Page 47 of The Fae Lord
Maura
THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO
The day Alana is born, the very air hums with anticipation. A strange energy crackles through our village, setting my old bones on edge. I know, with the certainty that comes from a lifetime of watching and listening, that this child will be different.
When Magdalena’s screams echo through the birthing chamber, I hurry to her side. She has been calling the baby ‘Alana’ ever since she discovered she was carrying a girl.
We have all become familiar with her name. It is as if we know her already.
Magdalena is resplendent as she paces up and down the room, breathing through the cramps that grip her stomach. Her wings glow, her skin glows. Farrow stands beside her, holding her hand, already a proud father.
Outside, young Samuel shouts for the baby sister he’s been anticipating, “Is she here yet?”
But when Alana finally appears, rushing into the world in a flurry of love, the midwife’s eyes widen in shock. Alana does not make a sound.
Magdalena and Farrow look panicked. I tell them not to worry and join the midwife, hand on her shoulder, staring down at the tiny baby girl.
As soon as I lay eyes on her, I understand what it was we were all feeling; why we were so excited by this pregnancy.
“An empath . . .” I breathe.
For Alana glows with a purple light I have only ever heard of, never seen.
She is tiny, fragile, her skin still slick with the fluids of the womb. But where other newborns are wrinkled and red, Alana glows with an ethereal light, her skin a soft, shimmering purple. From her back, two delicate wings unfurl, gossamer thin and the same unearthly hue.
“By the moon,” the midwife breathes, her voice trembling. “What manner of child is this?”
I step back, my heart pounding in my chest. I have seen much in my long years, but never anything like this. Never a babe born with wings, with the very essence of magic dancing over her skin.
Our wings develop slowly, over the first ten years of our lives.
But Alana’s are already fluttering gently on her back.
A sense of unease grows within me. We were wrong. We believed this child would be special, but what if she is not a blessing, but a portent of something darker? Something dangerous.
Farrow is at my side now, and when he sees his daughter, he audibly gasps. Magdalena asks what’s happening. She is distraught, worried there is something wrong with the baby.
I meet Farrow’s eyes and smile at him. “Your daughter is very special, it seems.”
But he knows the dread that has settled in my heart, and I see his, too.
Trying to smile, I take the baby to Magdalena and lay her on her mother’s chest.
Magdalena looks down and smiles as if Alana is the sun and the moon and all the things in between. She sees nothing to be afraid of, only love staring back at her.
We wait until Alana has fed, then give her back to the midwife to be settled.
Magdalena falls into an easy, exhausted sleep, oblivious to the shock and fear that permeates the room.
“I will return later.” The midwife has wrapped Alana in lamb’s wool. She does not meet Farrow’s eyes as she leaves.
“Maura... what do we do?” Farrow speaks in a low whisper as soon as the midwife leaves.
“What is there to do?” I ask him. “Your daughter is special.”
“But an empath...” Farrow rubs his long dark beard. “An empath, Maura. There has never been a Leafborne –”
A rush of air enters the room.