Sohna and Vivian - My Brother's Keeper

She sighed, thinking about her husband. He was asleep now, resting as he'd promised to do once he'd confronted his brother. His wound had started bleeding again, and he'd returned from the ordeal exhausted, but he had returned. And she felt foolish for the way she'd acted before he'd left. It had been necessary, she knew that now; had known it before, but hadn't wanted to face it; she was so tired of the whole thing, of trekking off trying to save the universe from itself. They'd been lucky before, but if they kept it up, sooner or later their luck would run out – and then what? She'd be left alone again, despite Wolf's good intentions, despite his promise to always be there to catch her.

The baby pounded a soft tattoo against the side of her stomach. She put her hand over the spot and rubbed it.

"I know," she murmured. "I'll still have you. But it won't be the same - I won't be the same."

Her old fears had come back when Wolf had collapsed in front of her, when Rafe had first been brought back. In the couple of days that had followed, as she'd sat in vigil by his bed, odd little snippets from all the mythology and folklore she'd read for his "research" popped forward into her thoughts. Some cultures, those with strong female heros, had lore which suggested that the mystical male would be killed once he had passed on his seed, and that the female was then left to raise the child, who would take the father's place in the culture, and carry on the heroic tradition. It hadn't escaped her that she was now sitting in the land of the Five Women Who Changed History, nor that her Wolf could easily be construed as the personification of a shamanistic ideal. She'd wanted to take him and run away back to New York, to get them both jobs, go to work every day and live perfectly normal lives like perfectly normal people – to forget the doorway to this reality ever existed. But that, she knew, was not realistic either. Her husband was from this world, like it or not, and every time she looked at him, she'd be reminded of it; it was impossible to ignore. And, even if there were some foolproof method of sticking her head in the sand that way, it wasn't likely to do them any good. No one else had seemed interested in Wolf's insistence that the Central Park location of the portal from both mirrors was significant, but she knew he was right. Even if they ran away from the war, it would eventually seek them out even there.

Embarrassed by the unkind words she'd hurled in front of Wendell about the war being none of her affair, she had even taken the lead in planning for their present sojourn. Rafe hadn't revealed much after Wolf had (from what she'd heard) knocked him cold again, but he had mentioned that Gunther had been of the opinion that the dryad curse might have caused the curse presently on the Sixth Kingdom - and of course (though he hadn't said so) her brother-in-law had twisted the Prince's mind to believing the half-wolfs responsible. With a lack of further information, Wolf had then suggested, to everyone's agreement, that it might be wise to consult with the wizards again. Unfortunately, due to the impending war, he knew it would be impossible to summon them from anywhere inside the Fourth Kingdom. When Millie hit upon returning to their home village in the Second so he might make the attempt from there, Virginia had leapt upon it as if it were her personal mission.

So she continued folding the clothes, hoping her husband would be rested enough by the morning when they left, hoping the carriage would take them as far as they needed to go, hoping Wolf would be able to get the Wizard Council's attention, and of course, hoping to see her father again.

The carriage jostled, its springs not entirely absorbing the roughness of the rutted road. Claire sat back, her hand on her slightly rounded stomach, trying to relax. Her feet were cold despite the magically warmed brick on the floor – it was a bit too warm to rest her feet there permanently, but anywhere else felt too chilly. The rest of her snuggled down into the furs surrounding her and thought.

She was on her way at last to the summer home Gunther had provided as one of her wedding presents, although it was far from summer and the snow still lay thickly on the ground outside. Still, she dared wait no longer – she suspected most of her court were probably aware of her condition already and were discreetly ignoring it, unaware of her child's nature. She simply wasn't the kind to dismiss her personal servants and wear loose clothing for no apparent reason and she knew it. But even so, she had a responsibility to helping them keep up the pretense – she could not maintain decorum at court with an out-of-wedlock pregnancy so advanced it was impossible to ignore. Fortuitously, the sly guesses of her court and council actually aided her nebulous plans – although they paid lip service to insisting she take a full compliment of servants with her, they did not argue as much nor as long as would have been their custom when she refused to take even what they considered a bare minimum. Her closest advisor, however, had come very close to suggesting she at least take a midwife – although he hadn't described the servant as such; still, she'd known what he'd meant - and had feigned ignorance.

