometimes…things like this happen. Even when everything seems right.”
“But it was safe,” Kalen said. “You were eating. Sleeping. We brought you food. We helped.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“Then…” He hesitated. “Was it…something you did?”
She stilled. She knew in her heart things like this happened, but it was no easier to bear that guilt, because she asked herself that question every second that passed.
“Maybe you moved too much,” his brother whispered. “Or got too tired. Or what if…what if when we knocked you down we hurt it?”
Elowen’s throat closed. Her heart lurched. “No,” she said, firmer now. “No, my loves. I didn’t do anything to make this happen. None of us did.”
“Then why?” Kalen cried. “Why would it leave if we were ready? If we loved it?”
The words shattered her. She reached for them, but neither stepped forward. They were confused. Hurting. Wanting to blame something, anything, the way young hearts do when they can’t make sense of pain.
She took a slow breath. “My loves,” she said, her voice shaking, “you did everything right. I did everything I could. But sometimes…life is fragile even when it’s surrounded by love.”
They looked at her, wide-eyed and uncertain.
“And it hurts,” she continued. “Because we wanted them. So badly. But their body couldn’t stay. Not because of anything we did. Not because we weren’t good enough.”
Kalen’s brow furrowed. “Then what was the point?”
Tears finally welled in her eyes. She smiled through them, aching. “The point,” she said, “is that they were real. Even if they were only with us for a short time, they were loved. They were part of our family, and we will always remember them.”
Auric moved forward. He didn’t cry. He just pressed himself into her lap, resting his head against her chest, like he used to when he was smaller.
“I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
She held him, breathing in the scent of his hair. “You didn’t,” she murmured. “You’re allowed to ask questions.”
His brother came next, crawling into her other side. Together, they curled against her like they did so often. And she, who had grown and carried them, held the living warmth of her children and let herself mourn the one she’d lost.
Midas was guarding the cliff just outside the cave when his sons approached. The sun had started to dip, casting the trees in coppery shadow. Smoke rose in curling wisps from his nostrils, and the scent of ash drifting in the breeze.
The boys came quietly—unusual for them. Just two pairs of small, determined feet padding softly over the stone. They stood side by side, staring at him with matching expressions: hopeful and uncertain.
They both shifted into their dragon forms and found comfortable positions curled in their father’s warmth.
Papa?
Midas opened his eyes once more and huffed out a sound for them to continue.
Auric looked up. Can you give Mama another baby? It will make her feel better.
The question hung in the air like smoke. Midas didn’t answer right away. He looked between them—so eager to help. Their faces held no malice. They simply didn’t yet understand that love, no matter how pure, could not undo grief.
I know you were excited, he said gently. I was too. They nodded. But making a baby isn’t like carving a toy or planting a flower. It’s more complicated than that.
Kalen frowned. But you and Mom already did it. Twice.
Yes, Midas said with a soft smile. And you are the greatest joy of both our lives. But your mother…she carries those children. In her body. In her blood. And sometimes, when things go wrong, it hurts her in ways we can’t always see.
They looked at each other, quiet.
She didn’t do anything wrong, Midas continued. But her heart and body need time to heal and rest. Midas’ chest ached. I would give your mother a thousand children if it were her wish, but it must be hers. It must be something she asks for—not something we ask of her.
The boys looked down at their claws. Kalen’s voice was smaller now. I don’t want her to be sad.
I know, but that is not the way to make her happy again. She doesn’t need a baby to feel joy again. She has you. Your laughter. Your questions. So I want you to live and grow strong. Remind her that she is already surrounded by love.
Midas leaned forward and touched his forehead to each of theirs, one at a time. A dragon’s blessing. Ancient and sacred.
That is how we help heal her.
That night, when the cave had gone quiet and the boys were curled beneath blankets near the fire, Midas stirred in the dark.
He turned his great head to find Elowen sitting upright beside him, her hand pressed flat to her lower belly, her face turned away.
Tears streamed down her cheeks in silence.
He perked up slowly with attention. She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes.
“It just…hit me again,” she whispered.
He leaned into her, and she leaned back into him like a wave folding into the shore, her body shuddering. She pressed her face to his neck, sobbing softly into the space between his neck and shoulder.
You are not broken, he murmured. You were the home that baby knew. And even if they didn’t stay, they were loved every moment they existed. You are still the mother of this new age of dragons and miracles.
Her breath hitched, and though she couldn’t understand his language, she felt every word in her bones as if he had spoken them directly into her ear.
And then slowly, slowly, she began to still with sleep.