The night of Hiroki’s bor was tumultuous, both within and without. Rain shed against the paper screens, and thunder rumbled in the distance like an angry god, but neither could drown out the sounds emanating from the birth chamber—Hiroki's guttural cries, the urgent murmurs of midwives, and the sharp commands to push.

  At first, Misbah wanted to stay by her side, clutching her hand as she pushed. She gripped onto him like a lifeline; any tighter and she might break his hand. He watched her face, normally so calm and mirthful, twist and contort with agony. Her skin was flushed crimson, sticky with sweat. Strands of dark hair pstered themselves to her forehead and neck. The sight of it all made his heart clench painfully.

  God. It reminded him of his te wife. He had held her hand too, had whispered encouragement, and had wept when he heard their firstborn's cry.

  The midwives had to drag him out of the chambers as a man had no business being in there and would only get in the way. So he could only pace back and forth outside with the other gathered concubines, all listening worriedly to their wife’s pained cries from behind the door.

  Then, after what felt like an eternity, all was quiet. The men waited nervously, then shared confused gnces when no baby’s cries were heard. Still, they were not allowed inside, ushered away by servants. Only Misbah was permitted to stay.

  He carefully stepped inside, greeted by the scent of sweat and blood. He had expected to see midwives bursting with joy. Or Hiroki to call for him to come closer. Yet, there was only a thick silence.

  Midwives stood in clusters, their faces grave, their eyes downcast. None of them held a squalling infant wrapped in celebration bnkets. None of them even smiled.

  He caught a glimpse of Hiroki sitting in the birth bed, her body slumped forward, her head bowed low. Sweat-dampened hair veiled her face. Her chest was still lightly heaving from the efforts of the bor. In her arms, she cradled a small bundle wrapped in silk bnkets, embroidered with symbols of protection and prosperity.

  Misbah's feet carried him forward without conscious thought. He wove through the midwives, who parted silently before him, and approached the bed.

  “...Your Ladyship?” His voice emerged barely above a whisper.

  She didn’t look up.

  He stepped closer. Something about her quiet demeanor made his heart tremble, a sense of dread solidifying in his stomach. Upon closer look, he saw a glimpse of the child’s face in the pocket of the bnkets.

  It was a girl. A beautiful, perfect, tiny daughter. Her eyes were closed as though in peaceful slumber. Her little chest, no bigger than his palm, did not rise or fall. Her lips, shaped like a tiny rosebud, remained still and silent.

  She slept so quietly. So peacefully. She didn’t move at all. Not even a twitch.

  And still, Hiroki patted her in a soft, gentle rhythm, as if lulling her to sleep more than she already was.

  One midwife quietly approached Misbah with a weary, apologetic expression. “Fifth Concubine…”

  He turned to her.

  She tightened her lips into a thin line, then shook her head. “...My condolences.”

  He blinked, not registering. Then, slowly, he turned his head back to Hiroki and the baby. He felt his stomach grow colder. His hands moved on their own, reaching for the bundle. Hiroki didn’t move or speak. Her head remained lowered. Her arms simply released their burden, dropping to her p as though the strings that held them up had been cut.

  Misbah carefully gathered the bundle to his chest. The weight was more slight than he remembered from his own children. With trembling fingers, he lifted the edge of the bnket more to better see the baby’s face.

  Her eyes remained shut the whole time. Her skin, still stained with traces of blood and amniotic fluid, was impossibly soft beneath his thumb. She had thick, healthy dark hair—so much of it, for such a tiny thing—and remarkably long shes that swept against her cheeks like crescent moons. All of them, traits common in Cornaulian blood. He noticed her brows, shapely and delicate, curved just like his own. And her nose—so small, so perfect—held the faintest echo of his mother's.

  …Oh.

  Oh.

  That’s right… This was his daughter. He… had a daughter.

  A smile, unbidden and radiant, bloomed across his face. Ecstasy flooded his chest, warm and bright as sunlight. He gazed at her with all the love he had not known he still possessed, marveling at the way she carried pieces of him in her tiny features.

  But then, just as soon as it bloomed, the smile wavered. Twitched. Then, it disappeared.

  His breath hitched. His chest tightened. Suddenly, his vision blurred, and before he could stop them, tears spilled out in hot, relentless streams. They trailed down his cheeks and fell onto his daughter's face, dotting her still skin like rain. He blinked, uncomprehending, then tried to gently wipe them away with his thumb, but more kept coming.

  Reality crashed in.

  A choked sound escaped his throat. Then another. And another. Until he broke into full, open sobs, his body shaking with the force of it. He clutched the baby—his baby—tightly, as though he could somehow pour his own life force into her.

  He searched her face desperately for any signs of life. A flutter of those long shes, a twitch of those rosebud lips, a breath… anything. And she gave nothing.

  His knees buckled. He sank, catching himself against the edge of the bed, but he did not let go of her. Could not let go of her. He cradled her head with one hand while the other traced the curve of her cheek over and over, unable to stop touching her.

  When he lifted his gaze again, he saw Hiroki looking back at him, her expression tight with grief. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glistening, met his. Slowly, she reached her arms out to him.

  Shattered, Misbah surged and fell into her embrace, his daughter still cradled between them, and wept against her chest. Great, heaving sobs tore through him.

  Hiroki could do nothing but hold him and their deceased child together. Her arms wrapped around the both of them as if to shelter them within the sanctuary of her embrace. She bit her lip to contain her voice, trying to keep herself together as the woman of the household. But even she could not stop the tears that slipped silently down her cheeks, dripping onto Misbah's hair.

  pangmida