20. The Womb of the Realm #3
"I owe you my life, my son's life, and Allora's," Malec continued. "I can never pay the debt, but I can start by recognizing that I was wrong and begging you to forgive me. Even if it's not today, maybe one day."
He looked up at Luko.
Luko couldn't take it anymore. He pulled Malec into a hug and started crying. "Malec, all I want is for you to be happy. I never once tried to get in the way of that."
Malec's arms came up, wrapping around his friend. "I know, my brother."
The moment was sweet, full of resolution that only could have happened because Allora existed. And because Allora wasn't fully comfortable with emotions, she had to break it.
"So, Surian and Luko brought up a good point. We need to name this baby, and since I carried him for almost nine months, I think I have the right to name him."
Malec rose and sat on the bed beside her, Luko moving to the side. Malec put his arm around her, facing her and their son.
"Of course, my liri. Give him a good name. One he could be proud of." He smiled down at her, stroking her hair.
Allora gave Luko a wink that said watch this. Luko flashed her a look of warning not to break the fragile peace they'd so carefully crafted.
But Allora ignored him and beamed. "I've already decided on the perfect name for him."
Malec kissed the crown of her hair. "Tell me. What is to be the name I will speak with my tongue when I call out to my son for the rest of his life?"
Allora lifted the baby up as though ready to christen him. "I will name him Kael Surion Talandros Junior."
"ALLORA!" Surian swatted at her.
Luko had a reaction only Luko could have—he fell back on the bed in absolute hysteria, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.
Malec went perfectly still, his hand stopping halfway to her hair, his eyes going wide with pure horror, entire body rigid as though she'd just announced she was going to throw their son off a cliff. "ABSOLUTELY NOT!"
Malec found himself walking through the birch woods again, brown boots sinking into thick moss with each soundless step.
His white tunic was intricately embroidered with silver thread, fitted close to his frame.
Black trousers hugged his legs, and a long red sash was tied around his waist, the ends flowing gently in the windless air.
Above him, the sky was void. Pitch black and moonless as it has always been, ever still and never changing.
At the heart of the clearing, beneath the flowering tree, sat his son.
Malec approached slowly, carefully, lowering himself to kneel in the moss across from his son. He studied the child's face, searching for some trace of himself, of Allora, of the miracle that had bound them all together.
"You've grown," Malec whispered.
The boy tilted his head, his expression solemn. "Time moves differently here."
His voice was soft, young, but carried weight far beyond his years. Like an elder trapped in a toddler's body, ancient and wise and impossibly small all at once.
Malec swallowed hard. "I wanted to thank you for protecting her."
The boy's gaze drifted down to Allora's sleeping face, his hand never stopping its gentle motion through her hair. "It is not over."
A chill ran down Malec's spine.
"What do you mean?"
The child's silver-flecked eyes lifted to meet his. "This is not the end of chaos. Only the beginning. Forces are already working to tear the three of us apart. I can feel them moving."
Malec's hands curled into fists against his thighs. "I know. That's why I'm taking you both back to my homeland. Where you belong and where no one can reach you."
The boy shook his head slowly, his expression grave. "It will not be enough."
Malec went still.
"You will need Mother's people to help you."
The words landed like stones in deep water, sinking into Malec's chest and pulling everything down with them. His throat tightened. He leaned forward, bracing one hand on Allora's hip where she lay sleeping, grounding himself.
"I cannot," Malec said, his voice rough. "If I give her access to her people, she will go to them and leave me behind. I…cannot..."
The child's gaze held his, unwavering. "She only runs from your fear, Father, not from you. You must learn to lead with your love for her, and not your terror of letting her go." He paused, letting the words settle. "Or you will indeed end up losing her."
Malec's hand dragged over his face, fingers pressing hard against his eyes as though he could physically push the truth away. His chest felt tight, his breathing shallow. "What if she chooses them over us?" The question came out strained, barely more than a whisper.
The boy's expression softened, achingly tender in a way that sat oddly against the ancient wisdom behind his eyes. "Then at least she will have choice and she will then be truly happy. It's what she has been wanting this whole time, it is time to give it to her."
Malec couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. The thought of her vanishing again, of watching her walk away freely, of standing there and letting her go—it was more than he could bear. But he knew, with all his heart, that that day has come that he had to…for her. He owed her that much.
