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The crying of a baby awakened Whitbie Joveson from his sleep. As quietly as he could, he got up from the bed, trying not to disturb his wife. Moving quickly to the cradle a few feet away, he reached in. Gathering his daughter to him, Whit began rocking her gently as he turned and walked out of the room.
Making his way to the sitting room, he began a slow circuit around it. The baby was no longer crying, but still fretful. Whit made soothing noises as he walked through it the dimly lit space. Moonlight was the only source of illumination, but he could see easily enough.
Living underground for years did wonders for one’s ability to navigate.
Finally, the little doe settled. Wearily, Whit lowered himself to a couch. Bleary eyed, he looked around the darkened room. It was the size of his old quarters in the Citadel of Dreams. That made it smaller than most of the rooms he had been used to in the palace where he’d grown up.
But this was Newcity, not First Warren. Homes here were beautiful and spacious, but not excessive. Even the royal residence was a fraction of the size of the old palace. Many of the functions that had required so much space in that building were now served by more public spaces.
Whit’s brother, King Smalden, and Queen Heather were quite happy that this should be so. Both had grown accustomed, after many years, to simpler accommodations than the old palace had offered. To have space for their family, a few rare guests who couldn’t stay in visitors’ quarters, and their few attendants was enough for them. Whit and his own wife, too, had become used to simplicity in the years before the Mending.
As though summoned by this thought, Angelica appeared before him. She had put on a robe over her nightgown, and gave a tired smile to her husband and sleeping daughter. Taking a seat beside Whit, she looked down at their daughter’s small, peaceful face. “You could have let me get up for her, Biejo. I know you had a long day.”
“You had a long day with her, as you have every day since she was born,” Whit said with a yawn. “I’m happy to do my share, especially if it means you can get some sleep.”
“Very kind of you,” Angelica said with a smile; then her face grew serious. “You know, Whit, speaking of sleep…I couldn’t help but notice something. The only times I’ve ever seen you hold the baby are when she’s asleep…or like now, when it’s dark. Granted, she’s so young that she still sleeps the majority of the day, and you are often busy with one task or another.
“But I’ve noticed that when you are here while she’s awake, you don’t hold her. It even feels like you make a point of staying out of her line of sight. Smalls, Heather, and Emma have noticed too-even Win’s commented on it to me. You’re so sweet with her at night, but why only then?”
Eyes lowered, Whit gave a sigh. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, to avoid this question. After all, there was no shortage of family or friends to help Angie with the baby throughout the day or to hold her during their visits. Between that and his willingness to tend to the baby at night, Whit had expected that his behavior during the day would go unnoticed.
“I don’t want…to scare her.”
“Scare her? What are you talking about?”
Giving his wife a sad but affectionate smile, Whit stifled another yawn. “Angel, you know what I look like. There are times when the sight of younglings makes me want to start wearing a mask everywhere I go again. Our daughter is so young…too young to understand why her father looks the way he does.”
Putting her arm around Whit, Angie leaned her head on his shoulder. “My poor husband…I might have guessed such a thing. But do you really think putting the matter off will be best for you, or for her? Are you going to wear a mask until our daughter is old enough to speak?”
Leaning back and adjusting himself so that he could hold the baby without straining his arms, Whit sighed. “I don’t know, Angel. And I should have spoken with you before, instead of hoping you wouldn’t notice. Please, go back to bed. I have some thinking to do.”
Angie kissed him on the cheek, then leaned over to kiss the baby on her nose. Then she got to her feet and walked out of the room. Left alone with his daughter, his thoughts, and his fears, Whit sat in silence for a long, long time. So long, in fact, that he didn’t even realize sleep was stealing over him again.
Bright light woke Whit, shining through the thin curtains of the sitting room. He blinked groggily, briefly wondering what he was doing in here instead of in his own room. There, the curtains were thicker, and there was less chance of being woken too early by the light. It was a particularly important feature when it came to-
Remembering the baby, Whit automatically looked down. To his relief, he hadn’t shifted position during the night, and she remained securely cradled in his arms. However, Whit stiffened as the baby’s eyes opened. Father and daughter found themselves staring into each other’s faces in the brightly, but not harshly, lit room.
Time seemed to crawl, and Whit’s heart seemed to freeze. Any second now he expected that his daughter would become distressed, and cry at the sight of his missing ear and scarred face. So it was with the greatest astonishment that he saw her mouth curve open in a toothless smile. Her eyes and nose crinkled sweetly as she looked up at him in obvious delight.
“Well, would you look at that,” Angie said as she came up behind the couch. The sight and sound of her mother made the baby gurgle happily. But her eyes soon came back to rest on her father’s face, and her little sounds of pleasure did not diminish. Indeed, she seemed only to become more enthusiastic as she looked at her father in daylight for the first time.
Deeply moved by the sight, Whit found himself smiling back at her as his own eyes filled with tears of wonder, relief, and joy. Lifting her up, he touched her nose with his, prompting a small giggle. Laughing in answer, Whit pulled her close against his shoulder. With fresh wonder, he felt her small heart beating in time with his own.
Putting a hand on his shoulder, Angelica smiled down at her husband. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Here you were, worrying that she’d only see your scars. But she knows you’re her father, Whitbie Joveson. And just like me, she sees you for who you are-and what no scars can hide.”
Overcome by the sentiment, and by his feelings, Whitbie could only nod.