Twenty-Eight
A month passed,and for a fortnight, Midas had been having strange dreams. They were brief and meaningless, but always woke him with unease that vanished the moment his lids lifted.
He had believed he felt the air shifting, but he could not explain it. Something was wrong, but it also wasn’t. He could smell it.
It wasn’t wrong in a dangerous way. It wasn’t like the stink of a human or steel. What he sensed was older. Primal.
It bothered Midas so much that night that he stirred from the nest. He rose with a low rumble and lowered his head, sniffing the ground. No vermin. No spoiled meat.
Still, the scent gnawed at him, at his instincts. He was restless as he searched for the source, careful to stay quiet and mind Elowen’s slumber. She needn’t worry about such things, he would find the source and see it gone before she woke.
Midas blinked slowly, adjusting his eyes to the dim light of the cave, looking for movement. The cave smelled as it always did—woodsmoke and Elowen clung to the walls—but something beneath all of it was different. He lowered his head again to the ground and inhaled.
He closed his eyes and trusted his nose to carry him forward. He paused only when the tip of his snout bumped the fur-lined nest Elowen slept in.
He tilted his head in confusion, and breathed in her scent. He could detect no sickness under her skin, nor did she smell of filth. She simply smelled…different.
She lay curled into herself, tucked under a quilt she had stitched herself with old clothing she had found amongst his treasures. She breathed steadily and he could see no distress on her face. Nothing about her seemed different.
Then he noticed her heartbeat was faster than usual. Her sleep was deeper. She radiated more warmth than before.
He lowered his snout and took in her scent once again, just to be certain it was her. Indeed, the scent lived there. Not just in her hair or on her skin nor her clothes. It was delicate and distinct, but it seemed to emanate from inside her.
He sniffed again, and his eyes shot open instantly. He cowered away from her, bumping against the cave wall in his panic. He recognized the scent from deep within his memories, from a time when his own mother was heavy with the eggs of his brothers and sisters.
Life.Not hers, but another life that fluttered beneath her skin. His body grew tense. It was life that they had createdtogether. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew he loved her.
Elowen carried his child.
Days passed. Midas said nothing. Elowen continued her routines as normal, but Midas watched her with a new caution—followed her like he was on a lead attached to her belly.
He watched as she slept longer. He watched as her appetite changed. Some mornings she barely ate. Others, she would ask for things she had never craved before. He watched as her skin flushed with heat so intense she had to put a wet rag to her forehead for relief. All of these things, she didn’t notice herself, or perhaps she thought it was just a mild sickness.
She never complained. And she didn’t know what Midas knew, but he had already become overwhelmed with what needed to be done. Every part of him bristled with the ancient drive to protect, to prepare, to comfort.
Elowen was carrying their future, and no one would touch her. Not the humans, not fate, not even time. He would bring her more food, more furs, more water, more clothes. He would make sure she understood how significant this was.
As she hummed to herself and stirred broth in a pot, he lowered himself beside her, one heavy wing at her back, and his massive golden eye watching her every move.
And Midas, the ancient and fearsome and terrifying creature that he was, listened to her and the tiny heartbeat in her belly that accompanied her song like a drum.
Midas had always been protective.Elowen had long grown used to his silent shadow behind her. A hidden presence to all except her. She’d even grown accustomed to waking with his wings half-curled around her, his warmth a shield against their mountain’s chill.
But now…
Now he didn’t just follow. He…hovered. Watched her every step as if the ground might crack beneath her. Every time she moved too quickly, he rumbled low in his throat. His eyes stayed trained on her hands, her posture, her breath.
It was beginning to worry her. He was watching her like she was destined for the grave—like he was waiting for her to collapse.
He wouldn’t let her lift the water skin. Wouldn’t let her carry her satchel. Wouldn’t even let her bathe alone. And when she tried to ask him why, he only blinked and turned away, as if ashamed to answer.
Elowen sat at the mouth of the cave one morning, absently toying with the ends of her hair that had grown soft and shiny with regular washes.
She had been tired lately. Her chest ached for no reason. Her dreams were full of strange colors. Her body felt swollen. As time went on, she had begun to think that Midas really did have reason to be concerned for her.
She heard the scrape of his claws behind her, andturned to watch as he approached slowly with his head dipped low. His wings were tucked tight to his back as if trying to make himself smaller. He came right to her, eyes glowing faintly, and nudged her cheek with the end of his snout.
“Something is wrong,” she whispered. Midas tensed, and tilted his head—a sign that he was listening. “Not withme.With you. You’ve been acting like the wind will shatter me.”
