91. My Little Clover
my little clover
—ASHáN & SAGE
We have broken every bone in this body. Cleaved the wings from our back. Agony is a cross we have borne many times. But never before have we stood helpless while the person we loved carried it instead.
Another contraction tears through the bond. Eden gasps. So do we.
Take more, I growl.
I don’t know how, Sage shoots back.
Somewhere along the line, the pain became too much, and the bond responded.
The ache inside Eden spilled into us. And we understood, all at once: she hadn’t been clinging to us because she was afraid.
She’d been clinging to us because her body already knew.
When the burden became too heavy to carry alone… we would carry it with her.
“I think something’s wrong,” Eden pants, copper hair plastered to her forehead. “Is the baby okay? Can you still feel her?”
“She’s perfect,” Sage soothes.
“Her heartbeat’s strong,” I add.
Our eyes never leave hers.
“You’re the one who’s changing,” he whispers.
Her brow furrows. “Changing? What do you mean? Bad changing?”
“No,” I breathe, cupping her cheek. “Not bad at all, ash’kaela.”
“The bond is different now,” Sage tells her.
“Different how?” Her wide green eyes search our face for the truth.
“It’s… reaching for us.” Our gaze drops to where our hands cradle her. “To carry some of it. So you don’t have to bear it alone.”
“You’re taking the pain?” she whispers, her trembling fingers press against our jaw. “I thought something was wrong because it doesn’t hurt as much.”
“We wish we could make this painless for you.”
She gives me a small smile. “If it didn’t hurt. I’d wonder if she was really on her way.”
Our throat tightens. Another contraction builds, and we brace before she makes a sound. Eden inhales sharply. It crashes through all three of us. Her fingers clamp around one of my rib bones.
Take more, I beg the bond.
Eden’s grip loosens. Ours tightens. Pain surges through the tether between our souls.
More.
Our vision swims. Sage’s knee trembles. I bare my fangs against the ache.
Still... it isn’t enough.
“That one was so much better,” Eden breathes.
Hours blur together. We stop measuring time in minutes. We measure in contractions. In shared breaths. In whispered encouragement. In every ounce of pain the bonds allow us to steal.
“My leg’s asleep,” Eden murmurs.
“Mine too,” Sage admits.
“... I’m not even sure I have a leg anymore.”
Eden giggles. “That was so much funnier than it should have been.”
“Lumi and Andrik are here,” Therael calls up from the stairs.
Damon snickers. “Your brother is very concerned with the amount of moaning.”
“She’s in labor.”
“Right,” Damon says, entirely unrepentant.
Lumi chuckles. “That is not what I sounded like when I was in labor.”
“You bit me,” Andrik rasps. “... Twice.”
Damon hums. “Ashán and her have that in common.”
“I liked you better when I didn’t know you,” I groan.
Sage snorts. “Look who’s grumpy now.”
“She really did bite me,” Andrik insists.
“Ah—” Eden moans, throwing her head back. “Pressure. Different pressure.” She grimaces. “Get out, both of you!”
“Right. Right!” Sage murmurs.
We pull back with agonizing care, every inch accompanied by another strained breath from Eden. A rush of hot fluid spills from her.
“She’s coming,” Eden groans.
Panic seizes us. “What do you need us to do?”
Eden laughs through another contraction. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“THERAEL!” Sage roars. “GET IN HERE NOW!”
He opens the door immediately. “Yes?”
“That was fast—” Her sentence cuts off as the next contraction moves through her.
Damon peeks around the frame. “He was waiting outside like a plump child waiting for cake.”
Therael sighs. “I was ensuring your privacy.”
“With your ear against the door.”
“... That is an exaggeration.”
“I honestly don’t care who is in this room. Summon Zeus if it’ll get this baby out.” She sucks in a sharp breath. “I need to push.”
“If we’re being technical,” Damon drawls. “Runak is our god of water.”
Eden growls at him. It’s the most adorable growl I’ve ever heard.
He pauses thoughtfully. “And you definitely do not want him here.”
“Damon.”
“I’m trying to be helpful.”
“All right.” Therael’s expression softens as he kneels in front of Eden. “Listen to your body. Don’t force anything. Just—”
Before Therael’s hand can even reach the edge of the blanket, my shadows burst outward, coiling around his torso.
He freezes. “Sage. Ashán,” he says slowly, lifting his hands up in peaceful surrender. “I am trying to deliver your daughter.”
“We are delivering our daughter.” Our fingers tighten around Eden’s thigh, drawing her deeper against our chest, our shadows shielding every inch of her from view.
“Protective instincts appear to be functioning normally,” Damon mutters under his breath.
Therael studies the shadows curling up his arms for a long moment. He smiles. “You’re right.” He gently peels one shadow from his forearm. “She is your daughter.”
He settles beside us instead. “I’m not taking her from you. I’m only here to tell you what comes next.”
We already knew that—we trust Therael with our lives—but the bond doesn’t care.
“It’s all right,” Therael says softly to the shadows. “I won’t touch her.”
Our shadows ease just a fraction, settling into a dark, protective ring around the nest.
“Do you want to change positions, ílyen?” Sage murmurs. “Or would you rather stay right here?”
“Here,” she pants. “Please.”
“Next time you feel the need to push, don’t fight the pressure, curl down, tuck your chin, and give her everything you have,” Therael tells her.
