A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Prologue 3

A princess for the West. One lost in the East. In the South, a third girl was born, between the other two.

This girl was not destined to wear a crown. Her birth did not stitch the wounds in a queendom, or gift her with any right to a throne. This birth took place deep in the Lasian Basin, out of sight of the eyes of the world – because this girl, like her birthplace, was a secret.

Her many sisters waited as she crowned, some calling their encouragement, the room lit by their flames. Among them, Esbar du Apaya uq-Nāra panted in the last throes of delivery.

The day before, she had felt the first twinge while she bathed in the river, two weeks early. Now it was almost sunrise, and she was hunkered on the birthing bricks, wishing slow death on Imsurin for causing this, even though she had been the one to invite the man to lie with her.

‘Almost there, Esbar,’ Denag told her from the floor. ‘Come, sister – just once more.’

Esbar reached for the two women who flanked her. On her right, her birthmother prayed aloud, soft and calming. On her other side, Tunuva Melim kept both arms around her shoulders.

‘Courage, my love,’ Tunuva whispered. ‘We are with you.’

Esbar landed a shaky kiss on her temple. She had said the same words over a year before, when it was Tunuva who laboured.

When their eyes met, Tunuva smiled for her, even if her lips shook. Esbar tried to reply – only for another shooting cramp to rip the words away. Let it be now, she thought, through the fog of pain. Let it be done. Gathering what remained of her courage, she fixed her gaze on the statue of Gedali and willed herself to be as strong as the divinity.

She bore down on the bricks, as if she meant to bestride the world. Her throat scorched with her scream. Her insides roiled. In a slippery rush, the child slid free, straight into the waiting arms of Denag, and Esbar slackened, as if she had pushed her bones out as well.

Denag turned the child, clearing a tiny nose. There was silence – a deep shared breath, unspoken prayer – before a thin wail shivered into the chamber.

‘The Mother is with us,’ the Prioress declared, to cheers. ‘Esbar has given her a warrior!’

Apaya let go of her breath as if it had been caged for hours. ‘Well done, Esbar.’

Esbar could only laugh in relief. Tunuva held on to her, keeping her from slumping off the bricks. ‘You did it,’ she said, laughing with her. ‘Ez, you did it. Thank the Mother.’

Shuddering, Esbar pressed their foreheads together. Sweat trickled down both their faces.

Gentle chatter filled the chamber. Esbar lay on the daybed, and Denag placed the newborn on her chest – slathered in birthing wax, soft as a petal. She fidgeted, cracking her crusted eyes open.

‘Hello, strong one.’ Esbar stroked her brow. ‘You were in a hurry to see the world, weren’t you?’

The afterpains would begin soon. For now, there were prayers and smiles and good wishes, and more love than her heart could hold. Esbar brought the child to her breast. All she wanted now was to be still, and to savour what it was to only house one life within her.

Apaya brought a basin of boiled water and a cold poultice. ‘Watch over Tunuva,’ Esbar said to her quietly, while their sisters milled around. ‘Promise me you will do this, Apaya.’

‘For as long as it takes.’ Apaya unsheathed a knife. ‘Rest now, Esbar. Recover your strength.’

Esbar was only too glad to oblige. Her birthmother severed the cord, and at last, the child passed from the womb to the world.

****

Once the afterbirth had come, Apaya took her to her sunroom, still with the child against her heart. They stayed that way until Imsurin arrived.

‘I told you we’d make a fine match,’ Esbar reminded him. ‘Ready to lose sleep for a while?’

‘More than ready.’ He leaned in to place a chaste kiss on her forehead. ‘You honoured the Mother for both of us, Esbar. I can never repay you for bearing this gift to her.’

‘I’m sure I’ll think of something. For now, just keep her safe and happy while I sleep.’

And sleep she did. As soon as Imsurin had tucked their birthdaughter in his arms, Esbar fell into a blissful drowse, and Apaya was there to tend her.

It was almost noon by the time the Prioress came, accompanied by Tunuva and Denag. As they entered, Esbar woke in a spill of warm sunlight. Apaya helped her sit up with the child.

‘Beloved daughter,’ the Prioress said, touching Esbar on the top of her head, ‘this day, you have made an offering to the Mother. You have given her a warrior, to guard against the Nameless One. As a descendant of Siyāti du Verda uq-Nāra, you may bless her with two names, in the way of the northern Ersyr – one for herself, and one to guide her.’

The child nosed at her breast, snuffling for milk again. Esbar placed a kiss on her scalp.

‘Prioress,’ she said, ‘I name this child Siyu du Tunuva uq-Nāra, and entrust her, now and always, to the Mother.’

Tunuva grew very still. The Prioress gave a grave nod.

‘Siyu du Tunuva uq-Nāra,’ she said, anointing her head with the sap of the tree. ‘The Priory bids you welcome, little sister.’