Fallen Magic

In the kingdom of Thalia, it was tradition that a child’s father should always be present at their birth. It was a sign that the man was truly dedicated to the welfare of his child. They said that a baby born without a father there to see them would suffer from ill-fortune. Things were very different in Rasin. Here, childbirth was seen as sacred and inherently female. To have a man in the birthing room was what would bring ill-fortune on the newborn child.

Tomas, husband of High Princess Alexandra, had done his best to accept and follow the traditions and customs of his wife’s country. He knew he couldn’t even contemplate entering the room in which she was currently giving birth to their child.

But, stars, he hated himself a little for it. There were things that ran deeper, more passionately, than adherence to tradition. He heard Alexandra’s scream of pain through the door that separated him from her, and clenched his fists to stop himself from beating down the door with his bare hands. The woman he loved was suffering, and he couldn’t be with her. That was wrong.

The door opened, and a midwife bustled out. He tried to catch a glimpse of the room, but the midwife shut the door behind her too quickly for him to make out any details. He hoped Alexandra had seen him in that moment, through the haze of pain she must be in, and that she could take some comfort from his presence.

“Any news?” he asked.

“None since last you asked. It’s nearly midnight, Your Highness, and this could last several hours yet. Are you sure you want to stand outside the door all night?”

“Quite sure, thank you,” he replied. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Honestly? Stop asking these questions and let me do my job.”

Tomas nodded, chastened. “Forgive me. I ask only out of concern.” And such concern. He’d never felt so powerless and so afraid before. Not even on the worst of days back in Thalia.

Because, he realised, watching the midwife hurry past him down the corridor, he had so much to lose now.

He knew how risky childbirth could be, even when you had the best of midwives and doctors as the High Princess of course did. And there had been an edge of unease around this one, right from the beginning. It was happening sooner than it should have, he knew. They’d kept religious track of the dates, so they knew the approximate night of conception. With a pregnancy of typical length, it should have been another month yet before the birth.

Maybe it was just that surprise that had all the attendants flustered. That they hadn’t been prepared yet. Or maybe this early birth was more dangerous. Maybe there was something wrong, and they weren’t telling him because that room was no place for a man.

Regardless, he had no intention of going anywhere. This was as close as he could get to being with her. It meant he could hear any news as soon as physically possible. Would he be holding his child in his arms soon?

They didn’t know if it was going to be a boy or girl. There were some oracles that could predict that sort of thing, but they weren’t always reliable. And besides, they didn’t care that much. Whatever their child turned out to be, they would be King of Rasin someday, if all went well.

They’d picked out names already. If it was a boy, it would be Robert Thomas, after his grandfather and his father. Tomas would have preferred to keep the spelling the same as his own name, but that wasn’t how things were done here. And if it was a girl, Eleanor Annabelle, after the first female King of Rasin and the most recent. Tomas wished he’d met his wife’s grandmother. She’d been a formidable woman, by all accounts, and had shaped a lot of Alexandra’s views on ruling. Shaped the King his wife would someday be.

Alexandra screamed again. Tomas prayed silently, for at least the fourth time this hour: Stars, give her the strength to endure this pain. Stars, grant us a healthy and happy child. The only place he could contemplate being that wasn’t here was the palace temple, where he could give himself completely to prayer until it was over.

But he couldn’t quite bear to leave this spot. Couldn’t bear to leave her. He shifted his weight from side to side; he’d been standing still too long, and his legs were beginning to protest. He was worried that pacing might disturb those inside, so he’d refrained from that, but he hated standing in the same position for too long. It brought back bad memories.

Most days he was able to forget the past, bury it beneath new happier memories. But it never truly left him. And in times like these, the pain and the humiliation all came flooding back.

What good is a man who can’t protect himself? If you can’t do that, how do you propose to protect your family someday?

His father had been right. He was powerless to protect his wife and unborn child. Oh, he knew that any other man in his position would be equally so, that that was just how things were done here. But that knowledge wasn’t enough to banish the pain.

All he could do was pray. So he prayed. Time passed. The midwife returned, carrying a heavy sack. He wondered what instruments it contained, prayed they would be what Alexandra needed, tried and failed to catch a glimpse of the room.

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He didn’t know how long he’d stood there, only that his body was beginning to protest. He allowed himself the luxury of leaning on the wall, telling himself it would only be a few minutes and then he’d stand straight again.

There were occasional screams from inside the birthing room. He wanted to scream himself in sympathy. Wanted to share her pain, so that they could endure it together, anything to make her burden a little less. Anything for this to be over so they could be together again, with their newborn child.

Eventually Alexandra fell silent. He didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. He didn’t know anything, stars. He said another silent prayer, because it was better than doing nothing.

After another long while, he heard a cry. He’d never been this close to a birth before, so he wasn’t sure what the first cry of a newborn was supposed to sound like. But he’d imagined it as something like this, high and clear. He started instinctively towards the door, and then stopped himself. It wouldn’t do to burst into the room, not now after all the time he’d waited. But stars willing, it wouldn’t be long until –

It was maybe a couple of minutes, he guessed, before the door opened.

