A little less than a year later…
A cramp hits, and I scream, feeling as if my body is being cleaved in two.
“I hate you,” I yell at Marut. “You should have told me twins run in your family when you married me, you big green ogre!”
From the other side of the birthing room door, a muffled chuckle tells me my brother-in-law and the rest of the clanspeople who came to wait for the birth of our babies are having fun.
Well, I’m not, and as the pain intensifies, I grip Marut’s braid and give it a hard yank.
He curls his fingers around my other hand and squeezes gently, then kisses my sweaty forehead. “I’m sorry, love. It’ll be over soon.”
“What do you know?” I whine. “You’ve never had to birth giant orc babies.”
The cramp subsides, and I collapse back into the pillows, panting. My eyes water with tears. I loosen my grip on Marut’s hair and look up at him, imploring.
“I don’t hate you,” I whisper, my voice broken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that. I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.”
He takes my chin gently and kisses my lips. “I know. I love you, too. And I will never leave you. You’re mine, and I’m not going anywhere.” Then he turns to Taris and Ivy who are doing their best to give us privacy in this fraught moment. “How much longer?”
Ivy is washing her hands with hot water from a basin. “Not long. One or two more, I think, as long as you’re good, Violet. You need to push. I can see the head, so we’re really close. Once the first baby pops out, the second will come more easily.”
I nod, though I’m worried. I’m not a small woman, but Marut is so much larger than me, and if the size of my belly is anything to go by, our babies will be large, too.
Taris seems to sense my unease, because she brings over another cup of the herbal tea she’s been plying me with to ease the birth. “Here. Drink some more.” She gently brushes back my hair. “You can do this. Human women have born orc children for generations. You are not alone, and we’re here to help. Your babies want to come out today. Right now. All you need to do is help them.”
I stare up at her, then focus back on my husband. He’s been here with me since the first cramp hit several hours ago, and he hasn’t so much as gone to the bathroom. From the fierce frown marring his forehead and the way he’s sweating through his shirt, I know this is difficult for him, too. I think of what I would do if he was hurt, and realize he’s holding on quite well, in fact.
“Will you hold me?” I ask. “I can’t do this without you.”
Marut immediately sits on the bed next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders, supporting me. “You can. But I will hold you, little bird. I will take care of you and our babies.”
My belly tightens, the muscles of my abdomen contracting, and I yelp, “It’s happening!”
Ivy gets in position at the bottom of the bed. “Push now, Violet! You’re almost there!”
The pain hits like an avalanche, consuming my body, but for once, I don’t scream but give all my strength to bringing these babies out into the world.
“I love you,” Marut says, his grip on me unwavering. “Come on, love.”
I close my eyes and squeeze again, and Ivy cries, “There we go,” and a moment later, a strange sense of relief fills me as something slips from my body. I blink to find Ivy cradling a curled-up baby, still all wet, while Taris quickly cuts the umbilical cord.
“It’s a girl,” Ivy says, standing on shaky legs.
A sob works its way out of my throat. I stare at the little child, and a new kind of fear sets in, a worry that something might be wrong, but then a reedy, piercing cry echoes around the chamber, and my daughter flails her tiny limbs and expresses her outrage at being thrust into this world.
“I’ll clean her right quick,” Taris promises with a look to us and turns to a sturdy table she and Ivy had set up earlier to help with the birth.
Marut tenses beside me, and I know he wants to go there, to see our firstborn child, but he remains with me because this journey isn’t over yet.
Ivy washes her hands and kneels again. Her tired expression lets me know how late it is, but she smiles anyway and says, “One down, one to go. Well done, Mama.”
Mama.
I’ve never been a mother before, and I sniffle, throat clogging up. Marut kisses my cheek and rubs my shoulders, and now that I’ve done this once, I know I can do it again.
When the next cramp hits, I strain as best I can, but the second baby seems as reluctant to enter the world as the first. Ivy guides me through it all, and minutes later, our second daughter is born.
Ivy scoops her up and offers the scissors to Marut. He unfolds himself from behind me, kisses my forehead, and cuts the cord, then stands back, his fists clenched at his sides, until another cry joins the first, and we all breathe a sigh of relief.
On the other side of the wooden door, cheers erupt. Marut grins, then shakes his head, walks over, and cracks the door just wide enough so he can poke his head out, taking care I’m not in view.
“We’ve got two girls,” he announces, and cheers multiply, raucous and loud. Marut leans back and calls, “Now you lot can go elsewhere to celebrate and leave us be.”
The words are met with hoots of laughter, and his smile is wide when he shuts the door firmly and slides the bolt in place. Then he turns to where Taris is wiping down the second baby.
