Chapter Seventy-Seven
Day after day, we toiled. Roofs were thatched, kindling dried for fires, and long grass cut down and left in the sun to provide hay for the horses so that they would not seek different pastures when winter came.
Every morning, the sun rose a little later and set a little earlier, and soon the long days and warm sea breezes of summer were fading.
The first of the leaves were fluttering from the trees when Althea voiced the question I had dreaded.
“It has been nearly four moons since we left the Gargareans,” she said.
We were lying in my chamber. Despite all the space in our new home, it turned out that I found the solitude at night disconcerting, though what I had told Althea was that I would not feel comfortable burning wood solely for myself in the colder months.
Most likely knowing the real reason I had requested it, she had set up her bed in my chamber.
“Have you bled yet?” she asked.
I chewed on my lip, avoiding her gaze. “I do not always bleed with the moon,” I replied.
“No, but it has been three since then.”
“There have been many changes lately. All these can affect a woman’s cycle.”
“Otrera.” She sat up, her presence looming over me.
I knew my friend well enough to know I would not escape this conversation by requesting we sleep, so I rolled over and looked her in the eye.
“What do you wish me to do, Althea? How should I approach this? You were the one who said it did not need to be dealt with immediately.”
“That was when we first returned to Themiscyra. I did not mean you could push it from your mind entirely. The women will need to know. This will be exciting. Imagine, you will be a mother.”
“Althea, don’t.”
“It will be a girl, I am certain. The gods have guided you this far. They will offer you a girl. I know they will.”
Her excitement was far more infectious than I had hoped, though I tried with all my heart to keep it in check.
“I have always wanted a girl,” I said quietly, then lay back down with my hands upon my belly.
If Althea was right, my child would never need to leave my side. But it was not so simple as that. The question of when I would tell the women remained. One more moon, I decided. In one more moon, when summer had faded in full, then I would tell them.
* * *
The day came faster than I could have anticipated, and several times, I considered delaying my announcement further, but I knew I could not. That morning, I ran my hand over the small swell of my belly and breathed in the last secret moment between myself and my unborn child.
Excitement and fear flurried through me. Just as I believed I was born to ride and to shoot an arrow, I knew I had been born to be a mother. I had waited, I had suffered, and soon I would be granted the greatest gift for my patience.
I was sitting up when a pang twanged in my side. The sensation was short and sharp, not painful, more of a reminder of what was growing inside me. It was as if my unborn child desired the entire world to take notice.
“Today,” I whispered to her. “Today all the women will know of your existence.”
Standing up, I gazed out the window. Every day, more leaves dropped from the trees, and the blue sky held more gray. It was before dawn, and I stared out at the steppes, hoping to see a perfect painting of Eos’s creation. But my eyes only flickered at the dawn.
My stomach dropped, and my throat tightened so sharply I could barely breathe. Any hope of joy or happiness drained from my veins from what I saw, creeping out of the forest and encroaching on our home.
Men. Men had come to Themiscyra.