Page 6

6

AURELIE

M orning light filters into the room, casting gentle shadows across the bed where I lie with Sephy nestled against my chest. My muscles ache with an unfamiliar hollowness, my body still raw and empty after bringing her into the world. Every small movement sends ripples of discomfort through me, but I wouldn't trade the weight of her tiny form against my skin for anything.

The door creaks open and I tense instantly, my arms tightening around Sephy before I can even process the thought. My heart leaps into my throat, muscles coiling with the instinct to flee—but it's only Ada slipping in, a steaming bowl in her hands and a soft smile on her tired face.

"You're awake," she whispers, careful not to disturb Sephy who sleeps with her tiny lips parted, silvery-blonde wisps of hair catching the sunlight. "I brought broth."

I nod, still stiff despite recognizing her. Four months of running has carved wariness into my bones. Even here, in this moment of relative safety, my body doesn't remember how to truly relax.

Ada approaches slowly, setting the bowl on the small table beside the bed. Steam curls upward, carrying the scent of dreelk and brimbark. My stomach gives an involuntary growl.

"You need to eat," Ada says, not a suggestion but a gentle command. She helps me shift into a more upright position, arranging pillows behind my back with practiced efficiency. Her movements are quick but careful, minimizing my discomfort with an expertise that speaks of having done this many times before. I can only imagine what it was like for her and her daughter.

I accept the bowl with a nod of thanks, balancing it carefully while keeping Sephy secure against me with my other arm. The first sip of broth spreads warmth through my hollow center.

"Where's Rolfo?" I ask, surprised by the question even as it leaves my lips. I shouldn't care where the demon is, shouldn't feel this strange absence at his not being here.

Ada sits at the foot of the bed, her hands automatically reaching for a small pile of cloths. She begins folding them with methodical precision, her fingers working while her eyes stay fixed on Sephy and me.

"Securing the perimeter," she answers, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "He does it every morning, if he's anything like Dezoth. Old habits." I've learned she's married to the City Guard Captain, a close friend of Rolfo's.

I take another sip of broth before asking, "How long have you known him?"

"Long enough to trust him with my daughter's life," she says simply. The statement hangs between us, weighted with meaning. Ada doesn't strike me as someone who gives trust easily. "He's the only one Dezoth would trust near me, too." Which is evident by the way she stayed last night so I wouldn't feel so alone.

Sephy stirs against me, her tiny face scrunching before relaxing again. I marvel at her delicate features—the perfect bow of her lips, the gentle curve of her cheek, the way her eyelashes cast tiny shadows.

"She's beautiful," Ada murmurs, pausing in her folding to look at my daughter with a softness that momentarily transforms her face, smoothing the lines of wariness that match my own.

"She is," I agree, my voice cracking slightly. "I keep worrying this is all a dream. That I'll wake up back in his house, still..." I trail off, unable to finish the thought.

Ada's hands resume their methodical folding, creating neat squares from the soft cloths. "That feeling fades," she says. "Eventually."

"Does it?" I can't keep the doubt from my voice.

She meets my eyes, her warm brown gaze steady and unflinching. "The fear never disappears completely. But it becomes... manageable. Something you carry rather than something that carries you."

I consider her words while sipping more broth, letting the nourishment seep into my depleted body. "How did you do it? Raise a child while running?"

Ada's lips twist into something between a smile and a grimace. "One day at a time. Some days, one hour at a time." She sets aside a folded cloth and reaches for another. "But I had help. Not at first, but eventually."

"Dezoth?"

She nods. "Among others. There are people—humans and demons alike—who understand what it means to need a fresh start."

I glance down at Sephy, at her impossibly small hands with their perfect fingernails. "I never thought I'd be grateful to a demon."

"Life has a way of challenging our certainties," Ada says. The calmness of her presence speaks more than her words, offering a quiet reassurance that seeps into me like the broth's warmth.

The silence between us grows comfortable as I finish eating. Ada continues folding, the repetitive motion somehow soothing to watch. Outside, birds—black pitters, perhaps—call to each other, their songs filtering through the window along with the gentle breeze.

Later, sunlight streams through the window, painting gold lines across my bed as I doze in and out of consciousness. Sephy sleeps in a makeshift cradle fashioned from a drawer lined with fresh linens—Ada's handiwork. My body still aches, but some faint whisper of strength has returned, enough that restlessness now battles with exhaustion.

I push myself up, wincing as my body protests. The room stops spinning after a moment, and I take a deep breath before swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The wooden floor feels cool beneath my bare feet.

Looking around properly for the first time, I study Rolfo's home with curious eyes. The room is sparse—a bed, a small table, a wooden chair in the corner—but surprisingly tidy. No dust gathers in corners; the sheets smell of sunlight and herbs. Not what I expected from a demon bachelor's quarters.

