Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
éTIENNE
Nine months later, I stand in a small cottage at the edge of the bayou outside the city, watching as Geneviève labors to bring our son into the world. My form wavers, sometimes solid enough to hold her hand, other times merely a shadow.
The midwife cannot see me. She mutters prayers when the room grows cold with my presence, crossing herself between contractions. Only Geneviève knows I'm here, her eyes finding mine even when I'm barely visible.
"Stay with me," she gasps, sweat beading her forehead. "Don't fade now."
I will myself more substantial. "I'm here, mon coeur. I won't leave you."
Hours pass in a blur of pain. The Veil grows thin with each of her cries. Outside, a storm builds, lightning flashing across the sky. I wonder if it’s the Veil’s way of hiding what’s coming from the Council. How long will my son have before his existence is felt? Before they hunt him?
With a final push and a cry that seems to stop time itself, our son enters the world.
"A boy," the midwife announces, quickly swaddling the infant after cutting the cord.
The moment I hear his first cry, something shifts in the Veil. The space around me solidifies, granting me more presence than I've had since the Council's ritual.
Geneviève reaches for our child. "Lazare. Lazare Noctier."
The midwife finishes her work and leaves, convinced that Geneviève speaks only to herself and the newborn.
When we are alone, Geneviève carefully rises, our child cradled against her breast. She steps into the shadow. My breath stalls, worried the child might not be able to live in both worlds.
"The Noctier line continues," she says, placing Lazare in my arms.
I hold my son for the first time, marveling at his perfect weight, his tiny fingers. Something fierce and protective roars to life within me. If I have to escape this purgatory to save him, I will.
"He will restore your house," Geneviève says.
I know what the Veil has said about the prophecy, but I’m not so concerned about my name. It’s gone. My home is gone. But all I need is here. Geneviève and my son. Both are more important than the Veil itself.
"The name has been erased," I remind her gently. "Without it, he cannot sit on the Council or become Oathmarked. There is no one left to train him in our ways."
Geneviève smiles. “You forget the prophecy.” She pulls down the edge of Lazare's blanket. Etched upon his tiny chest in lines of silver-blue is the Noctier sigil, my family's Oathmark, unbroken and perfect.
"Impossible," I whisper, tracing the mark with my finger. "These are given during the Rite de la Marque.” I was sixteen when my sigil was burned into my chest as part of the Oathmarked ceremony.
"The Veil has marked him as its own," Geneviève says. "Just as the spirits whispered would happen."
The prophecy. All those voices in the Veil speaking of a child born between worlds who would restore what was broken. It’s coming true.
Fear and pride war within me as I hold my son closer. I know what awaits him. The Council's fear, the Hollow Court's interest, a life caught between shadow and light. He’ll be hunted from both sides of the Veil.
"He will never be alone in his fight," Geneviève promises, reading my thoughts as she always does. "The Veil will protect what it has created."
I press my lips to Lazare's forehead, sealing a promise of my own. "And so will I.”
The Prophecy
“Born of the Veil and mortal breath,
the child of the Fifth shall rise,
awakened when the love across time is reborn.
With him, the Veil shall break from what bound it,
and the world shall face its reckoning.”
TO BE CONTINUED 200 YEARS LATER…