Arrival
ALL THE READING and study in the world could not prepare Ardor for actual childbirth.
It was supposed to be simple, and for most Flowers it probably was, but Ardor was not most Flowers.
The moment his womb rippled with the first contraction, signaling the beginning of the process, everything went off the rails.
His bloom would not open. Jain was calm and reassuring, but he could not unsee the discretely prepared tray of surgical tools.
He’d known this was a possibility. He’d given Jain permission to cut the baby out of him, but now, feeling that impossible pressure as his body struggled to birth his first child, the prospect of going under the knife was terrifyingly real.
Ardor struggled to focus as contractions shuddered through his body. His gown was drenched in sweat, his hair matted against his neck. The pain was relentless. And his bloom… it could not open. Would not open.
He smothered a gasp as the womb contracted again, attempting to expel the baby’s egg sac. If his bloom didn’t open soon, he’d have to make a choice. Ardor wasn’t ready to die. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to hold her, to feed her, and Sindar… He wanted to see Sindar again.
Ardor’s back arched in pain, and Leya gripped his hand tightly in her gloved one. His breath hissed between his teeth. As much as he longed for his consort’s presence, he couldn’t bear for Sindar to see him like this. He’d see just how broken his flower was. And if Jain took up the knife—
No, it was too cruel. He would not ask his consort to watch as his body was cut open. If he died, Sindar would be all their daughter had. What if he blamed her for his Flower’s death? No. No, no. He had to weather this alone. He must.
“Breathe, Eminence,” Leya whispered. Her eyes were shining, but she held back her tears.
“You are doing so well…” She held a goddess chain in her other hand, moving her fingers from one bead to the other in silent prayer.
The chain of Ruth was inscribed with ancient symbols: the twisted double-helix, the serpent and staff, the orb surrounded by rings.
They were holy symbols to her, and scientific ones to him.
He took little comfort in science now that he stood at the brink of life and death.
Ardor couldn’t bear to see his friend suffer. He asked Leya to fetch tea, knowing by the time she returned it would likely be over. She bowed and hurried away.
“Eminence,” Raven Hara said softly, crouching beside him. “I will make it quick. You will feel no pain.”
Ardor stared at her. Pain was dulling his faculties. What was she talking about? Jain would handle the procedure. The bloom could not be anesthetized. He would feel everything…
Oh.
Oh, his mother’s arm was long indeed. He might have laughed if he weren’t in so much pain. Hara was no Raven. How had they missed it?
Because she was his mother’s best. That’s how.
“Wraith,” he breathed, the barest whisper. He didn’t dare say her title louder and risk the lives of everyone in that room. No weapon was more deadly than the one wielded by a Pavarian Wraith with direct orders from the Archon.
“You cannot both survive this,” the assassin said, too low for anyone else to hear. “Your champion loves you too much. She cannot do what must be done. We go to war either way, but I can ensure the child lives.”
Could the Wraith be trusted? Did it matter?
Pain gripped Ardor’s abdomen like a hot vise, and he gritted his teeth as his body threatened to tear itself apart.
The egg sac had to come out. Jain was hunched between his legs, singularly focused on helping his flower open, but it did not yield to her insistent gloved fingers.
Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and her pupils were dilated.
His Champion’s outward calm was a mask. She was panicking.
“Beloved,” she said, looking up. “I’m so sorry.”
“Do what you have to do,” he told her.
There was a commotion, and Ardor’s heart squeezed when Sindar’s voice rang through the hall. “I’m the king, damn it!”
Oh, no. No, no, no… “Don’t let him see me like this,” he begged Jain.
“Beloved, there is one more thing we can try. He’s your consort. Your bloom knows him. It may respond… Please, Beloved, let us try.”
Ardor’s laugh was part sob. Sindar could not open his bloom. No one could open it. His consort’s presence would only compound his failures. He was a failed flower and soon he’d be a failed father.
Before Ardor could say no, never, and take the secrets of his deformed body to his grave, Sindar stormed into the room.
“Get out!” Ardor yelled.
“He should leave,” Hara said sharply. “He’s not wanted! Get him out!”
But Sindar was already at Ardor’s side. “Stay out of this,” he told Hara, grabbing Ardor’s hand. To Ardor, he said, “Beloved, listen to me.”
“I can’t concentrate with you here!” Ardor snapped. “If you care about me at all, leave!”
“I don’t care if you hate me, or never talk to me again, I will be here for you. Look at me.”
Ardor tried and failed to hold back his panting. The pain threatened to blot out all else. He glared at his consort, seething. “I didn’t want you to see me like this!”
“All I see is the bravest man in the kingdom. I know you will do anything for our baby. She needs her birth-father. We’re getting through this.”
Ardor couldn’t hold back his panting any longer. The pain was too intense. “I—I can’t—“
“You can, Beloved, you can,” Sindar said. If there’d been any doubt in him, even the slightest tremor of his hand, Ardor would have been lost, but his consort was a rock. Sindar’s certainty was his anchor.
“Your Majesty,” Jain said quickly. “You are his consort, the bloom…”
“I understand,” Sindar said. “Beloved, I’m going to touch you.”
