After Alphard's journey, Marge preferred to let herself be carried by the threads of fate until the night of the baby's birth.
The pains had started early, and at first, she hadn't paid much attention to them. There had been no warning; those pains had repeated for several days, each morning with a different intensity, but most of the time, they were bearable.
The contractions, however, began in the middle of the night, strong and relentless. They were accompanied by intense bleeding. Brigid, the usual midwife for the Thorne family, was called urgently.
Now the pain felt as if it might tear her insides apart; thinking was difficult. All her effort in the past twenty minutes had merely been to remain conscious. And she hoped they wouldn't ask much more of her, though she knew such hope was futile.
Marguerith bit her lips hard, controlling herself to avoid writhing in pain as the two midwives, Brigid and Aribeth, entered and exited her blurred vision, carrying towels and basins of water.
The night outside seemed to drag on endlessly while, minute by minute, Brigid urged her to push harder. Aribeth pressed on Marguerith's belly, asking her to breathe.
And breathing seemed to be the hardest thing to do now.
All Marguerith could feel was the pain and the blood flowing. An immense terror consumed her like never before in her life. It hadn't been this hard with Aldebaran and Ludovic.
Aribeth sat on the edge of Marguerith's bed, taking the girl's cold hands and trying to smile reassuringly at her.
Marge nodded silently, feeling another contraction seize her abdomen.
She sensed the druidess rise and heard her say to the midwife that she was going to fetch some tea to prevent Marguerith from succumbing to exhaustion. Opening her eyes, which she hadn't even realized were closed, she met Brigid's nervous smile.
"Marguerith, you need to sit up a little. Just a little to drink the infusion. Then you'll feel better," the midwife whispered, helping the pregnant woman. "Do you think you can do it?"
The young woman nodded, raising her body with difficulty. She felt Aribeth bring the cup to her lips. Her mouth was dry, and the bitter taste of the tea didn't help, but Marguerith forced herself to drink it all. The warmth of the liquid gradually spread through her body, the pain starting to lessen, though not by much.
"Perhaps we should call a mediwizard. The way things are going, we risk losing both Marge and the child," Brigid said, her voice laden with concern.
"There's no time. But I know they'll make it," Aribeth replied firmly.
Marguerith did make it. She didn't know how; the memories were blurry and scattered.
The pregnant woman felt a stronger contraction and screamed in pain, her body arching with the effort. She also felt a wet towel on her face and comforting words from Aribeth.
With a final gasp, Marguerith felt her strength leave her. A wave of relief washed over her body as she heard the soft cries of her child.
Aribeth congratulated Brigid while wrapping the baby in clean towels, rubbing off the blood and fluids from the birth. Finally, the midwife cut the umbilical cord.
Marguerith didn't even get to hold her daughter in her arms. Before she could, Aribeth had already taken her away. There were whispers and darkness after that. She spent the day feverish in bed until she could rise again.
Soft knocks were heard at the bedroom door, and Marguerith invited the woman outside to enter.
Brigid's serene figure appeared, carrying a small bundle of cloth in her arms.
"She's here to meet her mother," the woman said as she approached, while Marge adjusted herself on the bed to receive her daughter.
The brunette extended her arms, carefully positioning the little one close to her.
"I'll take my leave. If you need anything, just ring the bell beside the bed."
"Thank you," Marge replied.
Once alone with her daughter, she dared to look at her for the first time. The baby slept peacefully, showing no signs of the struggle she had endured before birth. The child gave a small yawn, opening her eyes. For the first time, Marge saw her daughter's green orbs—emeralds like her own. A reddish fluff covered the newborn's head. Marguerith gently brushed it with the back of her hand. She felt a slight pang in her chest; the baby was Pericles's daughter, after all. Alphard had longed for this child so much—he would be devastated.
"Excuse me," Aribeth's voice announced.
Despite still feeling slightly weak, Marguerith forced a smile. If she and the little one were alive, it was thanks to the druidess and Brigid.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Marge said as she adjusted herself to try to nurse the baby.
"Without a doubt," the Thorne matriarch replied, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Have you chosen a name?"
"Astreia," Marge replied, thinking that, even though she wasn't Alphard's daughter, she wanted to keep the Black family's custom of mythological names. "But the Thornes also have a tradition for feminine names, don't they?"
"We're all Beths… Libeth… Aribeth..."
"Elizabeth," Marge completed. "Elizabeth Astreia Black-Thorne."