He knew immediately from the midwife’s expression that something was wrong. “Your Highness,” she said, bowing her head in respect. “I regret to inform you that your wife, the High Princess, passed away about three minutes ago.”

“No,” said Tomas flatly. “No.” Because she couldn’t have. Not Alexandra. She was always so full of life. She’d promised him she’d be fine. That they’d be the best parents they could be together. So many promises about their future together.

He couldn’t lose all of that. He couldn’t lose her. It was impossible.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” the woman said, and then “The child lives. A girl.”

He was a father. He had a child. He felt a brief, mad stab of joy and then an even stronger stab of guilt, because what did it matter when this child would have no mother? How could he be happy about a child when the woman he loved was gone?

“Your Highness, please let me past. I must inform the King.”

Tomas knew then that he would not have the luxury of time to truly grieve once his father-in-law knew. Once the world knew. These next few minutes would be the only time he’d have when the loss was his alone. “May I enter?” he asked.

She nodded. They swapped positions in the corridor, and then he stepped into the room.

Alexandra’s body lay on the bed. Her maid was rearranging it and the clothes, to make her seem more like a princess and less like a woman who’d died in agony. There were half a dozen other women in the room, but he didn’t care about any of them except the one with a swaddled bundle of cloth in her arms.

He was vaguely aware of the women curtseying to him, the chorus of “Your Highness”, the title that didn’t mean a thing now. It was only his as long as he was the husband of the High Princess.

Stars, what was going to happen to him now? The thought was horrifying, but he barely felt it. Just pushed it aside, to worry about at a time that wasn’t right now. “My daughter,” he said thickly.

“She is here.” The woman carrying the bundle stepped towards him. “She was born too soon. She is weak, sickly.”

“But she will live,” he insisted.

“Yes.”

Was he imagining the hesitation? He didn’t know.

“You want to hold her?”

He nodded and took the bundle from her outstretched arms. It took him a moment to find the most comfortable way of holding it, resting it on one arm and wrapping the other around so he still had a hand free. Then he peered down at his daughter and was immediately overcome with emotion.

Her eyes were a deep, round hazel. The exact shape and size of Alexandra’s, Alexandra’s eyes that would never open again, that would never behold the beautiful wonder that was the child she’d made. Each thought was like another dagger stabbing into his heart.

“Leave us,” he commanded with the last of his composure.

“But – “

“Leave,” he repeated.

The women might have been afraid to neglect their duties, or of leaving him alone with the child and the body, but he was still High Prince and they had no choice but to obey him and file out of the room.

And then it was just him and the baby and Alexandra, and he let himself sob as he stumbled over to the bedside, still clutching the child, and held his wife’s dead hand.

Stars, he didn’t understand how she could have been just yesterday planning the decorations of the nursery and insisting she was well enough to continue with her duties, and now – and now she was gone, and he’d never hear her voice again and he hadn’t even been there for her –

But he could be there for the child, now. For her daughter.

“Eleanor Alexandra,” he said, once the flow of tears had calmed enough. It hadn’t been the middle name they’d agreed, and maybe her late grandmother would be disappointed, but he had to. Had to keep her memory alive. “I’m sorry that you won’t have a mother. But you have me. Your father. And I swear by the stars that I’ll be the best father I possibly can. For her, and for you.”

It was probably only a few minutes that they stayed like that. It felt like an eternity. It felt like an eternity was too short.

But eventually, he heard the door open. He didn’t want to turn around. If he didn’t turn around, he could pretend they were still alone. Pretend he didn’t have to face what came next.

He was too old for those childish games. He had a child himself, now, and he had to do what was right for her. No matter what. He released Alexandra’s hand for the last time, stood, and turned.

It was, as he’d expected, the King. With his three surviving children in tow. Tomas had never particularly liked his in-laws, and he’d long suspected it was mutual, but the shock and grief in their eyes was undeniable. Alexandra was – had been – beloved by everyone.

He assumed that the child in his arms excused him from kneeling, and bowed his head instead. “Your Majesty,” he said, voice thick with grief.

“It’s true, then? She’s – gone?”

No. Part of him still hoped that this was some awful nightmare, that he’d fallen asleep standing in that corridor and in a moment they’d wake him and tell him that his wife and child were alive and healthy and would he like to see them now?

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty.”

Stepping away from the bedside to let the King take his place felt like letting her go. He never wanted to let her go. He couldn’t bear to.

But he had to.

Because this was the future now. No room for pain. Without Alexandra, his place at court – and his daughter’s – was far from secure. One sign of weakness, and anyone who thought they could gain from his fall or just didn’t like having a foreigner given such high status would pounce.

So if he wanted himself and Eleanor to be safe, he would have to be perfect.