Zane’s birth

*Calliope*
“Oh, Zane, I am a wicked, wicked girl," I conclude hours later as I rock Zane to sleep following his feeding. Where the princess had procured a rocker, I do not know. Truly I don't really care. I am grateful to have it but more pressing matters are on her mind.

Zac and I had enjoyed a private dinner. We had spoken of nothing of consequence. Our childhoods, mine in a small village, his here at Orchard castle. We talked of the Capitol. Theaters and pleasure gardens. Our favorite parks. He told me of his older brother, the dragon lord of West Cliff. How they had never been close, yet he had finally come to appreciate him. His younger brother, Draco, who had always made him feel like a child.

“I think I saw my time as a military man as a chance to prove something to them. I don't know if I did.” He had said.

It was the only time he had mentioned the recent past. I didn't pursue it further.

We had quiet moments, filled only with the scraping of silver over china, or the constant ticking of the clock on the mantel. He studied me during those times, with an intensity that might have been unsettling if I didn’t know that he recalled nothing at all about me. Still he had to be wondering what it was about me that had attracted him. I had thought more than once about telling him of our time together at the hospital.

But I had sensed that he didn’t want to journey there. Not tonight. Tonight was more about coming to know each other as though the past two years had never been.

I am grateful for the reprieve, because when he does ask and I am fairly certain that at some point he will want to know how we had met, what exactly we had done together I am not entirely certain what story I will tell.

“I’ve never truly lied," I whisper to Zane, watching as his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. This is my favorite time, after he is bathed and before bed. He smells of sweet milk. He is always at his most content. “I am your mother for all intents and purposes even if I did not give birth to you."

That honor had been granted to Saphira Whisenhunt. A striking woman with a mane of glorious black hair, which she had refused to shorten in spite of the health benefits, and a voluptuous figure that I am fairly certain had been responsible for Mrs S selecting the horrid plain black dresses as our uniforms. Many consider a nurse little more than a prostitute putting on airs. Mrs S was determined to alter that perception.

I had never quite understood why Saphira had interviewed for the challenging position of being one of Mrs S’ nurses. She complained of the boredom and the backbreaking work of scrubbing floors and mopping up the blood in the hospital. But she was exceedingly kind to the men, and she could not be faulted for her devotion to the soldiers. In particular Captain Dragan. I had often seen her reading to the captain when she was finished with her duties.

In spite of it all, she was a likable girl and I had befriended her.

And, of course, Saphira had quickly fallen under the spell of Zac Dragan. Six months later, when Saphira could no longer hide her condition, Mrs S had summarily dismissed her. Amidst her tears and shame, Saphira had begged me not to abandon her as well. She couldn’t return to our home country in such a state. Fearing the girl might do something dangerously drastic, I had left with her to provide moral support and aid as best I could. I had always intended to return to Mrs S after the baby was born.

“But I couldn't leave you, my little one," I say now.

Saphira had planned to deliver him to a foundling home, but I had fallen in love with him moments after he was born. One morning when I had gone out to get pastries for breakfast, I had purchased a newspaper. As was her daily habit, I looked through the list of casualties. That particular morning the paper had listed Major Zac Dragan as one of the fallen. My first idle thought was that he had been promoted. And then the devastating news sank deep. Zane was all that remained of the charming young man who had captivated hearts.

Me and Saphira had argued heatedly. I had wanted to take Zane to Zac’s family. Saphira had wanted to be rid of him.

“His death does not obliterate my shameful behavior. If it is learned I had a bastard child, I will lose all prospects for a good marriage. I will be ostracized. It was a mistake, one night of sinful passion, and you expect me to pay for it forever. I would be relieved if it died.”

I had awoken the next morning to find Saphira gone and Zane ill. His little body burned with fever. I had found a permanent wet nurse for him. Jeanette. I had bathed him, cooled his skin, held him, rocked him, sung lullabies to him, and pleaded with him to live. When his fever finally broke, we were both exhausted. So I had decided to take just one day for us to regain our strength. It turned into two, then three, then a fortnight, then a month. With each passing day, he wormed his way into my life, into my heart, into my soul. I had every intention of giving him up freely, but by the time I arrived on my father’s doorstep, I had well and truly become Zane's mother.

My greatest fear now is that he will be torn from her life. If Zac remembers our night together, what had happened to me, why he had stayed with me until dawn, he would be disgusted with the knowledge. To tell it is not the same as to experience it. I can not recreate the horror of what I had endured or the comfort I had taken in his arms.

That night he had saved me in ways that he will never be able to fully comprehend. He had given me a reason to live … when all I had wanted to do was to die.