Erk hadn't realized he was asleep until the door creaked. His eyes flew open, adjusted in time to see the curls of steam rising from the cup of tea a delicate hand was setting on his desk.

"Every night," Lady Louise sighed. She tucked his tangled hair behind his ear and Erk felt that wondrous, awful glow in his chest; felt like he had a mother even though it wasn't his place. "All this studying will only wear you out, Erk."

"Lord Pent said he had a task for me tomorrow. I need to be prepared."

"I think being rested would help more, at this point."

Erk rubbed the sleep from his eyes to take in more of the room. Half the candles in his study had guttered out, leaving everything dim and flickering: the shadows of the books in the shelves, the sparkle of their gilding. Lady Louise stood beside his chair. Her loose hair and pale nightgown told him what an ungodly hour it was.

"I think you should get to bed," she said softly, and Erk nodded, though reluctant. "But I want to tell you something, first. I've been so excited that I'm afraid I won't sleep, myself, until I do."

He snapped to full alertness and rose at once from his chair, eager to assist. Louise only smiled and guided him to the edge of his bed, where she sat with him.

"I told my Lord Pent at the war's end," she said. "I was going to wait until we'd settled here, finished unpacking and had a chance to rest, but then I thought you should know at once. It's your right."

"My right?" Erk repeated. It was rare that he didn't understand. He had no rights. He was the mage general's apprentice, to be sure, but not a nobleman, and not his successor. However well the Reglays treated him, he knew to keep in mind that he was not theirs, however he wished for it.

Louise beamed, then. "I'm with child."

Erk's mouth went dry, equal parts elation and terror. A true heir, a true child. Someone they could truly love. Yet did they not deserve it; the kindest people he knew? Should they not know that exquisite happiness?

"Congratulations," he managed, stuttering in his joy. "Oh, Lady Louise—you'll be the most perfect mother. This is the luckiest child in the world."

But why tell him so immediately? Why call it his right? His confusion must have been plain on his face, for she laughed: gentle laugh, gentle smile, gentle creases at her eyes.

"You will be a good big brother to them, won't you, Erk?" she asked, and his face flooded red.

"Brother?"

"But of course."

"No, I'm not—I'm simply—I would never presume to—"

Louise touched his cheek and his mouth snapped shut.

"Just because I did not birth you," she said, "does not mean you're not our first child. So won't you celebrate with us?"

His eyes stung and he blinked hard to stop it, flicked his gaze to her middle, where the baby was growing. The baby he could call family, if he wished. He wanted to hold her hard, hold it, and never let go.

"Oh—oh—Lady Louise, should I be gentle if I—?"

"Not at all," she said, rushed, delighted. He'd never once asked to hug her. "Not yet, at least."

She opened her arms and Erk fell into them at once, clinging tight, allowing himself for the first time to be her son as he buried his face in her shoulder and hoped for the future.