The child saw his father struggle and reached out, placing one tiny hand over Malec's where it rested on Allora's hip. "I will give you a name you may call me while you wrestle with fear," the boy said gently. "My name and I will always be with you, so you will not be alone."
Malec's throat worked, emotion threatening to crack through his composure. He managed a smile, stiff but real, and leaned down as the child whispered into his ear.
The name settled into Malec's heart like a blessing.
Malec woke.
Morning light spilled through the windows of the White Room, cream walls glowing soft in the dawn. Allora lay sprawled across his chest, one arm flung over his ribs, her face pressed against his tunic. A small wet spot had formed where her mouth rested, drool pooling on the fabric.
Malec smiled despite himself. He kissed her cheek, then used his sleeve to gently wipe her mouth.
"You troublesome Canariae," he murmured. "I fought kings and nobles just so I could find my way back to you, so that you could salivate all over me."
And the truth was, he would not have it any other way.
He shifted carefully, sliding out from beneath her without waking her. She mumbled a few incoherent words and rolled onto her side, burrowing deeper into the pillows. Malec moved to the cradle near their bed.
Empty.
His hand hovered over the edge, but he felt no alarm through the bond. If his son were in danger, the child would tell him. He was most likely with Luko or Surin.
But he had better not be with Leira.
Malec dressed quickly, pulling on black trousers and a fitted tunic, tying his hair back with practiced efficiency. He signaled to a maid waiting outside the door. "Watch over her. If she wakes and needs anything, fetch me immediately."
The girl curtsied, hurrying inside.
Malec stopped another servant in the hall. "Find the Canariae healer. Tell her to check on Allora within the hour."
The maid nodded and disappeared down the corridor.
Malec turned and headed toward the parlor, his boots striking soft against the stone. He needed to find Luko and his father.
There were decisions to be made.
The makeshift medical office had been set up in one of Leira's guest rooms. Medical supplies lined the shelves, clean linens stacked neatly on a side table, and a small hearth kept the space warm.
Luko had prepared everything necessary for the newborn's care: warmed milk until Allora could produce her own, cloths, tonics, balms.
Malec stepped through the door to find Luko feeding the baby with practiced care, Surian perched beside him watching with rapt attention. Across the room, Surin stood near the window, his silhouette framed in morning light as he gazed outward.
When Malec entered, there was no malice, not even stiffness. Only cheers and smiles.
Even Luko grinned up at him, bandage still wrapped around his head but freshly changed, the linen clean and white.
Surian rose immediately, crossing to her brother and planting a kiss on his cheek as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Malec, have you and Allora given my nephew a name yet?"
Surin shifted slightly at the window, a clear sign he was listening despite his distant posture.
Malec blinked at the warm greeting but recovered quickly. "Neither of us named him. He named himself and gave it to me."
Surin turned fully then, his pale blue eyes questioning. "He told you?"
Malec nodded slowly, smiling down at his brilliant son. "The little one is a powerful ancient spirit, reincarnated apparently. He followed Allora here to protect her. He's a great psychic."
Luko chuckled, pinching the baby's cheek gently. "Well, of course he is. He's a Talandros baby."
The infant's face scrunched in clear annoyance, his tiny brows furrowing.
Surian giggled. "I think he hates that now. Leira did it so often to him."
Surin remained at the window, speaking almost to himself as he turned back to stare at whatever he found so captivating outside. "A psychic? Is that right?"
Malec crossed the room and joined his father, following his gaze outside. Leira sat on a stone bench in the garden, hands folded in her lap, staring at the forest with the stillness of someone who had nowhere to be. Her posture told Malec that she was, at least temporarily, defeated.
Good. That meant she would not be stirring the pot.
"I think you were too hard on her, Malec," Surin said quietly, his voice far away.
Malec's expression hardened. "Really? Too hard on the one that induced my wife's labor and almost killed her and my son? If anything I was not hard enough! Tell me Surin, was it purely to hurt me so that it would hurt you? Is that all I am to her—a tool to be used to cut you with?"
Pain bled through his words despite his effort to keep them steady.
The room fell silent. Surian and Luko stopped their quiet conversation, listening.