Page 48 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)
Rowan
IT’S EARLY FEbrUARY, AND THE ground is covered in a thick layer of snow.
It’s been falling on and off over the last week, serving mostly to give me something to do when the stress of the upcoming birth makes me too antsy.
I’ve shoveled all around the cottage multiple times now, if only to keep my body busy so my mind can’t run away with me.
Aurora’s been telling us for days that the baby will arrive soon, and like usual, she was right.
Her water broke this morning, right there in the kitchen while she was pouring a cup of tea. I’m not sure who looked more startled: Aurora, Harrison, or one of us.
Honestly, it was probably me.
And now I’m pacing nervously in front of the bedroom door. Faolan ran into the village—I was actually thankful he’s a shifter for once—to fetch Niamh and the midwife, and now they’re in there with Aurora, their voices speaking soothingly, as if she isn’t about to deliver a child.
My child.
Oh, goddess.
“You okay?” Alden asks. He’s sitting on the couch, a cup of tea held in one hand and a maple cookie in the other.
I flash him a sharp look. “No, I’m not okay. How are you so calm right now?”
He shrugs and takes a bite of the cookie. “Aurora is strong,” he replies after a moment. “And eating keeps me calm.” He takes another bite as I shake my head and turn away.
Faolan looks about as nervous as I feel. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, his brow furrowed, blue eyes glaring at the closed bedroom door. Thorne is perched on the armrest of the couch, cane tapping softly against the wooden floor.
“Would you stop that?” I snap at him.
He jolts upright, the incessant thumping finally ceasing. “Sorry. I fidget when I’m nervous.”
I start pacing again, heart thundering in my chest.
When the bedroom door creaks open and Niamh’s face appears, I freeze.
“The baby will be here any moment,” she says softly. “Would you like to join us?”
Despite the fire roaring in the hearth, my body goes cold. “M-me?” I stutter.
Niamh’s lips pull up into a smile, and she reaches out a hand. I let her wrap her fingers around mine, and then she’s pulling me through the door and into the warm tiny bedroom. The door clicks closed behind me, but I remain right there, my feet feeling rooted to the spot.
Aurora is lying on the bed, freckled cheeks flushed, her long green hair pulled away from her face in a braid. A few strands have come loose, and they cling to her cheeks, which shine with perspiration in the light coming through the open blinds.
“Rowan,” she says, voice tired. One of her hands rises from the blankets, reaching for me.
It takes Niamh pressing a hand softly into my back to get my feet to finally move. I walk around the far side of the bed, and Aurora takes my hand. She grips my fingers, brow furrowing as another contraction hits her.
“Wh-what do I do?” I ask, suddenly feeling on the verge of panic.
The midwife just smiles. “Nothing, dear. Just be here.”
Heart thumping hard, I focus on Aurora’s face. She’s squeezing her eyes closed, teeth gritted. And she’s radiant. A beam of sunlight plays across her flushed cheeks and illuminates a few wispy strands of hair dancing around her face. Her hand grips mine so hard that I want to wince.
“Almost there,” the midwife says. “Once more.”
“You’re doing beautifully,” Niamh says. She’s standing on Aurora’s opposite side, her dark eyes glittering with excitement.
I’m glad she’s here with us. Her presence radiates calm, and it helps me as Aurora pushes once more and births our child into the world.
“Aurora, Rowan,” the midwife says, beaming down at the little squirming bundle in her hands. She reaches for a soft blanket and wipes the baby clean, then stands and carries the child— our child—to Aurora’s bedside. “Meet your daughter.”
Aurora releases my hand and takes the baby into her arms. “A girl,” she whispers. A tear streaks down her pink cheek as she holds our daughter close to her chest. “Rowan...” Her gaze flicks to me. “A daughter. Soleil.”
And as soon as I meet her eyes, I break down.
All the fear and stress and panic I’ve held inside since Aurora told me of her pregnancy come pouring out at once. My chest hitches with a sob, and I sink onto the bed beside Aurora, bracing my elbows on my trembling knees as tears race down my face.
I hear movement, and then the door opens and closes. I don’t look up, but I think the midwife and Niamh left to give us a moment. To give me a moment.
“Rowan,” Aurora whispers again, her tone soft and coaxing as my shoulders shake with another sob. “It’s okay, my love. We’re okay.”
Aurora’s okay. Our daughter—Soleil—is okay.
Our daughter . . .
Finally, I catch my breath. Using the long sleeve of my tunic, I wipe the tears from my face, then turn to lay eyes on the little babe in Aurora’s arms.
She’s pink skinned and wrinkly, her skin still slightly damp despite the midwife having quickly wiped her off. And suddenly, Aurora is leaning forward, transferring Soleil into my arms.
“I-I don’t know what to do,” I stammer. “How do I—”
“You’re doing just fine,” Aurora says. She leans back into her pillows with a sigh, and her gaze softens.
I look down at my daughter. She’s so small—almost impossibly small.
But she looks healthy, and she opens her tiny mouth and lets out a sudden cry.
It startles me, making me flinch. Aurora laughs.
And then I do. And suddenly I’m smiling, more tears running down my cheeks as I hold my child in my hands for the very first time.
“Soleil,” I whisper to her, hands trembling as they hold her small body. “Welcome to the world, little one.”