“It’s not over yet, Perrin!” she gasped again.
He stayed loyally by her side that afternoon, the 46th Day of Planting, uselessly rubbing her back and pointlessly promising her that everything would be all right.
Hycymum and the midwives—retrieved by a messenger from the fort wondering where the captain was—tried to encourage Perrin to pace outside once Mahrree felt like someone was whacking her back with a timber.
It wasn’t until he saw a midwife strewing a bale of hay across the wooden floor by the hearth in the gathering room—“Makes it easier to clean up the messes,” she explained—that he willingly left.
Two hours later an exhausted Mahrree, drenched with sweat and tears and shocked that so much could change so quickly, stared at the bundle in her arms. Her mother and the midwives were surprised that the baby was so small. Mahrree’s seeming enormity must have been a trick of the eye, they decided, magnified by her slight frame. The baby probably came early.
But she didn’t know what they were talking about; nothing about the newborn she spent the last hour and a half birthing seemed small.
Downstairs in the kitchen Hycymum was busily stirring up a late dinner, while upstairs one of the midwives helped Mahrree get comfortable in the bed where they had moved her.
“It will be all right,” she assured. “Just give him some time. They almost always come around.”
Mahrree shrugged. “Thank you again.”
The midwife nodded. “I’ll be back later tonight to check on—” She stopped when she heard the door slam downstairs.
“Mahrree?!” Perrin’s deep voice boomed throughout the house.
The midwife picked up a bag of bloodied cloths, smiled in encouragement, and headed down the stairs. She nodded a greeting to the captain as Perrin bounded up to his bedroom.
“Mahrree!” He stopped at the door and looked at her worriedly. “The other midwife said only that the baby was birthed, and that it’s a bit small, and your mother wouldn’t tell me anything so is it, is it . . .?”
“It’s all right,” Mahrree smiled at him. “All the fingers and toes, cried, breathing.”
He took another step closer, his broad shoulders tense with concern. “So what’s wrong?”
She practiced her brave face. “Perrin, you have a daughter.” Then she braced for his response.
He stood motionless. “But?”
Mahrree bit her lower lip. “Well . . .”
His shoulders dropped in relief and a grin spread across his face. “So she’s all right? Healthy and everything?” He took another cautious step closer.
“Yes.” Mahrree began to smile more genuinely.
“Mahrree,” he said slowly, “did you think I would be upset about a baby girl?”
“Umm . . .”
His face softened and he sat carefully on the bed next to her. “I don’t care what we have, as long as we get to have a child.”
“But are you sure about that?” she pressed. “Four generations of Shins have produced sons! Officers! Perrin Shin’s daughter can’t even join the army.”
He chuckled. “Perrin Shin’s son might not want to join the army, either. You know I don’t care about tradition. I’m rather progressive that way.” He winked at her and peered over into the bundle of blankets she held close to her chest.
She held the bundle out to him. “Would you like to hold your daughter?”
To her surprise, his eyes grew wet. “Absolutely,” he whispered, and took his newborn.
In his massive hands she really did look small. He could have held her with one hand, which he did. He slid back the blanket covering her head to see her hair. When she first emerged, Mahrree thought her matted hair was black, but after the midwives washed her, the newborn’s hair was lighter and fuzzy.
Perrin smiled as he ran his hand over it. “Your hair, so far,” he said to Mahrree. “What color are her eyes?”
The newborn squinted to see what was making the noise, but she didn’t open her eyes more than a crack.
Mahrree felt her own eyes blurring to see how tenderly her husband held their daughter. “Grayish, for now. One of the midwives said newborns she’s seen with that eye color tend to go very dark. Your eyes then, later.”
Perrin softly kissed her tiny lips, and she squirmed and grunted. “She’s beautiful, Mahrree!” he beamed. “Perfect. Welcome to Edge, my little Relfikin.”
“Uh . . .” Mahrree grimaced.
Perrin looked at her with mock sobriety. “Not Relfikin then?”
“Please no?”
He gazed at his daughter, inspecting her features. “Well then, what if we take two letters from your mother’s name, and two letters from my mother’s name, and toss in a couple other letters, then mix them all up for something new?”