An agonizing scream rent through the infirmary chamber as Ayana arched her back, twisting and turning on the crumpled sheets. Her hands clenched the sides of the mattress, a terrible moan escaping her lips. Black spots danced before her eyes as icy blades of pain stabbed into her stomach.
She wanted it to end—the pain which made spans seem like hours, and hours seem like days. She felt nothing else but the agony with no end.
Iezabel dabbed at her sweat bathed forehead with a wet cloth, brushing the red wisps of hair from her face. She hated to see Ayana in such pain, helpless to do anything but watch. Those tormented eyes wrenched at her heart. She looked so frail and delicate.
She grasped her hand. "I'm here, my lady."
The room was hidden in a semi-gloom, for Zelrine had put out most of the candles. There stood two beds other than the one occupied by Ayana, both empty. A metal tinged odor hung in the air—that of blood and sweat.
It was the twenty fourth day of Nuarel, the last month of winter. Many things had changed around the base. The rebels had started stockpiling weapons and laying traps all around the valley, as if they were preparing for something, but Iezabel knew not what it was.
It had happened in the fallen city.
Lady Ayana was exploring the ruins, trying to find clues of her ancestor. Iezabel was by her side as usual, along with their escort, Captain Zelrine. The morning had been cold, yet beautiful, with many flowers blossoming anew and spreading their sweet fragrance, signaling the end of winter and beginning of spring.
Lady Ayana had bent down to examine a cracked fountain when her water had broken. She had insisted she felt fine, but Iezabel and Zelrine had wasted no time in taking her to the infirmary.
Iezabel raised her head when a soft knock echoed through the chamber.
Zelroth stood awkwardly on the threshold, his countenance uncertain and nervous. "Is she alright? Is there anything I can do?"
Zelrine shot a murderous glare at her brother. "Yes, there is," she said through her teeth. "Close the damned door and get lost!"
Zelroth flinched. "Sorry." He carefully closed the door, his face burning red.
Iezabel started as another scream rang through the chamber, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She picked up the fan and started swinging it over Ayana's panting face.
How much longer?
Zelrine held a leather bottle near her mouth. "Drink some. It eases the pain."
Ayana took a small sip before collapsing back onto the pillow. It was not water, nor was it liquor. It was like a brew of honey, with flavors of apple, grape, wild berry and many other unfamiliar fruits. It was unlike anything she had tasted before, but the strange liquid helped. It slowly coursed through her body, numbing the excruciating throb.
"Thank you."
Zelrine placed the bottle beside her leather armor on the bedside table—the armor which she had pulled off in a hurry as soon as they brought in Ayana. Her sword lay near the foot of an adjacent bed, tossed aside in haste.
She felt Iezabel's gaze on her. "You've done this before?"
"Only once." Zelrine grimaced. "When Zelroth became a father. I was mostly a bystander… kind of like you."
Iezabel nodded, thanking the heavens for the captain's presence. She had never done anything like this, or even watched someone give birth for that matter. She barely remembered her life before Argent.
Ayana's lips parted in a heart wrenching shriek as another contraction shot through her abdomen. It spasmed along her spine, pulling her to the brink of darkness. She gasped. "I can feel it."
Zelrine eyed her timepiece on the table. The contractions were closer. "Lady Ayana, you can start pushing now."
Ayana grabbed the knotted sheet, which Zelrine had lashed to the metal foot-board and pushed. Her face strained and her teeth clenched. Her body twitched and convulsed as another contraction racked through her core. She had to endure. She had to fight the pain.
Her efforts drained her of energy, and exhaustion threatened to encompass her. Drowsiness crept into her mind and body—a tempter trying to seduce her with a promise of release from the ordeal.
Ayana growled, steeling her nerves. She had to do it for her child. She had to do it for Lucien.
Iezabel glanced at her pallid face, surprised to see a glow of hope. A fiery flame burned in her eyes, as if she saw the light of joy beyond the darkness of her torment. Iezabel helped her drink some water and dabbed at her forehead.
"Thank you," Ayana whispered, leaning back on the pillow.
Her face tensed as another contraction twisted through her. She panted, sweat streaming down her brow.
How much longer?
There it was again, the nudge, so small, but filling her with a world of warmth and love—a touch of the one she had sworn to love and protect. She took a deep breath and exhaled. She was going to see her little one.
Her fierce passion rebelled against the thoughts of giving up, against the pain itself, washing it away with her tender affection for the nudger inside her; her whole universe, her brightest sun.
"Try to control your breathing," Zelrine instructed. "Slow and steady."
"Another push, my lady," Iezabel whispered, caressing the back of her hand. "It'll be over soon."
Zelrine urged. "Keep going. Won't be long now." She ran a towel across her forehead. The infirmary chamber felt like a oven, her sweat drenched clothes becoming wetter and stickier by the second. She hated nobility, but Lady Ayana was different. She didn't have the conceited air of self importance most nobles seemed to possess.
Ayana moaned again, her face grimacing in pain as she clutched the knotted sheet. A contraction, then a push, followed by another push. She had to keep going. A few more spans to go. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her ragged breathing.
"Any time now." Zelrine gave her a nod of encouragement.
She groaned, trying to hold back her scream as another wave of intense pressure passed through her belly. She felt a surge of energy and pushed with all her might.
"You are almost there, Lady Ayana. I can see the head," Zelrine said. "Another push," she instructed.
Ayana gripped the knot and clenched her muscles, a scream escaping her lips as she pushed with all her remaining strength.
"I almost got you, little one," Zelrine whispered. She placed her palm below the baby's neck and carefully pulled out the rest of the tiny body—all slick with fluid and blood—into a warm towel. She cleared its nose and examined it for vitals.
Ayana waited, her anticipation mirrored by Iezabel.
"It's a girl!" Zelrine announced with a wide grin.
A glowing smile enveloped Ayana's face as she beheld her wondrous daughter. Iezabel squeezed her hand, a laugh of mirth escaping her lips.
At last, it was over.
"Iezabel, a little help here."
Ayana whimpered as they snipped the cord, her eyes following the struggling, blood covered infant in Zelrine's hands.
"Let me… Let me see her."
Zelrine brought the wailing child over to Ayana, letting the mother hold it in her arms. A satisfied smile spread across her face, for she had never witnessed a more beautiful moment. Not the whole world matched the immense love and adoration in Ayana's eyes as she crooned over the babe at her breast.
"So pretty," Ayana whispered, her eyes bright as the shining stars. She gently pressed her lips to the child's brow. Bright and bloody curls covered her tiny head, cheeks pale and flushed, cherry lips curled as she bawled the melody of new life. "I love you so much," Ayana murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks. A glowing warmth flooded her chest, for she saw what she had waited for; her world, her soul, and her life.
"Her name is Scarlett Lisa Ironfang."