As we leave Mireva's home, the reality of her words settles over me like a weighted cloak. Twins. I'm carrying twins. Vael walks beside me, his expression unreadable, lost in his own thoughts about this unexpected development.
I press my palm against my stomach, trying to reconcile the emptiness I feel with the knowledge that two lives are growing inside me. Relief mingles with terror—relief that this arrangement wasn't some elaborate hoax, that my body is doing what it's meant to do; terror at the heightened stakes, the doubled responsibility.
The strangest feeling, though, is the quiet warmth blooming beneath my ribs. For the first time in years, I belong somewhere. These children—his children—have created a place for me in this alien world, temporary as it may be.
15
VAEL
The walk back from Mireva's is silent, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Trinity's face remains carefully composed, but her fingers keep drifting to her stomach, an unconscious gesture that draws my gaze each time.
Twins. My mother will be ecstatic—two heirs instead of one, doubling our chances of continuing the bloodline with strength.
I should feel triumphant. Instead, my chest feels tight, constricted by something I can't name.
By the time we reach home, the red sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the stone path. I unlock the door, holding it open for Trinity. She slips past me, her scent—honey and warmth with that new undercurrent that must be the pregnancy—brushing my senses.
"Jackie?" Trinity calls, but the house remains silent.
"She mentioned visiting her wife today," I remind her, watching as she sets her cloak aside. "She left food prepared in the kitchen."
Trinity nods, but makes no move toward the kitchen. Instead, she stands in the center of the living space, lookingstrangely lost. Her fingers twist together, then separate, then find their way back to her still-flat belly.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, desperate to break the silence.
"No." She meets my eyes briefly before looking away. "You?"
"No."
More silence. I move to the stone hearth, igniting the fire with a gesture. The flames leap up instantly, bathing the room in amber light that softens the edges of everything, including Trinity's tense features.
"Twins," I say finally, the word hanging in the air between us.
"Twins," she echoes, a small, incredulous laugh escaping her. "Double trouble."
"Double success," I correct her automatically, but the words feel hollow.
Trinity sinks onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. The firelight plays across her face, highlighting the faint circles beneath her eyes, the slight pallor of her skin. She looks exhausted, vulnerable in a way that twists something in my gut.
"Are you disappointed?" she asks suddenly.
The question catches me off guard. "Disappointed? Why would I be disappointed?"
"It's not what we agreed to. One baby, not two. It... complicates things." Her eyes, when they meet mine, are searching.
I cross to the cabinet where I keep the stronger drinks, pouring myself a measure of Amerinth. The purple liquid catches the firelight, shimmering. "It doesn't change our agreement," I tell her, keeping my voice steady. "Two, one... the terms remain the same."
What I don't say is how the image of her with two infants—mychildren—keeps flashing through my mind. How the thought of her leaving once they're born suddenly feels like a wound I can't cauterize.
"Good," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
I take a long swallow of the Amerinth, welcoming the burn. "Are you concerned about the delivery?"
She shrugs one shoulder. "I'm concerned about everything. One baby was terrifying enough. Two feels... impossible."
Without thinking, I move to sit beside her on the couch. "Nothing about this is impossible. I'll ensure you have everything you need. The best care, the finest healers."
"It's not just that." She stares into the fire. "I never wanted to be a mother. I told you that. And now I'm going to birth not one but two children that I'll have to walk away from."