Chapter 216: ANA
The clamor of the coronation festivities had long since evaporated. Iron Hearth had returned to its original rhythm—the steady hum of factory engines, the rumble of trains cutting through the rails, and the black smoke curling lazily from giant chimneys. However, in a corner of the castle’s west wing, a new rhythm was being learned with great difficulty. A rhythm that knew no schedule, cared nothing for protocol, and was utterly non-negotiable for anyone.
Oeeeekk! Oeeeeeekkk!
Ana’s crying shattered the silence before dawn could even break.
Her voice was high and shrill, piercing through the cold stone walls and echoing along the still-dark corridors. Outside, the snow fell with a slow, poetic motion—but inside the room, the atmosphere was heating up with a panic that was, in truth, entirely unnecessary.
Rhea Sudrath bolted awake. Her eyelids felt as heavy as lead, yet her body moved faster than her conscious mind. Sret. Her left hand scooped the tiny infant from the bassinet beside the bed, while her right hand shifted her gown to nurse. Her movements were still stiff, even a bit clumsy, but highly precise. Like a blade fresh from the forge—not yet accustomed to its new scabbard, but with instincts that already knew where to go.
There was a pause. Only for a fraction of a second. Rhea looked down at Ana—a tiny creature whose face was now flushed crimson from crying, her small hands clenched into tight fists. In her mind, a thought flashed unbidden: In the past, I never had to think about anyone but my own life.
Hmm. She immediately brushed the thought away, swallowed by Ana’s intensifying cries.
The moment Ana found her mark, the sound of greedy little gulps began to replace the previous noise. Rhea leaned her back against the headboard, let out a long sigh, and allowed the silence to slowly creep back into the room.
Beside her, Arvid woke up in a most disorganized fashion. His expensive silk blankets were a tangled mess—somehow, the man could make high-grade fabric look like a rat’s nest in a single night. His hair stood up in every direction, and his eyes were wild, looking like someone who had just escaped a nightmare. He stared at Rhea, shifted to Ana, then back to Rhea in confusion.
"Eh? What’s wrong? Is she hungry? Or sick? Should I call a doctor right now?" The words tumbled out of him. His hands fumbled at the side table, searching for a call bell or perhaps his shoes. The cold air bit at his skin, which was only covered by a thin shirt, but he didn’t care. "Rhea? Should I—"
Rhea didn’t look up. Her eyes were half-closed, savoring the warm sensation spreading from her chest. "She’s just hungry. Calm down."
"But she was so loud, I thought—"
"Hush. Go back to sleep," Rhea cut him off softly.
Arvid froze. His hand remained suspended in mid-air, halfway to reaching for something whose function he didn’t even know. He stared at his wife—the woman who once could strike down enemies without blinking, who once traversed city rooftops like a shadow of death—now cradling their baby with an expression that was hard to decipher. It wasn’t a sappy softness, but it wasn’t cold either. It was something new, somewhere in the middle.
"Are you... sure you’re okay?" Arvid asked again, his voice dropping.
Rhea finally looked over, her gaze flat. "Do you want me to get up and make you tea before she’s done nursing? Hmm?"
Arvid immediately clamped his mouth shut. He lay back down, pulling the blanket up to his chin, but his eyes remained wide open, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced: I’ve devoured every parenting book. But why didn’t a single Chapter mention that I’d feel this helpless? Sleep was clearly impossible for him now. But at the very least, he tried not to look panicked anymore.
By noon, Arvid decided that theory alone was not enough. He needed practice.
"I want to try holding her," Arvid declared firmly.
Rhea, who had just finished putting Ana back into the bassinet, looked at her husband with one eyebrow raised. Thin dark circles under her eyes were visible in the daylight. "Oh? Are you sure you want to try?"
"I’m sure. I’ve read the book twice. I know it by heart," Arvid replied with full confidence—the tone of a professor ready to deliver a public lecture. However, the tips of his fingers hanging at his sides trembled slightly.
Rhea didn’t say much. She picked Ana up from the bassinet and—without warning—handed her directly into Arvid’s arms.
Hup. Arvid caught her with stiff hands. His positioning was correct according to the book’s instructions. The angle of the head matched the diagram. One hand supported the neck, the other held the bottom. But his entire body was tense, as if he were holding an ancient artifact that could shatter into pieces from a breath that was too strong. He could feel the warmth of Ana’s body through his shirt—a strange warmth, one that made him afraid and amazed at the same time.
Ana opened her eyes. Pale blue—a color that came from who knows where, as neither Rhea nor Arvid possessed them. The baby stared at her father, blinking slowly once. And then...
Ugh—hoek!
Arvid felt something warm and wet suddenly splash onto his chest.
He looked down slowly. On his favorite white shirt, which had just been changed that morning, was a wet, yellowish-white stain that was beginning to spread. The smell of sour milk immediately hit his nose. Ana had just spit up on her father with perfect aim.
A momentary silence enveloped the room.
Then—pfftt.
Rhea laughed.
It wasn’t just a polite little chuckle. She laughed out loud. Her shoulders shook violently, and her eyes squinted until tears formed. One hand clutched her stomach, holding back the urge to laugh that seemed as though it had been locked away for too long.
Arvid was stunned, his eyes bulging. He had never seen Rhea laugh like this. Never. Not even on their wedding night or when Arvid tried to be funny—which was usually met with a cold "what are you doing" stare. The sound of her laughter felt light, like something that had finally found a crack to burst through.
"You..." Arvid swallowed, still with the vomit stain on his chest. "You... should laugh like that more often."
Rhea stopped instantly. Her face returned to its flat mode, as fast as a window being slammed shut. "Don’t get used to it. It was just a fluke."