Ardor’s eyes widened. “No! Don’t!” He’d planned for the cut. He knew it had to happen. There was no reason for his consort to do this when surgery was inevitable. They were going to have to cut him open, regardless.
“I’m not letting her use that knife until we try everything,” Sindar said.
Jain gripped Ardor’s left hand. “Breathe, Beloved. I can’t lose you. We have to try.”
“Don’t look at it,” Ardor whispered, too blinded by pain and panic to be rational. “Please, please, don’t look.”
“I won’t look,” Sindar said, meeting his gaze.
“My eyes are right here. You are so strong, sweet angels, I wish I was half as strong as you. You are going to hold our baby soon, and you are going to be such a wonderful father…” Sindar touched him, his bare finger firm against the bloom’s meager opening.
Jain guided him, her gloved hand brushing against Ardor’s thigh as she positioned his consort’s fingers.
Sindar’s finger sank into him, and a wave of despair washed over Ardor.
This was a nightmare. This was the ghastliest conceivable way Sindar could discover what his body looked like.
Consorts were barred from the birthing chamber for a reason.
Flower births were as quick as they were grotesque.
Few humans could witness the opening of a Flower’s womb and stomach ever having sex with a bloom again.
Royals depended on Flowers for their survival, and even they could not reconcile how alien and different a Flower’s anatomy was compared to their own.
Ardor nearly sobbed as the mangled petal responded, reaching out, curling around Sindar’s finger. His own body had never looked more alien to him. It was as though the bloom truly had a mind of its own. “Don’t look! Don’t!”
“I’m not looking, Beloved,” Sindar said, pressing his forehead to Ardor’s. “I can’t wait to meet our baby girl. What’s her name?”
Ardor dug his fingers into the mattress as his bloom drew his consort’s hand inside him, hating the vulgar, wet sounds his body made.
“Mindeh,” he managed. It meant “Everyone’s Daughter,” in Amari.
It was Eminence Heavenly’s last wish, lovingly carved into her son’s genetic code at the cost of her own lifespan.
“Ardor!” Leya dropped the saucer of tea and ran to his side.
She went to her knees, drawing the beads out, and prayed.
Her soft, fervent chanting was order in the chaos.
Prayers had never done much for him before, but now that familiar sound was a lifeline, and his breathing naturally fell into a steady rhythm.
A foul musk rose, and Ardor’s stomach turned. Birthing musk. The scent was repellent by design. It was supposed to discourage humans from coming close during the birthing process. Even he found it raw and unsettling.
“Mindeh,” Sindar murmured, his voice growing thick. “That’s a perfect name.” His voice was perfectly steady as he reached deeper into the flower’s shivering, oozing womb.
“Do you feel the egg sac?” Jain asked. “It will be firm but pliant. The outer membrane should be sticky to the touch.”
Ardor smothered a moan of pain. His face burned with humiliation and was slick with sweat.
His nose brushed Sindar’s. He’d craved intimacy for so long, and now his consort was wrist-deep in his churning, broken body, doing things no consort should ever have to do, seeing things no consort should ever have to see.
The humiliation threatened to break him in two.
“I have her,” Sindar said, his voice tighter now.
“Pull her out. The pressure of the sac pushing against the inner wall should force the bloom to open wide enough for delivery. If it doesn’t--”
“It will,” Sindar said shortly, as he dragged the egg down. “Stay with me, Beloved.”
Ardor panted as the muscular channel pulsed and squeezed, working the egg sac down and out. Oh, Goddess, it was coming. He could feel it, like a low tide slowly rolling in. Inescapable. Unstoppable. Inevitable.
“Get your hand out,” Ardor managed, grabbing the front of Sindar’s jacket. “Before—“
The egg sac ruptured, and fluid gushed everywhere. Every fluid Ardor had. Blood, lubrication, amniotic fluid, and mucous covered Sindar’s arm and the birthing table. The gore was relentless.
And amid it all, the baby sputtered and began wailing.
Ardor’s heart constricted, and he immediately looked for Hara, but the Wraith was nowhere to be found. Within seconds he was consumed by the squalling, slimy, bloody, beautiful, glorious baby, who flailed her little brown feet as Jensen peeled away the remaining egg sac.
Sindar stared at the baby for a long moment, then down at his arm covered in gore.
“Your Majesty, you must step outside,” Leya said hurriedly, quickly steering him out. “The baby needs to bond with His Eminence’s scent… It’s very important…”
Sindar briefly snapped out of it. He looked to Ardor for confirmation.
“Yes,” Ardor said, pulled in all directions.
His baby, his duty, his relief at surviving, his horror at Sindar seeing his body and what came out of it, his anger at his consort’s disobedience, his gratitude at his consort’s disobedience…
all were at odds. It was too much. He could only focus on one.
He pulled the baby close to his chest, to the swell of his burgeoning breasts. “You must go, I’m fine,” he said.
He couldn’t interpret the look on Sindar’s face, and he was afraid to. Instead, he cuddled his baby close, and the rest of the world stopped existing.