Prologue
Marcus Sheridan paced up and down the hall, his blue-green eyes worried, running his fingers nervously through his hair. Thoughts kept racing, unbidden, through his mind. What if she didn't make it? What if something went wrong? Could he bear losing her?
"Marc, you need to relax," Linna told him, even though she knew her words were futile. "She'll be fine."
"But what if she's not?" He asked, his voice cracking. His eyes looked red and bloodshot from lack of sleep. "Lots of women die going through this!"
"And many, many more survive," Liam, his brother, assured him. "Linna went through it. And we know Sarra's stronger than she is."
"Gee, thanks, honey," Linna said wryly. She was pregnant again, and she happened to think that just putting up with Liam every day was proof enough of her strength.
"You know what I mean," Liam replied, trying to appease his wife. "But really, Marc, pacing around everywhere isn't going to help."
"Your mother would pace constantly, if I wasn't here to keep her calm," Gerard, their mother's new husband, piped up. "You should sit and have some wine. She knows what she's doing."
Suddenly Marc spun around, hearing the door open. Ma stuck her head out impatiently. "Go get me some clean cloths, and some hot water." She ordered. Marc blinked at her. "What are you waiting for?" She snapped. "Go!"
"I'll get them," Linna said, rushing off. She returned a moment later and disappeared into the room with Ma. What seemed like hours passed, until finally Linna came back out. "You can go in now," she told Marc, grinning.
Marc, taking this as a good sign, smiled and strode into the large, well-lit chamber. Sarra laid on the bed, sweat-soaked, as Ma cleared away a few bloody sheets. In her arms Sarra held two small bundles, and she looked incredibly worn, but satisfied. Marc's smile widened as he walked over and gently took one of his children. "It's a girl," he said sweetly.
"They're both girls." Sarra replied, her voice hoarse. Marc realized that she must have been yelling, but Ma probably sound-proofed the walls, so as to worry them as little as possible. "What should we name them?"
"I don't know," Marc replied, "but this one looks just like you, only darker."
"And this one might look like you, poor girl." Sarra joked, smiling.
"How about Vyya?" Marc suggested tentatively, looking into the babies eyes. They were remarkable, a deep midnight blue, almost black, shot through with silvers and golds. Her hair was a soft, black, down-like cap on top of her head.
"'Dark-light'?" Sarra asked, translating the name from an older tongue. "An interesting name. I like it. This one looks more like a Lyrra, though."
"'Brightness', huh?" Marc inquired. "I like it. They're beautiful, Sarra. I should have known- after all, I am their father."
Sarra laughed, but quickly sobered. "Marc, are we sure we want to do this?" She asked. "I mean, after all-"
"Sarra, we have to," Marc answered quickly. "We talked about this. You know how much I want it any other way, but we have no choice."
"I know," Sarra said, looking into her tiny daughter's amber-colored eyes, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I just wish it weren't so."
"I do, too, love." Marc said quietly, his throat constricting, fighting back sorrow as he kissed his wife's forehead. "I do, too."