“I’m—I’m scared,” she whimpers, her eyes darting up to ours, shimmering with unshed tears. “Sage, Ashán—I don’t think I can do this.”
I reach up, my skeletal hand cupping her cheek. Sage presses our forehead against hers.
“Look at us. You are already doing it.” Tears spill down her face. “You have survived every wave that has tried to break you.” Another tear slips free. “This one isn’t here to break you.”
We wipe the tears from her cheeks. “It’s bringing our daughter home.”
She melts against our chest.
“I want my sister.”
Hurried footsteps pound up the stairs. Lumi drops to her knees beside the nest, Droot cradled in her hands. She brushes Eden’s damp hair back. Droot glows a soft blue, his wide eyes fixed on Eden.
“Hey,” Lumi whispers.
Eden crumples. “I’m scared.”
Lumi crumples with her, smiling through tears. “I know.”
“I’m not strong like you, Lumi,” she sobs.
Lumi lets out a disbelieving laugh.
“Was it not you who ran straight into the arms of a flaming reaper cursed to kill you less than two months ago?”
“That’s different.”
“Mm. What about when you offered your wrist to a literal Horseman of the Apocalypse?”
“Still—” Another contraction crashes through her, and she nearly rips my rib free. “Still different.”
“Was it?”
“Yes?”
“Why?”
“Because…” She sniffs. “I wasn’t about to push an entire baby out.”
“No.” Lumi wipes another tear from Eden’s cheek. “You weren’t. But this is how you love, Eden. When you’re scared, when you’re hurt, when you’re tired, when it’s reckless. You give your whole heart. This is just another way you’re loving someone.”
Eden’s bottom lip wobbles.
“Eden,” Lumi murmurs. “Just be very glad she’s not coming out with antlers.”
Sage pales. “... That can happen?”
“No,” Therael answers immediately.
“Statistically?” Damon muses. “... Probably.”
“Please, for the love of all that’s holy. Do not get them started on the wings,” Eden groans as she recovers from her last contraction.
Damon opens his mouth.
“Damon,” four voices say at once. Droot adds an indignant little chirp for good measure.
He snaps his mouth shut. “... Fine.”
Eden gasps. “Burning.”
Therael’s smile vanishes. “Good.”
My mate’s eyes fly to him.
“Good?”
He nods. “That means she’s almost here.”
“Okay, Eden, the hardest part is almost over.” He looks into her eyes. “The next time your body asks you to push… trust it.”
We kiss her forehead.
“We’re right here,” I whisper.
“We’ve got you, ílyara,” Sage breathes.
“Bring her home,” we say together.
Another wave crashes over Eden. She curls forward, bearing down. A strangled cry tears through her throat.
“That’s it, ílyen,” we murmur. “Again.”
Our hands slip lower, desperate to help however we can. She gives another big push, and something brushes against our fingertips.
We freeze.
“... Sage, I can feel her. I can feel our daughter.”
“I can feel her too,” he cries.
“Keep pushing, mamé,” we murmur, coaching her through the next contraction. “We’ll catch her.”
Another cry rips through her as she bears down. Her hand slides into our hair, yanking hard.
More of our daughter presses into our waiting hands.
“She’s almost there, ílyen. You’re doing so good. We’re so proud of you.”
“One more big push,” Lumi says.
She gives everything she has left. A cry rips from her throat.
“That’s it,” we whisper. “That’s our girl.”
The pressure gives way in a sudden, impossible release. Our daughter’s tiny weight settles into our trembling hands. Nestled in our palms rests a smooth green cradle, its surface shimmering with dew-dropped veins. Tiny petals along the top begin to quiver…
… and slowly unfurl.
“Why isn’t she crying?” Eden whispers.
Time, as we know it, stops. The petals peel back one by one, revealing impossibly soft green skin. One tiny hand emerges first. Five perfect fingers lazily flex in the cool air. Then another.
“Sage? Ash?” Eden whispers, panic trembling beneath every syllable.
“... She’s so beautiful, Eden.”
We carefully lift Vaelína’s tiny green flower pod and lay it against Eden’s chest. The petals bloom wider with each frantic beat of Eden’s heart, revealing more of our daughter.
She looks like she was sculpted to fit perfectly inside our hands.
Every ounce of her looks like it was deposited perfectly into her little round cheeks.
“Oh my god,” she sobs. “She’s okay.”
Can you believe something this small and perfect chose us? I ask.
No, Sage whispers. But I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure I deserve her.
Her skin is the same rich green as Sage’s, still glistening from birth. Small damp copper curls cling stubbornly to her perfectly round head.
“Eden, she has your hair,” we choke out, laughter and tears tangling in one breath.
Vaelína gives a tiny stretch. The petals open wider, revealing the smallest little wing buds tucked against her shoulders, barely more than soft sprouts.
They twitch once. Her eyes open, and our heart clenches.
One brilliant violet eye. One endless black.
Pieces of me, and Sage, staring back at us.
Just above her tiny heart, a translucent patch no bigger than a thumbprint gleams in the morning light. Beneath it… a tiny golden heart flickers.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
“That’s what I saw on the ultrasound,” I rasp. “That little light.”
An inconceivably small shadow tendril reaches from Vaelína’s fist and wraps around Eden’s finger.
Eden laughs through tears. “Well, hello my little clover.”