The druidess watched the little one eagerly nursing at her mother's breast. This girl would grow to be the family's next matriarch. Aribeth had to admit a part of her selfishly felt happy knowing the child was Pericles's and would continue the Thorne traditions. There would be much to teach Elizabeth in the years to come. When Marguerith had confided in her about Alphard Black, the redhead thought the women's legacy in the clan would end with her.
"What will you do now that you know Pericles is the father?" Aribeth asked.
"Nothing has changed in my plans. I'll still divorce him. I'll still be with Alphard," the brunette replied resolutely. "But I won't keep Elizabeth away from her father or from you."
The druidess smiled and, noticing the girl had finished nursing, approached Marguerith to take Elizabeth into her arms.
"You need to rest again. I'll bring little Betsy back to see you later."
Marge nodded, feeling her eyes grow heavy. She hadn't fully recovered yet. When she was better, she would write to Pericles and Alphard. She would begin taking steps toward her new life.
Winter in Italy seemed milder to Pericles than he remembered, or perhaps it was the bottle of wine accompanying him that night. Since returning to the bosom of the Camposanti, he had thrown himself into work with determination. Managing the vineyard alongside Giordano was more laborious than he had anticipated, yet it was a solace to keep him from dwelling on the fact that soon he would no longer have Marguerith by his side. Alone, he knew his mind would always wander to the mistakes he had made. Wine was always a good companion for those moments of self-pity.
Persistent knocks on his bedroom window snapped him out of those grim thoughts. Unlocking the latch, he allowed Morgana, Marguerith's black owl, to enter. At the sight of the bird, despite the regular correspondence between them, a foreboding feeling made the redhead slightly anxious. Pericles hurried to open the contents of the envelope she carried.
My dear – he began reading, noticing that his wife maintained the formal tone of her recent letters. Without realizing it, he let out a sigh.
The child was born on the 15th and, to your joy, she is your daughter. She is a beautiful girl named Elizabeth.
The birth was complicated, and we are well thanks to your aunt. With that in mind, I would like to ask if you agree with my wish to ask Aribeth to become our daughter's godmother.
Other than that, my resolution remains the same, but I want our children to continue enjoying their father's presence in their lives.
I hope you can resolve things with Giordano and the other creditors soon so that we can define the end of our relationship.
Still, I hope you are well.
Sincerely,
Marguerith.
A warmth filled the redhead's chest, and he let out a mix of laughter and tears upon learning that the child was his. Even with Marge being as hard as a rock, perhaps the presence of their daughter might soften her heart, and he could be forgiven.
He felt an urgent need to return home. The debt with his Italian friend was almost settled, but there were still others... and a considerable amount. Pericles couldn't wait a few more months to gather the remaining sum.
He knew who could help him.
"Are you sure this is what you want to do, Perry?" Camposanto asked, unable to hide the concern in his voice. "It's a one-way road. We can leave and forget about all this."
The redhead nodded with determination. He had come too far to give up, though he couldn't truly feel at ease with the decision he had made. The two walked together in silence through the corridors of the Montagna family's main house until they reached a fork near the office of the famiglia's boss, where they had to part ways, as only Pericles was allowed to enter.
Camposanto placed a hand on his English friend's shoulder, a gesture of comfort and good luck.
As Pericles approached the Montagna leader's office, anxiety began to rise in his chest, threatening to burst. He knocked on the door, and the response to enter came just seconds later.
"Enter," Leone di Montagna's imposing voice answered the knocks on the office door. The Englishman had arrived precisely at the agreed time.
Leone, a man with thick gray mustaches, bald and with a stern expression, was hunched over, reading some documents. Pericles stood still at the entrance, waiting for the Italian to say something. Brief seconds stretched into what felt like an endless eternity until Montagna finally finished what he was doing.
The Italian closed the folders containing the documents he was reviewing and methodically organized them on the table while waiting for Pericles to step into his office. The redhead entered, nodding his head in greeting to Leone.
"Signori Montagna," the Englishman said formally, "Good afternoon, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine," Leone replied in the same tone. "Please, have a seat."
The Italian assessed his guest's appearance. Impeccable, as expected for an official meeting with someone like him. The well-fitted and discreet suit, the neatly combed hair. It didn't impress Montagna. Pericles Thorne was not very different from the many wizarding nobles who often came crawling, asking Leone di Montagna for help.
"I can give you what you need," the Italian said, "but if you don't repay it on time, the payment will be your blood."
"That's fine," Pericles agreed. "I'm prepared. I just need to return home."
Leone extended his hand, which the redhead shook.
"We have a deal, then," Montagna's deep voice sealed the magical contract with those words.