Taking a tentative step, I steady myself against the wall. My legs tremble like a newborn zarryn’s, but they hold. Another step. Then another.

I pause at a framed drawing hanging on the wall—childish scrawls of color depicting what might be people standing in front of a house. The figures hold hands: one tall, one small. A child's drawing, preserved and displayed with care. Rose's, perhaps? The thought stops me. Why would a demon guard keep a human child's drawing?

Making my way into the main living space, I find it just as orderly. Clean dishes stacked neatly. Bookshelves with well-worn spines. A pair of boots by the door, placed just so. Everything has its place. Nothing extravagant, nothing wasted. It's... lived-in. Comfortable even.

My gaze drifts to the kitchen window, and through it, I catch sight of Rolfo in the yard. His broad back faces me, shoulders flexing as he swings an axe, splitting logs with practiced efficiency. The muscles in his arms bunch and release with each swing, his movements economical, purposeful. And for a moment I feel a flash of…appreciation. He's handsome in a way I never would let myself see before.

He sets aside the split wood, then moves to repair a section of fence, his large hands surprisingly deft as they work with the tools.

"He's been at it since dawn."

I startle, turning too quickly. My knees buckle, but Ada's there instantly, steadying me with a firm grip.

"Careful now," she murmurs, leading me to a chair at the kitchen table. "You shouldn't be up yet."

"I couldn't lie still anymore." My voice sounds strange to my own ears—raspy from disuse and screaming through labor.

Ada nods, understanding in her eyes. She pours water from a pitcher into a cup and places it before me. "Small sips," she instructs, then takes the seat opposite.

I obey, grateful for the cool liquid. Outside, Rolfo continues working, unaware of our observation. There's something hypnotic about watching him—this creature of such obvious power engaged in such mundane tasks.

"Not what you expected?" Ada asks, following my gaze.

I shake my head slightly. "Nothing about this is what I expected."

For a moment, we sit in silence, watching Rolfo through the window. He finishes with the fence and steps back, surveying his work with critical eyes before nodding to himself in satisfaction. There's something almost endearing about the gesture.

"I know what it's like," Ada says suddenly, her voice soft. "To wake each morning and wonder if you're truly free. To flinch at shadows and footsteps. To wait for the nightmare to return."

I meet her eyes, finding no pity there—only recognition. "Does it ever stop?"

"The fear?" She considers this, gaze drifting back to the window. "It changes. Becomes less cutting. Some days you might forget it entirely." A small smile touches her lips. "And then your shift focuses to something else."

The way she glances toward Rolfo is significant, weighted with history I don't yet understand.

"He seems..." I struggle to find words that don't sound na?ve.

"Dangerous? He is." Ada's honesty is refreshing. "But not to those under his protection."

The back door opens, and Rolfo steps inside, bringing with him the scent of fresh air and wood. He pauses when he sees me, surprise flickering across his features before he schools them back to careful neutrality.

"You shouldn't be up," he says, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. There's no anger in it, just factual observation.

"So I've been told." Something about his presence makes me want to draw myself up straighter despite my weakness.

He crosses to the sink, washing his hands with brisk efficiency. "Hungry?"

The question is so practical, so ordinary, that it catches me off-guard. "I... yes."

He nods, as if this is the only acceptable answer. "Ada makes a zynthra soup that does wonders." His eyes flick to her. "If you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not." Ada rises, moving to the cooking area with the familiarity of someone who's done so many times before.

Rolfo dries his hands, then turns to face me fully. "You can stay as long as you need." The statement is delivered matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument. "Until you're strong enough to decide what comes next."

I should resist, should question his motives, should fear this arrangement. But my body thrums with exhaustion, my daughter sleeps peacefully in the next room, and for the first time in years, I've woken without dread coiling in my stomach.

"Thank you," I manage, the words inadequate but all I have to offer. I nod, swallowing back the questions and suspicions that hover on my tongue.

I'm in no condition to do anything but accept this sanctuary, temporary as it might be. And though the thought should terrify me—being at the mercy of yet another demon—I find myself too tired to sustain the fear.

I only hope my trust won't get us both killed.

Night falls, bringing with it the unfamiliar sounds of Rolfo's home—the soft creaking of wood settling, the distant call of nocturnal creatures, the gentle whisper of wind through trees. The room is bathed in shadows, broken only by silvery moonlight streaming through the half-open curtains. I lie awake, my body exhausted but my mind racing endlessly.

