She was slimy, streaked with blood, squalling, and so small I could hold her in my cupped hands. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

The midwife whipped her away from me, washed and dried her tenderly, then laid her, wrapped in a blanket, on Theodora’s breast.

“Thank you,” said Theodora weakly. Her face was pale with exhaustion, but she looked, if possible, even happier than I felt. “You can take a rest now.”

The midwife looked at me distrustingly, as she had for the last two hours, but closed the door behind her as she left. I sat down beside Theodora, brushed the sweaty hair away from her forehead, and kissed it gently. Our baby found the nipple, stopped crying, and began to drink.

“We’ll call her Theodora,” I said, touching the baby’s impossibly small fingers with one of my own.

Theodora smiled but shook her head. “We’ll do no such thing.”

“But I thought that was your mother’s and grandmother’s name before you.”

“And further back than that. But if our daughter and I both have the same name, either you’ll call her Theo or some such foolish nickname, or else you’ll start calling me Mother. That’s what happened to my parents.”

I laughed. “I’m unlikely to start thinking of you as my mother. But we’ll name her whatever you like.” I handed Theodora a cup of water, and she drank deeply. “I thought childbirth was supposed to be easy for witches.”

She looked at me in amusement over the rim of the cup. “I’m never going to persuade you I’m not a witch, am I. But I gather you have never seen any other woman give birth?”

“Of course not. And the midwife almost didn’t let me be here.”

“Fathers aren’t usually welcome. But this was an easy birth in comparison to most. Even with the best magic, neither birth nor death will ever be painless.”