And there they were. Corinn realized she had expected something grander than what she found, but that suddenly seemed silly. This was no foul nest like Mena’s stories of Maeben. It was not elaborate. It did not smell of death, nor was it gilded. Four eggs nestled in a curl of fabric. They were strangely shaped, oblong and flatish, with swirls of color set into a creamy base. Warm to the touch, they gave her a certain joy. It came right through her fingertips, a welcome.

Corinn looked around. She held still for a long moment, sure that she would hear and feel if anybody was observing her. Nobody was. She slipped her hands down into the basin, grasped the cloth in her hands; and pulled the entirety of it out, the eggs snug inside. She sat down on a stone bench a little distance away, cradling the bundle to her chest. She could feel the life pulsing within them. Wonderful, powerful, fierce: that’s what they would be.

She whispered the notes of the song that had been building in her head. She would sing to these children. Sing to them in the Giver’s tongue, so that when they emerged into the world they would do so in a form shaped to her needs. She could not have Elya, but she would have her children. Yes, they were lovely already. Full of goodness, but it was not goodness that she would need in future days. Before then, she would need weapons like none the Known World had ever seen. These babies would not be feathered, timorous protectors. They would be her warriors. She sang all this into them, and she knew they heard and liked what she was telling them. They shifted inside their eggs, shouldering and stretching the shells, already eager to hatch.

And then the final thing. Her last work for that night. Late now, in her room, the lights dim and all her servants sent away. The largest of the spells she had planned. It would exhaust her, she knew, but she did not want to wait for another day. There was strength in doing, she realized. There was power in using the song. There were voices happy to aid her. Voices who, in more and more tangible ways, urged her on.

What choice did she have? they asked. Everything was in danger. She had to be able to trust someone completely, someone whom the people would love and rally behind, someone who would take part of the burden from her and carry it with her, someone who had held the world in his hands already. Someone who loved her and would be truly by her side. Someone who would thank her for forgiving him.