19. Blood of Two Worlds #4
The chateau was alive with hushed excitement and heightened nerves.
In the early blush of morning, firelight still danced across ancient stone walls.
Outside, the storm had broken at last, leaving the air heavy with dew and the sweet, wet scent of moss and spring.
Inside there was only one subject on everyone's lips: the hybrid child.
An Awyan-Canariae child, born in secret, now sleeping in swaddled oblivion.
The Silver Fox had not yet emerged from the bedchamber.
Not a single soul dared knock, much less cross the threshold where he lay beside the woman who had defied nature to give him an heir.
But the halls seethed with tension. Servants, medical personnel, and soldiers lingered in small, whispering clusters, waiting for word, for permission, for the smallest movement that might break the silence of that closed door.
In the dining hall, a different kind of scene unfolded.
Luko sat at the long table with his sleeves rolled up, a ceramic bowl before him.
He stirred goat's milk with a touch of sweetroot syrup, carefully trying to simulate colostrum.
His movements were precise, almost reverent.
Allora, still deep in healing, had yet to produce milk, and no one dared disturb her with Malec draped around her like a beast at rest, eyes always half-open, ready to slit throats at the faintest disruption of her breathing.
So it had fallen to Luko to find a solution. He had gone himself to the estate stables, procured goat's milk, and boiled it gently until it carried the warmth of a mother's chest.
Surian cradled the baby in the corner, his small body swaddled in cloth dyed in warm amber and gold tones. He was curled against her chest, his breath light, his tiny mouth fussing as she tried to guide the milk-soaked cloth to his lips.
Luko stood beside her, voice low, guiding her hands. "Try again. Lift his head a touch."
The baby latched, his small mouth working as he suckled drowsily.
Surian gasped. Her whole face lit with a joy so radiant it was like a thousand candles sparking behind her pale blue eyes. A smile bloomed across her lips, pure and tender and unrestrained. "He's drinking!"
Luko looked up and stopped mid-motion.
She was radiant. Hair falling loose from its pins, cheeks flushed, eyes soft with wonder as she gazed down at the tiny life in her arms. The morning light caught her profile, and for a moment he forgot the throbbing pain in his skull, forgot the blood that had dried in his hair beneath the bandages.
She looked like she was meant to hold that baby.
"You're going to be a wonderful aunt," he said softly.
Surian blinked, her gaze lifting to meet his. Color bloomed across her cheeks, delicate as rose petals. "Aunt," she whispered, as though testing the shape of the word for the first time. "I'm an aunt."
The joy shone across her face, bright and untouchable, but at the edges a shadow lingered. The happiness was real. So was the ache beneath it. Would Allora ever forgive her?
Her eyes drifted to the bandage wrapped around Luko's head, and the smile faded slightly. "How are you feeling? Truly?"
Luko touched the cloth gingerly, offering a wry smile. "The bleeding stopped. I'll live."
"Malec better apologize," Surian said, her voice tight with protective anger. "Or I'm telling Allora the moment she wakes."
Luko laughed, the sound warm despite the ache radiating through his skull. "I'd pay good coin to see that conversation."
The warmth between them held, but only just, weighted at the edges. Luko's expression slowly hardened into seriousness.
"I'm resigning," he said quietly. "From the Talandros house."
Surian went still. The baby shifted in her arms, making a small noise, but she barely noticed.
Her eyes locked on Luko's face, searching.
"Oh, Luko. I... I don't know what to say, but I understand.
" She swallowed, her voice softening. "If you need employment, you are always welcome under my roof. Of course you are."
Luko smiled, genuine warmth flooding his features.
"I'm grateful. Truly. And I'll consider it.
" He paused, glancing toward the closed door of the bedchamber.
"But I'd much rather be Allora's assistant.
She has Canariae ways I want to learn, and that new healer of hers looks like she used to be a surgeon. I'd like to learn from them both."
Surian's expression softened further as a tenderness and understanding passed between them.
"Well, you can't," Leira's voice cut sharply through the moment as she swept into the room like a storm cloud. Her velvet gown swished behind her, rings glittering as her hands twisted together in agitation. "You're far too busy holding my grandson hostage."