But Arvid saw it. The corners of his wife’s lips were still twitching slightly, holding back the remnants of the laughter.
Arvid let out a long sigh—a mixture of frustration over his ruined shirt, exhaustion, and a strange sense of joy. He looked at Ana, who was now fast asleep in his arms, looking completely innocent after causing such a mess.
"I’m going to change my clothes," Arvid muttered.
"Hmm. Don’t forget to wash your hands thoroughly."
"Yes, yes, I know."
Aurelia Sudrath entered without knocking, bringing with her the aroma of savory broth and sharp ginger. A bowl of steaming chicken porridge was placed on the bedside table. Tuk.
"Eat it while it’s warm," she commanded briefly. "To keep your milk flowing. This is a traditional recipe, so don’t complain."
Rhea obeyed without a word. She took the first spoonful. Glek. Warmth spread down her throat. The ginger was slightly spicy, exactly how she remembered it from her childhood. From a world that now felt like a very distant shadow.
Aurelia sat in a chair near the window, not saying much. She just observed her daughter eating, then glanced at Ana, who was peaceful in her bassinet. The sunlight revealed fine lines at the corners of Aurelia’s eyes that hadn’t been there before.
"Once..." Aurelia began in a hoarse voice, almost as if whispering to herself. "When you were as small as her, you were the hardest to manage."
Rhea’s spoon paused mid-air.
"Crying constantly, at all hours. You wouldn’t sleep unless you were carried while walking. I even had to ask the neighbors to take turns because I was so exhausted," Aurelia offered a thin smile, her eyes far away. "And when you were quiet... that was usually a danger sign. It meant you were planning something. Either climbing the cabinets or hiding the kitchen keys."
Rhea stared at her mother blankly. Her memory of that was zero. But she could imagine it—a young, exhausted mother, carrying a stubborn baby. And now, that baby sat here, eating the porridge she made while tending to her own infant.
What a strange circle, she thought.
Rhea returned to eating her porridge in silence. However, as she looked down, her hand paused for a moment over the baby’s bassinet—just a very brief touch of her fingertips—before continuing to eat. Aurelia didn’t continue her story. She only reached out, stroking Rhea’s hair briefly, just as she had when Rhea was a little girl.
Rhea didn’t pull away. She kept eating, letting the silence feel warm.
Tap... tap... tap...
The door pushed open slightly, revealing a small figure walking with an unbalanced gait—arms extended to the sides for balance, as if crossing a suspension bridge.
Kaelven.
The one-and-a-half-year-old boy entered with a serious face. His round cheeks puffed as he breathed quickly. Behind him, Elena followed with a weary face and disheveled hair.
"Oh boy, I’m sorry," Elena whispered softly. "He just woke up from his nap and his energy just exploded. As soon as he heard the baby’s voice, he ran straight here. I couldn’t hold him back."
Kaelven had reached the front of Ana’s bassinet. His tiny fingers gripped the wooden edge until they turned white. His eyes widened as he stared at the bundle of blankets in front of him.
"Adek?" (Little one?) he asked with a tone of wonder, as if just realizing that there was another creature in this world smaller than him.
Aurelia lifted Kaelven up a bit so he could see more clearly. "Yes, dear. That’s your little sister. Her name is Ana."
Kaelven stared at Ana with a furrowed brow, an expression far too serious for a child his age. Then—without warning—his hand reached out, touching Ana’s cheek.
Plok. Too hard.
Ana jolted awake. Her pale blue eyes immediately welled up. Her mouth curved downward. And... Oeeeekkkk! A cry broke out, louder than usual.
Kaelven froze. His lips began to tremble, his eyes widening in shock. He looked at his own hand, as if not understanding why his touch had caused such a ruckus. Then—Waaaaaaa! Kaelven started crying too, his voice even more thunderous than Ana’s.
The room erupted in laughter from the adults. Aurelia laughed while comforting Kaelven, Elena covered her mouth so her laughter wouldn’t be too loud, and Arvid, who had just returned, could only shake his head at the doorway.
Rhea stepped closer, picking up Ana. She looked at the still-sobbing Kaelven. "Gently," Rhea said flatly. An instruction, not a request. "She’s fragile. Just like you used to be."
Kaelven slowly stopped crying. He looked at Rhea, then at the baby in her arms. This time, he reached out his hand again—very carefully. His fingertip touched Ana’s cheek with extreme gentleness, mimicking his mother’s movement when she stroked his head.
Ana fell silent instantly. Her crying stopped completely. The two small children stared at each other in a comical silence.
Kaelven broke into a wide grin, showing his teeth. "Adek!"
Night fell, and the room grew silent once more. Ana was fast asleep with steady breathing—tiny inhalations that were almost inaudible. Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the window, casting silver lines across the wooden floor.
Arvid sat in the chair beside the bassinet, just watching his daughter. For a long time. His hands were folded peacefully in his lap.
"I... I’m going to be a good father to her," he whispered softly. Not to show off, but to convince himself.
From the bed, Rhea replied without opening her eyes. "Aren’t you one already? Now, go to sleep."
Arvid’s heart beat a little faster at that answer. He watched Rhea for a moment under the dim moonlight—his wife looked younger, more human when she was tired like this.
Arvid smiled, then stood up and crawled onto the bed beside Rhea.
"Um... thank you, Rhea," he whispered sincerely.
Rhea didn’t answer verbally. However, her hand moved beneath the blanket, touching Arvid’s arm for a moment with her fingertips before pulling back.
For Arvid, that was more than enough.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing Iron Hearth. But inside that room, everything felt so warm. And for tonight, that warmth was everything.