Eoichaed sat holding his new daughter in front of the fire in his chambers. So much had happened in the ten days since her birth and he was grateful for the chance to sit and think.
He could still see his ( )other’s harrowed look when her arrived at Hunter’s Home after a night’s ride from Eimhen Rock, carrying a tiny bundle. Though the news Cearul carried would cause cele( )ation in the back corridors of the capitol, the lands of the Firean would be in mourning for years.
The Reodagh line had been extinguished.
Readha and her child had died during labor. And a mere six hours later, Eoichaed’s grief was multiplied when complications arose during Derbhlie’s labor. Even after the birth was complete, the midwife could not stop the bleeding. He had held his wife’s hand as she drew her last ( )eath, all the while telling him that he needed to uphold his oaths and protect the child. He still couldn’t believe she was gone.
It seemed that every family in Earunne had been in Hunter’s Home in the past week to give condolences and congratulations. Even a royal envoy had arrived from the capitol to give well wishes, though they had left long before events had become so sorrowful. Poor Euain hadn’t even been able to look at his new sister yet without ( )eaking into tears. Now Derbhlie’s body was being returned to Driftwood where she would be interred in the grotto of the Stormy Sound. Cearul was riding back to the Watchtower with Readha’s remains to leave them on the Isthmus. Eoichaed was finally alone with his children. He felt the infant stirring in his lap and when he looked down she was staring at him with wide, emerald eyes.
“You’re name is Aoifeiara,” he whispered, “And I promise to keep you safe.”