Luko turned slowly, his expression carefully neutral. "He's drinking. We're not moving him."
"I could feed him just as well." Leira crossed her arms, rings catching the light as her fingers drummed impatiently against her sleeves.
"You pinched his cheeks until he cried," Surian said absently, her attention fixed entirely on the baby's small mouth working at the cloth.
"That was hardly a cry. It was a squeak at most."
"A squeak of pain," Luko murmured, adjusting the angle of the cloth in Surian's hands.
Leira's jaw locked into place. "I am his grandmother. I have more right to hold him than either of you."
"You held him for two hours," Luko said mildly.
"Which wasn't nearly enough." Her tone precise, taking on an edge of genuine irritation. "You've had him all morning."
The baby let out a small, contented sigh. Milk dribbled slightly from the corner of his mouth, and Surian's entire face melted into pure adoration. She didn't even glance at Leira.
"Look at him," she whispered. "He's perfect."
Luko smiled, his voice soft. "He really is."
Leira's fingers curled into fists at her sides. "Are you both simply going to ignore me?"
"Yes," Surian said without looking up.
"Probably," Luko added.
Leira made a sound of pure frustration — a growl edging toward a huff. "This is absurd! I'm being treated like a stranger in my own grandson's presence."
"You'll get your turn," Luko said, finally glancing at her with mild amusement. "After Kalemon. She's already declared herself his godmother."
Leira stopped mid-pace. Her brow furrowed. "His what?"
"Godmother."
"What in the seven hells is that?" Leira's voice carried genuine confusion beneath the irritation. "Some Canariae way of establishing ownership?"
Luko shrugged, turning his attention back to the bowl. "I have no idea. I'm just the messenger."
Leira stared at him, then at Surian, who was still absorbed in watching the baby drink. “You’re telling me that old, grumpy Canariae just claimed a title I don’t even understand, and neither of you are concerned?”
"Not particularly," Surian murmured.
Leira's hands flew up in exasperation. "Unbelievable."
The door creaked then, and Surin entered. Tall and austere, his dark robes trailed across the stone like mist. His pale blue eyes swept the room, landing first on the baby in Surian's arms, then on Leira.
Leira's spine went rigid. Her hand flew briefly to her chest, fingers pressing against the spot above her heart before she caught herself and dropped it.
She turned her back to the door, her voice annoyed at the mere presence of the older Awyan.
"Bugger off, you walking funeral. We're trying to celebrate life, not mourn it. "
Surin stopped just inside the threshold, absorbing the words without flinching. He didn't move closer or approach Surian or the baby. Just stood there, quiet and still, waiting. "I was merely hoping to see my grandson," he said carefully, his tone neutral.
“I was hoping to nap in peace, but here you are—proof that graves don’t hold like they used to.” Leira muttered, sinking back in her chair.
Luko shifted uncomfortably, glancing between them.
Surian looked at her father and saw it: the gentleness in his expression, the quiet hope, the patience etched in the lines of his face. She saw the way he stayed near the door, his eyes on the child and nowhere else, and the longing in his posture softened her completely.
"Here," she said, rising and crossing the room. She adjusted her hold on the baby and lifted him toward her father. "You can hold him."
Surin's lips parted, his voice reverent. "Are you sure?"
Surian smiled faintly and passed the child into his arms.
Leira surged forward like a thundercloud. "He just drank, you'll disturb his digestion?—"
No one listened.
Surin cradled the baby carefully, reverently. The room hushed as he stood in the firelight, an old Awyan holding the child whose very existence would reshape the realm. For a long moment, he only breathed, staring down at the boy as though the years and wars and wounds had finally stilled.
But inside, his thoughts turned dark.
He remembered the endless months of Malec's descent, how Allora had driven his son to the edge of madness.
The fury, overbearing obsession, the way he raged against the walls of his own mind until even the kingdom felt the weight of it.
The Silver Fox, commander of armies, reduced to a creature gnawing at its own cage.
All because of her and that disgusting tether that chained him to a mortal flame too wild to be tamed.
And Surin had to sit back and witness it all, his son unravel while the empire trembled beneath the violence of one Awyan's grief. The court had whispered, the soldiers had faltered, the people had lived with the tremor of fear. It had nearly cost them everything.