Obsidian Thornwing's Arc

Chapter 16 of 18

Obsidian finished the nursery on a gray morning in Sylvara's seventh month. He set the last board above the east window and stepped back to look at the room. The wall held. The window sat square. The floor did not creak under his boot. He had done more than the list. He had carved a low shelf along the inside of the mushroom wall, curved to follow the round of the room. He had hung a small feeder outside the window so their child would wake to birds. He had lined the crib with the soft cloth Iron told him to buy. He had sanded every edge twice. He wiped his hands on his coat and called for her. Sylvara came up the short hall with one hand under her belly. She stopped in the doorway. Her white wings caught the window light. Her green eyes moved across the shelf, the crib, the feeder outside the glass. She did not speak for a long moment. "You built too much," she said. "I had time." "You had a list." "I finished the list." She walked to the crib and set her hand on the rail. She pressed. The wood did not move. She looked at him the way she looked at him only when they were alone. "Come here," she said. He came. She took his hand and put it on her belly, low, where the baby kicked. He felt the small push against his palm. He had felt it before. It still stopped his breath. "Seven months," she said. "I thought I would be tired of you by now." "And?" "I am not." She reached up and touched his jaw. Her fingers were warm. She pulled him down and kissed him, slow, the way she had not kissed him since the sickness started. He held her carefully, one hand still on her belly. When she stepped back she was smiling. He did not see her smile often. "Sit with me," she said. He sat on the floor by the crib. She lowered herself beside him with his help and leaned into his shoulder. The birds came to the feeder outside. She watched them. "You will be a good father," she said. "I don't know that." "I do." He did not answer. He put his arm around her and kept it there. His braid still hung by the door in the front room. He had not looked at it in three days. He looked at it now, through the open nursery door, and felt nothing pull him toward it. That was the change. The room was done. The wife was fed and warm and leaning on him. The child was coming. The rank he had trained his whole life for waited by the door like a coat he was not cold enough to need. He would need it again, but his wife and baby came first.