Across the room, Rolfo sleeps upright in a chair that seems too small for his large frame. His arms are folded across his broad chest, chin tucked down, silver eyes hidden behind closed lids. Even in sleep, there's something vigilant about his posture—like a predator resting but never truly defenseless. The moonlight catches on the scar across his right eyebrow, making it appear almost white against his skin.

Ada sleeps on a cot near my bed, her honey-blonde braid loosened from the day's activities, her breathing deep and even. Her face in repose looks younger, the ever-present wariness momentarily erased by exhaustion.

And between us all, Sephy sleeps in her makeshift cradle, tiny chest rising and falling with each breath, silvery-blonde curls splayed against the pillow. I keep my hand resting lightly on her back, needing the physical connection, the constant reassurance of her warmth, her realness.

The ceiling above me bears water stains in patterns that remind me of clouds—or perhaps beasts. My mind traces their outlines, reconstructing them into familiar shapes then dissolving them again. Anything to keep thoughts of Kaelith at bay, to prevent myself from imagining his rage upon discovering my absence.

Four months carrying his child while planning my escape. Another four of running before collapsing in an alleyway where Rolfo found me. Now here, in this strange limbo—not quite free, not quite safe, but somehow... protected.

Sephy stirs beneath my palm, her tiny body tensing before she makes a soft mewling sound that might transform into a cry. Before I can even push myself upright, Rolfo's eyes snap open, instantly alert. He crosses the room in two silent strides, looming over the cradle with surprising grace for someone his size.

My heart leaps into my throat—an instinctual reaction I can't suppress. But instead of reaching for my daughter, he pauses, his mercury eyes finding mine in the darkness.

"May I?" His voice is barely a rumble.

The question startles me. Permission—something I've rarely been granted, much less asked for. I nod, unable to form words around the tightness in my throat.

With movements so gentle they seem impossible from hands that could so easily destroy, he adjusts Sephy's swaddling cloth, which has come loose around her arms. His fingers look massive next to her tiny form, yet he handles her with a precision that speaks of practice or instinct—perhaps both.

Sephy settles immediately, releasing a tiny sigh before slipping back into deeper sleep. Rolfo watches her for a moment longer, something unreadable passing across his face.

"Her coloring," he says quietly, "mixed blood marks her."

"I know." The words taste bitter. It's what made her valuable to Kaelith—a half-demon child, a possession to control. "It's why he'll never stop looking."

Rolfo's eyes lift to mine, something fierce flashing in their depths. "Let him look."

Three simple words, delivered with such absolute certainty that for a moment, I almost believe them. Almost believe that this demon guard with his scarred hands and silent movements could stand between us and the world.

"You make it sound so simple," I whisper, conscious of Ada's sleeping form nearby.

"Protection isn't complicated." He straightens, moonlight catching the angles of his face. "The reasons behind it might be. But the act itself is instinct."

He returns to his chair, folding himself back into the same position, though his eyes remain on me a moment longer.

"Why?" The question escapes before I can contain it. He never really answered it before and I find myself wanting to understand this demon. "Why help us?"

His expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his posture—a subtle tensing of shoulders. "Sleep, Aurelie. Your body needs it."

The deflection is obvious, but I'm too exhausted to push. Instead, I settle deeper into the pillows, my hand still resting on Sephy's back. Her heartbeat pulses against my palm, small but steady.

I don't expect to sleep, but somehow, knowing Rolfo sits sentinel, my eyelids grow heavier. The last thing I see before darkness claims me is his silhouette, rigid and watchful, in the corner of the room.

When next I open my eyes, Sephy is stirring again, this time with the unmistakable hunger cry I've quickly learned to recognize. Moonlight still bathes the room, but its angle has shifted—hours have passed. I reach for her automatically, muscles protesting as I lift her from the cradle.

Rolfo is awake instantly, just as before. This time, he doesn't approach, merely watches as I settle Sephy against my breast. There's nothing uncomfortable in his gaze—just vigilance, and something that might be respect.

"You should have slept in shifts," I murmur, nodding toward Ada who remains deeply asleep. "There's no need for both of you to lose rest."

"Old habits," he answers, voice low. "Besides, she has a child to care for. She needs the sleep more than I do."

I study him over Sephy's head, trying to reconcile this considerate thought with the fearsome demon guard who killed three men barehanded to protect us just days ago. The contradiction should make me uneasy. Instead, it makes him... real. Complex in ways I wasn't prepared for.

Sephy feeds contentedly in the silence that follows, unaware of the silent negotiations happening above her head. Outside, the sounds of night creatures continue their steady chorus. Inside, four souls breathe together in tentative harmony.

I'll stay because I must. Because Sephy deserves safety. Because running with a newborn would be suicide.

But my walls remain standing—high and fortified by years of survival. And for now, that's how they'll stay.