I can’t see anything from my position in the bed, where Ivy has me stay until the cramps pass and she cleans me and changes all the sheets.
“They are so beautiful,” Marut says softly, peering over Taris’ shoulder. “So small.”
She smiles fondly up at him. “Aye, they’re pretty babies. I tied a yellow ribbon around the first baby’s ankle so you know which one is which. Until you get a chance to name them and figure out how to tell them apart.”
Then she takes one tiny bundle and puts it in Marut’s arms. My husband stares down at the baby’s face, his expression open, his love shining bright. When he lifts his head and meets my gaze, I smile at him through my tears.
“Here you go,” Taris murmurs.
She offers our firstborn daughter to me and unwraps her enough so I can feel her soft, warm skin on mine. Ivy helps me scoot up the bed, and I put the baby at my breast, where she latches on eagerly. She’s perfect, green all over, her small fingers scrunched into a fist. Like her sister, she has a shock of short black hair, still slightly damp from washing.
Marut sits by my side, his arm leaning against mine, and gazes down at all three of us. When he moves our daughter in so she’s settled better against his chest, I notice his hands are trembling.
I reach out and interlace my fingers with his. “Are you all right?” I whisper.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss on my lips. “Aye. I’ve never been better, love.”
At the other end of the room, Taris and Ivy have been cleaning up and setting the room to rights. Finally, Ivy straightens from a crouch and groans, her hands at her back.
“Thank you,” I say. “To both of you.”
Ivy comes to my side and runs her fingertips over our firstborn’s downy black hair. “No need to thank me. I’m so happy I could be here to help you get our nieces into this world.” Then she gives me a hug from the side, nods to Marut, and slips from the room.
Taris comes to say her goodbye as well. “You rest while you can,” she commands with a stern look. “And someone will be by to bring you some broth. These babies will keep you up all night, so don’t hesitate to ask for help.” She inclines her head toward the door. “For tonight, it’s best you stay here, and I’ll be in the next room over. Then you can move to your new rooms tomorrow.”
With that, she leaves, and the birthing chamber sinks into peaceful silence. A soft mewling sound comes from the baby girl in Marut’s arms, so I gently unlatch her sister from my breast and switch them out with him. I’m still clumsy, and my hands are shaking slightly from the ordeal I’ve been through, but I know I’ll get better at this mothering thing.
“We should name them,” I whisper.
Marut glances from one baby to the other. “I know we talked about this, but suddenly, it feels like such a responsibility to name a whole new person.”
I laugh quietly. “I know. But we can’t keep calling them ‘baby’ for the rest of their lives.”
“I suppose not,” he agrees with a wry smile. “So—the firstborn.” He undoes the swaddle of the baby in his arms enough to check that she’s the one with the ribbon tied around her small green ankle.
“Moira,” I say immediately.
It was his grandmother’s name, and I loved it the moment I heard it.
Marut kisses my cheek. “Thank you. And for her?” He nods toward the baby who has closed her tiny fist around a lock of my hair while she sleeps at my breast. “Did we settle on Kira, then?”
“We did,” I agree.
Marut found the name in one of his dusty old books and brought it to me as a suggestion. We’d picked boy names, too, because we didn’t know we’d be having girls, but now I’m glad we got to name one Kira. It’s a beautiful, strong name.
Marut kisses Moira’s forehead, then settles her into the cot that Ivy and Taris have prepared for us by the bed. She snuffles for a little while, then falls asleep, her face scrunched up as if she’s thinking very hard of something. I finish nursing Kira, and Marut takes her from me, putting her to sleep beside her sister.
Then he lies down next to me and draws me into his arms. “You were magnificent today, Violet,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve never been more proud.”
I let out a tired sigh and sink into his embrace. “We both did good. Thank you for doing this with me.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he returns. “I’ll be here for the birth of every one of our babies.”
I crack open one eye. “Every one of our babies?” I ask, suspicious. “How many do you think we’ll have?”
Marut chuckles. “You were the one who said you wanted at least four,” he reminds me. “But if you decide you’re happy with two, that’s enough for me.”
I huff but decide not to argue the point. The pain of birthing our twins is still too fresh in my mind to even think about having more children, but I know that once they’re a little older, I’ll have a hard time saying no when the urge hits.
“We’ll decide when the time is right.”
Marut’s voice is soothing, and he brushes back my hair, touching me lightly all over as if he wants to reassure himself that I’m still in one piece. So I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him tight, letting him know that I’m all right, that I’m still strong and ready to take on this new challenge with him.
“I love you,” I whisper, already half asleep.
“I love you, too,” he says. “Sleep now, little bird. I’ll watch over all of you.”
