20. Maura

THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO

TWENTY

The day Alana is born, the very air hums with anticipation. A strange energy crackles through our village, setting my old bones on edge. I know, with the certainty that comes from a lifetime of watching and listening, that this child will be different.

When Magdalena’s screams echo through the birthing chamber, I hurry to her side. She has been calling the baby ‘Alana’ ever since she discovered she was carrying a girl.

We have all become familiar with her name. It is as if we know her already.

Magdalena is resplendent as she paces up and down the room, breathing through the cramps that grip her stomach. Her wings glow, her skin glows. Farrow stands beside her, holding her hand, already a proud father.

Outside, young Samuel shouts for the baby sister he’s been anticipating, “Is she here yet?”

But when Alana finally appears, rushing into the world in a flurry of love, the midwife’s eyes widen in shock. Alana does not make a sound.

Magdalena and Farrow look panicked. I tell them not to worry and join the midwife, hand on her shoulder, staring down at the tiny baby girl.

As soon as I lay eyes on her, I understand what it was we were all feeling; why we were so excited by this pregnancy.

“An empath . . .” I breathe.

For Alana glows with a purple light I have only ever heard of, never seen.

She is tiny, fragile, her skin still slick with the fluids of the womb. But where other newborns are wrinkled and red, Alana glows with an ethereal light, her skin a soft, shimmering purple. From her back, two delicate wings unfurl, gossamer thin and the same unearthly hue.

“By the moon,” the midwife breathes, her voice trembling. “What manner of child is this?”

I step back, my heart pounding in my chest. I have seen much in my long years, but never anything like this. Never a babe born with wings, with the very essence of magic dancing over her skin.

Our wings develop slowly, over the first ten years of our lives.

But Alana’s are already fluttering gently on her back.

A sense of unease grows within me. We were wrong. We believed this child would be special, but what if she is not a blessing, but a portent of something darker? Something dangerous.

Farrow is at my side now, and when he sees his daughter, he audibly gasps. Magdalena asks what’s happening. She is distraught, worried there is something wrong with the baby.

I meet Farrow’s eyes and smile at him. “Your daughter is very special, it seems.”

But he knows the dread that has settled in my heart, and I see his, too.

Trying to smile, I take the baby to Magdalena and lay her on her mother’s chest.

Magdalena looks down and smiles as if Alana is the sun and the moon and all the things in between. She sees nothing to be afraid of, only love staring back at her.

We wait until Alana has fed, then give her back to the midwife to be settled.

Magdalena falls into an easy, exhausted sleep, oblivious to the shock and fear that permeates the room.

“I will return later.” The midwife has wrapped Alana in lamb’s wool. She does not meet Farrow’s eyes as she leaves.

“Maura... what do we do?” Farrow speaks in a low whisper as soon as the midwife leaves.

“What is there to do?” I ask him. “Your daughter is special.”

“But an empath...” Farrow rubs his long dark beard. “An empath, Maura. There has never been a Leafborne –”

A rush of air enters the room.

She comes without warning, appearing in the doorway a figure from a nightmare. Tall and regal, with hair the colour of moonlight and eyes that glitter like chips of ice. I know her, though I have never seen her before. Know her by the power that radiates from her like a bitter cold.

The Lady of Luminael.

She moves into the room like a spectre, her eyes fixed on Alana.

Farrow splays his hands, and steps in front of me. But one glance from the powerful Sunborne ruler has him hang his head in deference.

“Give her to me.” Her voice is soft, but there is no mistaking the command in her tone. She is staring at the baby.

“She belongs with her mother.” I am not afraid of this woman. I have lived too many years to fear death.

The Sunborne fae turns her head slowly to look at me. Her lips curve in a smile that holds no warmth. “Her mother was simply the vessel,” she says. “A means to an end. The child’s true purpose lies beyond this village, beyond anything you can imagine.”

She reaches out, and I feel the air tremble with the force of her power.

“You will not touch that child.” Farrow’s wings flare, and his eyes flash.

The Lady of Luminael breathes a long, slow sigh. “The father?” she asks.

Farrow does not reply.

“Do you know what your daughter is?” she asks.

“I do,” he says. “She is an empath.”

“Correct. But do you know why she is an empath? Why an empath would be born to two ordinary Leafborne fae?”

“I do not,” Farrow replies through gritted teeth.

“She is this way because I made her this way. When your wife came to visit me, I knew your child was what we needed. What we all needed.” She draws herself up to her full height. Her wings are pure black. “I gave your daughter her powers.” She looks down at the sleeping Alana. “And one day I will return to claim them.”

The lady laughs, a sound like the cracking of ice. “Keep her, for now,” she says. “Raise her and keep her safe. But know this, old one. Her path is already set. The wheels of fate are turning, and when the time comes, nothing you do will stop them.”

As Farrow scoops Alana into his arms and holds her tight, the leader of Luminael leans closer to me, her breath cold against my cheek. “Watch her,” she whispers. “For she is the key to everything. Her parents cannot be trusted to see what she truly is. But you are wise, Maura Leafborne. You know I speak the truth.” She draws back and meets my eyes. “This child is the harbinger of a new age. And when she is ready, when she has come into her power, she will be the one to save us all...”

And with those words, she is gone, vanishing as suddenly as she appeared. Leaving us alone with the child.

I look at Alana, at her strange, otherworldly glow. And I feel a chill run through me, a sense of dread that I cannot shake.

This child is not one of us. She is something else, something I don’t understand. The Lady of Luminael might believe she created a being that will be our salvation, but I fear that Alana’s presence here will bring nothing but darkness and sorrow.

I fear she may ruin us.