Gunther also had unwittingly helped her: by declining to appear on the appointed date for their betrothal announcement, he'd given her the ammunition she needed to postpone their wedding until well after her child was born - though the council's immediate and unanimous ratification of the delay only reinforced her opinion of their suspicions. She had not, to her chagrin, been so effective in reversing anti-wolf legislation.

In fact, there were only two victories she'd gained for the half-wolfs at all, and she was well aware that they were meager victories at best: First, she had managed to convince her council not to publicly repudiate Wendell for his pardon. Secondly, she'd been able to block a movement to prevent any Second Kingdom wolfs from relocating to the Fourth Kingdom. This second act had actually been quite easy – she'd simply convinced them that they were not only better off without extra half-wolfs around, but also that they'd be giving Wendell more than his pardon could handle. Neither accomplishment would be likely to stick, however, once Gunther arrived, and she knew it. Fortunately, by then her child would be born and - hopefully, if she were able to carry out the plan she had in mind - given to a half-wolf couple to raise as their own, and she'd be able to govern once more from a position of strength without feeling as if the laws she wished to make were solely being written to excuse her own behavior. Nevertheless, the atrocities committed in the meantime sickened her.

In his letter, Gunther had mentioned something about an ancient artifact he'd discovered – a device infused with magic that would kill any half-wolf instantly. He'd also raved on about some ancient lore he'd heard from a wandering bard that seemed to point to the entire half-wolf problem originating from the curse presently on the Sixth Kingdom. It was nonsense, of course – half-wolfs had obviously existed in her grandmother's day and the curse on the Sixth Kingdom had not gone into effect until long after that – but her stomach quailed at how many people would be killed simply to satisfy his bloodlust. She'd several times found herself hoping he would die in the process, although she felt guilty for that thought too.

She shifted in the seat and glanced out the window. It was late in the day and the overcast sky was just beginning to darken, casting long purple shadows into the woods. Then, between the trees, just past the boughs of a spruce which grew along a slight ridge on the opposite side of the stream that ran alongside the road, she glimpsed a riderless white horse. Without really thinking, she rapped on the carriage ceiling and the driver pulled to a stop.

"Yes, your Grace," the footman inquired, opening the door.

"That horse, did you see it?" she asked breathlessly. His expression told her he had not. She went on, "There was a white horse running in the woods. It bore the colors and the emblem of the royal house of the Eighth Kingdom."

This seemed to suitably impress him. She took the opportunity to climb down from her seat and stretch her legs.

"It's getting rather late, your Grace," he intoned. "If you wish I can have someone investigate the matter tomorrow."

"No, that won't be necessary," she told him. "I'll just have a look around now - it won't take long." In truth, she hadn't been completely certain that she'd seen the royal emblem. The colors had been correct – silver and blue – but she was well aware of what she'd been thinking at the time and knew she might have imagined it.

Absently, she followed the stream northwards. It was frozen solid this time of year, the ice piled intermittently with snow where a boulder protruded here and there from the bed. Careful not to slip and injure herself - or her baby - she trod gingerly along the snow-covered bank, her boots crunching in the packed powder. She was just about to return to her carriage, having become increasingly aware of both the driver's and the footman's eyes on her, when she saw it – a patch of color in the ice where none should have been. In trepidation, she inched toward it, staring transfixed and horrified as recognition dawned on her.

There, beneath the ice of the stream, frozen in a state of perfect preservation, lay Gunther, crown prince of the Eighth Kingdom.

She continued to stare, wondering if it were some trick, but the longer she looked, the more she was convinced it was true. His features were perfectly recognizable in the patch of transparent ice, and she could see the outline of one iridescent blue wing beneath him. The bluish fingers of his right hand protruded upwards from his icy grave, his palm cupping what appeared to be an intricately engraved gold watch. Oddly, the watch did not appear to be frozen.

As if in a trance, Claire reached down to it to be sure, exclaiming to herself in amazement when it came free at once. She straightened, peering at its decoration in the fading light. Her hand and arm went numb. Annoyed, she shook them, gasping as her limb tingled and a rush of power surged up her arm and down through the side of her chest to lodge deep inside her.

In her womb, something tore loose. She cried out as she fell, doubled in pain.