Cries of agony echoed out from the open window of the [Midwife’s] home and snow crunched underfoot as I paced in front of my soon-to-be father-in-law, William. Snow danced across the winds, but I could not enjoy the brisk early winter air. Dread had wrapped its claws in a vice grip around my heart. The [Midwife] had banned William and I from the delivery room and listening to Rebecca’s cries was driving me mad.

  Rebecca let out a harsh scream and William’s hand landed on my shoulder as he led me to sit on a snow-covered bench. The wood creaked in protest at my weight.

  “Relax Bran. Becca’s strong, she’ll make it through this. And don’t worry about her little girl either, if she’s half as strong as her mother she’ll be tougher than any man in Twin Oak.” Like all speakers of the Grace Chant William’s voice was musical, but tinged with the stiff accent of a non-native speaker; like a singer who couldn’t hit a third of the notes.

  I spent the rest of the day on that bench. While we waited, William told stories of the early days with each of his children, but I couldn’t focus on what he was saying. All I could hear was Rebecca’s voice and my heart sank with each cry and torturous silence. William left at some point, but I was so focused on the sounds coming from the [Midwife’s] house that I couldn’t say when.

  Rebecca went silent with the new dawn. Her cries faded to silence in time to be replaced by the sound of songbirds in the nearby canopy. The sky lost all color when her voice went still. The burning yellows, oranges, and reds became a bleak gray as I stared at the wooden door. I prayed to the Grace Mother with everything I had that the two of them were alright.

  It wasn’t until my quietly joyous mother popped her head out of the door, put a finger to her lips, and gestured me inside that the world regained its color. Every step across the narrow dirt road and up the steps had a new set of worries claw at my thoughts. What if Rebecca was hurt? What if Helena was born weak?

  My heart threatened to beat out of my chest. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to leave my child at the forest’s mercy. Shaking fingers touched the sanded wood of the [Midwife’s] door, unable to muster the courage to open it for a moment.

  Grace Mother, grant me the courage to love, and the wisdom to do what must be done.

  Weak fingers pushed open the door and, with a glance around the delivery room, my fears vanished. Rebecca was awake, her back pressed against the headboard and a proud smile on her angular features. My mom hovered just over her shoulder, vibrating with excitement. She towered over the bed at six and a half feet tall, but the pure joy on her face made her look like a kid. Over Rebecca’s other shoulder were her mother and father, William and Elizabeth. The pair held each other as Elizabeth’s hand gently stroked the bundle pressed to Rebecca’s chest.

  I felt like an outsider to the warmth of the familial scene. When I took a step into the room, a floorboard squeaked under me and caused everyone to look at me. Their gazes made me feel even more so an intruder.

  Part of my unease melted when Rebecca’s roguish smile appeared and she nodded her head at the bundle. Excitement and fear built in my chest with equal measure as I neared the bed. My heart hammered in my chest by the time I stood next to my mother.

  Helena was wrapped snugly in a blanket kept from my childhood, the patched fabric comforting and soft. Staring at the concealed form of my child, the mantle of responsibility wrapped tighter around my shoulders; the weight of my people all the more intense now that my daughter was amongst their number.

  The weight almost drove me to my knees, but as Rebecca took Helena from her chest, I got my first look at our daughter. The absolute love I felt for the little girl in her arms overpowered and washed away all the dread at my responsibilities.

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  Gently, I scooped Helena from her mother’s arms and held her close to my chest, terrified that I would hurt her or even upset her. As I held her, people spoke around me, but I just listened. I heard her smooth rhythmic breathing; the strong steady beat of her heart and the world fell away. The sounds of my daughter resting peacefully in my arms were so soft, yet all-consuming. I brought her up and kissed her forehead before I brought her back to cradle against my chest, careful not to hurt her.

  I can’t say for certain how long I stood in that spot, swaying slightly to the beat of Helena’s heart, but when I looked up, there were tears in my eyes. It was all I could do to not break down. The torrent of love and joy I felt for the tiny creature in my arms almost too much to handle.

  I looked at Rebecca, who smiled up at me from her place in bed, and did my utmost to hold back the flood of joyful tears. I tried to convey how grateful I was for our daughter, the things I would do to protect Helena and her, the lengths I would go to, to ensure that they were loved; but words failed me.

