“To see one’s face reflected in a dish signifies fathering children with a slave girl. But if this dream is seen by someone who is himself a slave, we must conclude the dish reflects his own slavery.”

—Artemidorus, The Interpretation of Dreams

Her pains start in the deepest hours of the night. They rouse Amara from sleep—the claws that clamp down on her, then release. She stares into the dark. Nothing. Then the pain hits again, and her eyes widen. Not agony, but a warning, the distant rumble of thunder before a storm.

Philos is sleeping. The slow, steady rhythm of his breathing like a caress. She does not wake him yet, but instead presses a little closer to the warmth of his body, drawing comfort from his presence. It was a lie, what she once told him, that this child was as much for her. Amara had no desire to be a mother when she fell pregnant, no desire for all the changes to her body, the risk to her life, the shadow a dependent child will cast. And yet, over the months, something shifted. The love she feels for Philos—that constant, painful ache in her chest—began to take in the life she is carrying.

Pain surges again, and she gasps. Philos stirs. He murmurs her name, a question half dragged from sleep.

“I think it’s starting,” she whispers.

In an instant, he is fully awake. He sits up in the bed. “Are you alright? Do I need to send for the midwife?”

“No.” She takes his hand to reassure him. “We can wait until morning. This stage lasts hours, when the pains are still far apart.” His breathing is no longer steady, and even in the darkness, she can see the fear in his eyes. “I’m not frightened,” she says. It is almost true. She has dreaded this moment for so long, yet now it is here, she feels relief.

The hours of the night pass, and it is only the two of them in that dreamlike threshold between her old life and her new. Between the birthing pangs, Amara is able to talk and move as is nothing is happening, but slowly, the pains grow on her, the spaces shortening. She becomes restless, walking around the room to ease the discomfort, or sitting upright in the bed, panting. The child inside her is awake, and when she is still, Philos rests his hand on her stomach, as if he might comfort them both.