On a Clear Winter Night: An Irin Chronicles Short Story by Elizabeth Hunter Page B

smiled. “We’re blessed.”
    His smile was slow and sweet before he leaned over and kissed her.
    “I am the most blessed of scribes,” he whispered in Turkish. “To have you as my reshon . As the mother of my children. The heavens envy my fortune.”
    “Oh, you two,” Bruno said with a big sniff. He wiped unashamed tears from his ruddy cheeks. “I’m so glad you came for Midwinter. It was too quiet with just us five.”
    Ava smiled at Bruno. He was like the really giant, really loud big brother she never had. She had lots of brothers now, but Bruno would always be one of her favorites. He and his mate Karen had been a solid island of comfort and safety when life had gone to hell.
    “I wanted to be near Astrid when I deliver.” Ava rubbed her belly where the football match had started up again. “Orsala taught me the songs, but I’m worried I’ll forget on my own.”
    Ava had learned songs of protection to quiet the tiny mind of the daughter who would be born hearing the soul voices of the world. Songs to guard the son who would grow at his sister’s side, learning and protecting the legacy of knowledge his father would pass to him.
    Bruno shrugged. “I will confess my ignorance when it comes to babies. But I cannot wait to meet them.”
    Malachi and Bruno had been hard at work on the double crib for the tiny boy and girl nesting in Ava’s belly. At least that was what Orsala claimed she was having. The old singer was certain there would be one boy and one girl arriving near the midwinter holidays. Children were rare among the Irin, but when they came, they were often in sets.
    At first Ava had been completely overwhelmed. Twins? She’d never planned on having any children, much less two. Especially not two at a time.
    But Malachi had been overjoyed to hear it, and the announcement of twins had caused so much rejoicing—and more than a few vodka toasts—in the scribe house in Istanbul that Ava knew she’d never be hurting for extra help. Damien and Sari, Max, Leo, and Rhys were all thrilled at the prospect of a baby in the house. Two babies meant they wouldn’t have to share as much.
    Ava and Malachi’s children would be the first born in Irin history with blood from both the Forgiven and the Fallen sons of heaven. Unique beings among an already unique angelic race.
    Despite her concerns, Astrid told Ava that hers was a completely normal pregnancy. When Malachi drew spells across her belly, the babies calmed. When Ava sang quiet songs to them, she could hear their tiny, unformed minds attuned to her voice. When Orsala looked to the future, she saw tranquility. When Karen dreamed, it was of laughter.
    And so, with the comfort of her new family around her, Ava had found peace.
    “Hurry with the babies, will you, Ava?” Bruno asked. “If you have them on midwinter, they’ll be doubly blessed. And Karen will make so many more cakes.”
    Malachi smiled. “How are you not the size of this house, brother?”
    Bruno puffed up his chest. “Who do you think chopped the wood in that fire? And cleared the driveway? She feeds me then puts me to work.”
    Ava said, “And you love it.”
    Bruno winked. “Of course.” He sniffed the air. “Oh, gingerbread…”
    He wandered toward the back of the house and the kitchen with the gingerbread while Ava shifted on the couch again.
    So hard to get comfortable…
    “Why did Bruno say the babies would be doubly blessed if they were born at midwinter?”
    “It’s tradition,” Malachi said. “Any birth is very lucky. But babies born at midwinter are doubly lucky.”
    She frowned. “But it’s the middle of winter.”
    “Exactly. The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year. So for the first part of their life, every day after their birth is just slightly longer than the last. A little more light every day as they grow.” Malachi shrugged. “It’s just superstition. It’s the opposite for babies born in the Southern hemisphere during June.”
    “Weird.