  With a croak, all I could squeeze out was a tight voiced;

  “Thank you.”

  ~***~

  Delia looked across the private clearing in her mother’s realm towards her elder sister, Iona, who’d dressed in her full battle-regalia. Scale mail made of crystal ice and ironwood bark covered a torso of whipcord muscle. A formal shawl woven from glory of the snow flowers was draped across her shoulders and she had her soot black hair tied back into a tail that fell just above her waist.

  Iona’s brass buckler and sheathed rapier moved slightly in the winds that surrounded their master. A frost crept across the forest floor and threatened to overwhelm the clearing were it not for the heat of Delia’s domain.

  Delia focused slightly as she stared at her sister’s eyes, one glacier blue and the other the color of dead wood, and heard the hollow screams of the wind.

  Iona said nothing about her inspection. She hadn’t truly been present in the moment since that mortal went into labor and she’d sent her gaze into the material plane.

  Delia’s thoughts went to the mortal child who had her sister so worried. A small part of her regretted that she and Thalia had never paid the boy any mind, and instead left him to the care of her sister’s Black Hands.

  Delia had to fight the scowl that wanted to rise at the thought of those butchers. She knew better than most how much Iona cared for the boy, but she disliked that they’d left their mother’s first ever chosen to be raised in the image of Winter.

  “Sending him away is the right decision. The boy needs time to recover.” Delia said, in the High Chant, unsure if she meant to convince herself or her sister.

  Iona shot her a glare. Each of her eyes held its own myriad of emotions, but she said nothing and returned her gaze to the mortals.

  Delia kept focused on her sister for a moment longer before she shifted it to the same spot on the mortal plane.

  The boy had paced a path into the freshly fallen snow and was being led to a bench by the man next to him. Her presence now in the material plane, her domain blanketed the surroundings and provided her with a view of all it entailed.

  Inside of her domain, Bran reminded Delia of an oak tree. A young tree to be sure, one recently wounded; his bark had just started to grow over the wounds and it was still unclear if he would have the strength required to heal.

  The other mortal loomed over the boy’s shoulder. His gaze constantly flickered between the house across the road and Bran, but never lingered on him for long. When it did, Delia could tell that the man held no love for the young oak.

  Delia might’ve been concerned about the boy’s safety if she hadn’t brought up the danger of entrusting his family with so much power so many times, only to be ignored. Delia would have let her gaze linger on Bran had she not felt her mother’s domain flood the [Midwife’s] home.

  The mortal woman had just given birth and was about to be handed her child when Delia felt her mother’s domain brush against her own, the feeling like being enveloped in a hug, before it enveloped the nascent soul of the newborn. Faith and mana surged around her in her mother’s realm and in a torrent, it rushed towards the infant.

  As the power raced past her, she felt it resonant with her domain. She felt the first light of spring, the smell of fresh rain, the blooming of flowers, the first steps of animals leaving their dens and thousands of other familiar concepts as they infused into the child.

  The flood of power lasted only a moment. Her mother had sacrificed a not insignificant amount of power to select a second chosen and had attuned that power to the Dao of Spring. As the mantel of faith settled around the girl, Delia felt at the tether that’d formed between her and the girl.

  Delia’s entire being focused on the child. Her mother clearly intended for her to mentor the infant, like her sister had done for the girl’s father, and she knew with no doubt that she could not shirk that duty.

  Delia felt Iona wrap an arm around her shoulders and drag her into a side hug. Cold infected her being, sapped away at her heat, and dulled her emotion; automatically Delia’s domain fought against the intrusion and she turned her gaze away from the mortals and to her sister who was smiling, a weight lifted off her shoulders.

  “Congrats, Del.” Iona said and smiled. Her affection for both their mother’s chosen radiated from her in a physical aura.

  Delia looked down at the floor of the clearing, at the frost that fought to devour the surrounding space, and back to the boy who’d nearly been felled as he picked up his daughter for the first time. She thought about the responsibility her mother had entrusted them with, and the duty she had to the people of the faith to make sure they knew more than just war.

  “Thank you.”