Page 60 of Crimson Curse
A nurse swaddles a small bundle and then pauses, scanning the monitors, assessing, verifying, more ritual than worry. She walks to Naomi and places the bundle on her chest. Naomi looks down, and the room brightens like morning. I step closer, and the nurse glances up, smiles, and steps aside so I can see.
A daughter.Mydaughter.Ourdaughter. Small, fierce, and perfect. She has dark hair in soft tufts, and a mouth that curves as if she is already considering her next argument. Her eyes are closed, yet I feel the precise awareness inside her as if she knows this world will ask for more than it should, and she will answer with more than anyone expects.
The nurse touches my wrist with the back of her hand like a gentle nudge, then offers, “Would you like to hold her?”
Naomi lifts the baby, and I take her as if I’ve been training for this all my life without knowing it. The bundle is warm. I feel the rapid hum of her little heart through cloth and the whisper of her breath. I sit beside Naomi, and my hands are steady now that they have a purpose that is not violence.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes without shame. I lower my head and press my mouth to my daughter’s forehead. I don’t know the words to a prayer that would be worthy of this, so I give her my silence and my vow to love and protect her always.
Naomi’s hand comes up and rests against my cheek. Her thumb traces the scar above my brow with tenderness. “You are not your mother’s heir,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “You are hers.”
I can’t answer. I nod because it’s the only thing that will not break me open. For the first time since I was old enough to stand eye to eye with the men who wanted what I had, I don’t feel like a ruler. I feel like a father.
The room settles into that gentle, stunned quiet that lives right after creation. Dr. Levin appears at the bedside, his face composed, his hands professional, and his eyes warm with a respect he rarely shows. He gives the report I need to hear. Mother is stable. Baby is vigorous. Early, yes, but strong. He outlines monitoring plans and thresholds for concern. He tells me what the next twelve hours will look like. I memorize every instruction.
“Thank you,” I tell him. I mean it in a way that makes him nod once before he goes. He has no idea how rare those words are for me.
Naomi sags into the pillow with a small sound. I hand our daughter back to her, and the instant her tiny body rests on Naomi’s skin, she quiets. I have watched transactions my entire life, value passing from one hand to another. This is not a transaction. This is a joining no ledger could hold.
Lex steps in after a soft knock. His eyes move to Naomi first. He nods to her with a deference that he offers to almost no one. Then he looks at the baby and something softens in his face, a change so subtle that a stranger would miss it.
“Congratulations,” he says quietly. “Both of you.”
Naomi smiles at him, weary and beautiful. “Thank you, Lex.”
He glances at me. “Perimeter is sealed. Two teams outside, one at the elevator, one at the stairwell, one moving. No chatter on the channels that matter. No anomalies on the feeds.”
“Good,” I reply. “Keep it that way. No celebrations outside this room. No posts. No calls beyond the list we prepared.”
“Already enacted,” he returns.
Timur stands in the doorway as if uncertain he belongs in a room like this. He has ended men with his hands and made others confess things they swore they would carry to the grave. He looks at my daughter, and the room changes him. He clears his throat and speaks to Naomi with a gentleness I have rarely heard. “You did well,moya ledi.”
She smiles. “Thank you, Timur.”
He looks at me. “Pakhan,” he nods, and there is gratitude in the word as if I gave him this moment and he intends to keep it polished in his mind for a very long time.
“Come meet your smallest leader,” Naomi says, and he almost laughs. He steps forward like he is approaching an altar. He doesn’t touch the baby. He just looks, and his hard mouth softens. Then he nods once more and returns to the doorway, happy to stand guard where he knows he is most useful.
The hour stretches into something warm and golden despite the cold shine of the clinic lights. The storm begins to tire, its temper spent. Rain still lashes the windows, but the thunder is less insistent now, as if sated by the sound of a new life arguing with the night.
Naomi dozes, our daughter curled against her. I sit with them and learn the landscape of this small face. The delicate brows. The blue-red flush on her cheeks will fade by morning. The little fists that open and close like flowers testing daylight. When she startles, I lay my hand lightly on her back and feel the steadiness of her breath return. I don’t know which part of me learns with more awe, the man or the boy I have kept locked in a room so long he forgot what windows are for.
I find the courage to speak softly to Naomi while she sleeps, a thing I have done only rarely because I never saw the point of saying something that could not be answered. Tonight, I understand that some words bloom simply because they need good air. I tell her that I am grateful. I tell her that I am going to make different choices because of what happened in this room. I tell her that the empire can hold its breath for a while, and the men who do not understand why will learn or leave. She doesn’t hear me, not with her waking mind, but I know she will feel the truth of it when the changes begin to ripple.
The nurse returns with a small, clear bassinet and wheels it to the bedside. She shows me how to wrap our daughter again, forearms moving with a competence that makes the fabric foldinto a neat cocoon. I am a quick study when skill matters. I practice once, then a second time, then a third when the baby manages to kick free of the first careful corner. The nurse smiles reassuringly.
“Does she have a name yet?” she asks.
Naomi stirs and opens her eyes. She looks at me, and I see the unasked question there. We have floated names between us in the past months, the way couples toss coins into fountains, a wish here, a memory there, a promise we didn’t want to speak too loudly in case the world decided to be cruel.
“We will tell you in the morning,” I say to the nurse, and she nods as if she has heard such answers before.
Naomi watches me, curious. “You have one in mind,” she murmurs.
“I have many in mind,” I answer. “I want to hear what you hear when you look at her.”
Naomi studies our daughter in the quiet. “She looks like she will make her own name,” she says finally. “We will listen for it.”
