Page 34 of The Surrender

So, I relax my shoulders and heave a sigh. Then, I notice how Zephella’s hardened chin, shrewd eyes, and tense shoulders soften. The flared wings of her arms settle, and she gestures inside while her other arm cradles the sleeping babe.

As soon as I enter the treehouse, I gasp, gushing over the surroundings. I don’t care if it’s nothing like the castle, either of the castles. It’s nothing like my former family’s manor in the Borderlands—a manor I earned in blood but took no pride in.

“It’s beautiful!” I do a little twirl and bring my hands to my lips, uncertain of why the moment overwhelms me so. Or why unbidden tears are falling.

Since Zephella doesn’t seem to mind my wandering, I rush to the great tree growing through the center of the treehouse. I touch its bark and smile, marveling at the initials in the bark “Z + E” and already wondering about the history behind them.

On the cusp of the massive tree, a couple steps lead to a large dais, cushioned, with a little library of shelves filled to the brim with books. I don’t dare touch the golden spines, understanding somewhere deep inside me, they are sacred. They are of the angels!

With Kyan muttering something incoherent to Zephella and chuckling, I clamber down the little dais and to the other side of the room where three great arched windows stream the gray day of the Waste to offer the room plenty of light.

Zephella embarks into the kitchen through a high rounded opening. I take one step onto the winding staircase but stop in my tracks, thinking better of invading her more personal areas.

The next thing I know, Zephella approaches me, bird beak straight and poised at me, her eyes warm, her smile soft. By now, she’s unwrapped the baby from whatever sling she’d used. For the life of me, I can’t tell why her demeanor has changed, but when she jerks one finger to the little settee behind me with cushions prepared to prop up my back, I don’t hesitate. I scurry and sit with the feathers flicking the air.

Kyan stands a few feet away, eyes glinting. It’s enough to steal my breath. No, that’s wrong.

Zephella levels with me while lowering the baby toward me, pausing only to gesture to my arms. “Form an oval, Quintessa. Support her head with the inset of your arm.”

I hold my breath. I’ve never been more certain of holding my breath than at this moment. My heart is too delicate. A tattered organ of shattered armor and threadbare strings. Pumping blood by what otherworldly power I can’t fathom.

And then, she lays the baby in my arms.

25

Quintessa will bear my child.

KYAN

“Oh....my...gods...”

I love how Quintessa exhales one long breath as if she’d held it for eternity. In some ways, I’d wager she has.

Again, I stroke my knuckles down her cheek. She flinches. Then, one corner of her mouth curls in the softest and sweetest of smiles as she stares at the sleeping babe in her arms. Fuck, my chest aches. With the ashen light of the Waste haloing her, I almost delude myself into believing she truly is an angel. One I’d have been expected to wed and breed to continue a long line of god-spawn.

My entire being trembles with the knowledge that I could never wish for anyone but her to wed, to bed, and carry my offspring. Regardless of her lack of wings, she is still just as precious and sweet to me.

Tsk, tsk, tsk, naïve Kyan. You said the same about Erya.

Shut up, I growl the warning.

Wind is so fickle. Moving this way and that. From north to south and east to west.

She will fly with me as Erya never could! I roar at him while maintaining a stoic expression within the treehouse while Quintessa studies the child, her tears forming tiny wells on the blanket. Whatever your fuckery, I swear by all the souls in the Veil, she will surrender. And she will destroy you.

It’s the first time he’s ever been rendered silent by my threat. Perhaps it’s more than a threat this time. With how she’d offered herself like a burnt offering as a sacrifice to Drago’s fire, restored his soul, and rose from the ashes after he’d sacrificed half of his soul to save her, it’s the first true spark of hope we’ve had in thousands of years.

I turn back to Quintessa where she rubs her cheek against the babe’s. A reverent euphoria washes over me as I study her. Once her lips touch the infant’s soft brow, the image of her doing the same to our child ignites all my nerve endings. I peer down at the newborn’s eyelids that seem like velvet, eyelashes soft as fine shadow lines, tiny and puckered heart-shaped mouth making little sucking motions. Dark feathers, so newfound, they are little more than fluff.

A girl. A daughter, I determine and harden my jaw. One who would look just like our little queen. I let the image sink into my mind, brand an irrevocable seal upon my heart, and swear to all the kingdoms of my lost heavens: Quintessa will bear my child. A god chooses who he wishes, and none may contest him. And this is my realm in the Waste, confound it all if it’s cursed, it’s still mine.

She doesn’t speak. She simply cherishes and treasures the moments with the child.

Three massive shadows darken the light around Quintessa, but she doesn’t seem to notice, much less care. A piqued caw leaves Zephella’s throat, and I chuff a laugh from the sight of my brothers standing at the window to catch their glimpse of my little spirit moth holding the babe.

The moment Zephella lifts her feathered arm and reaches for the curtain rope, all three widen their eyes in alarm and shake their heads wildly. Crooking my mouth into a smirk, I watch Drago shoving the others out of the way, so he can get the last look.

Right until Merikh claws at his prized, crimson locks and lunges in front of him to spy Quinny. Ruffling my feathers, I blow him a boastful kiss and revel in his seething. And the curtains close, casting her in a warm shade.

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