Night went by uneventfully—unless you include an earthquake-level hiccup that made my cradle turn into a fractal kitten kaleidoscope for a few seconds. (For the record, they all glared at me before disappearing. Rude.)
Morning light crept over tapestry edges, waking servants. Ishvari swept in to break fast duty, her sapphire robe shining with understated glamour charms that whispered, I have not slept since dawn; I am merely perfect by default.
She picked me up with practiced ease. "Why are you smiling, hmm? Dreamed of starlight once more?"
I deployed my patented baby-beam smile. Works every time—parenthood is essentially a cryptographic weakness if you have the correct smiles to deploy.
After feeding, I spent tummy time—purportedly for neck development, but really to get a better espionage position. Nursemaids moved around, talking about tonight's meteor shower.
Meteor shower? Mental calendar bonged. High-mana events were good times for magical shenanigans. Also good times for someone to "accidentally" disrupt wards.
Cradle Forensics, Round Two
During the night, my cradle's outside glyphs had changed. The sub-ring I'd mentally designated Mood-Adaptation-Beta now showed mauve chevrons—fresh. I prodded it with determination; the chevrons wavered, taking a reading of my heart rate, then reversed to teal.
Working theory: an emoji threat meter. Teal = "happy baby." Red = "aggressive duster attack" (refer to yesterday's sad feather catastrophe).
I attempted a mental command: RUN DIAGNOSTIC. The cradle shook weakly, runes flashing in swift Morse-like sequences. Success! Alas, the glyph stream was too swift to decode.
I hadn't time to try frame-by-frame mental recording before footsteps stormed past outside. A panting junior magister came rushing in, as if she had outrun a dragon. She stooped toward a nursemaid, voice raised to a shriek:
"Forest alarms triggered again—unknown magic signature. Lord Varundar doubled perimeter wards."
The nursemaid grasped her pearls. "Not goblins again?"
"No footprints. Just… presence."
Presence. My baby mind recalled the vision of that darkness from last night—the amber-eyed observer by the caravan. My pendant, buried under mattress filler, grew a little warm.
Distraction Protocol
Evidently, this was beyond my current verbal vocabulary. I had to get my parents' attention. Plan B: make a scene. I twisted my face into a pre-temper tantrum grimace and wailed.
The cradle flared yellow—Nutrition Alarm. Personnel scrambled. Perfect. Talk cut short, but the manor hallways hummed with fresh urgency.
Post-crisis nutrition, I pretended to sleep and submerged again in diagnostics. MAP NET showed a tiny starfield superimposed over the canopy—nodes for manor wardstones. The central hub glowed under the tower spire, with lesser points along the forest edge.
One node flashed amber. Compromised sensor. The system had anomaly reporting built-in!
I almost snickered, which I managed to pass off as hiccups. The cradle stilled me with a gentle vibration, likely assuming it was being useful.
Cousin Jivran's Tactical Briefing
Afternoon arrived in the form of cousin Jivran, now armed with a wooden sword sporting a rubber grip after "accidentally" bruising my finger last week.
He saluted. "Reporting for duty, supreme commander!"
Oh wonderful. The start of an army of child militia. Morale is important, however. I flicked a twitch of a salute back.
Jivran set off into his perimeter defense strategy: "We blocked the chimney with holly—fairies dislike holly. Hung bells on the windows. When they ring, we jump out of the closet and jab things!"
He practiced his "jab" on a pillow in the shape of a cloud. The cloud lost its fluff.
I gave him my most serious baby stare of approval. He puffed up. "We'll protect you, little lord."
Father's War Report
No sooner was Jivran gone than Varundar strode in, brigandine shining, helm under one arm. Warlord-dad hybrid, he scooped me up into the bend of his arm.
"Ironheart," he growled, "we're on patrol tonight. Thought you'd enjoy the briefing."
He took me through ward rotations, troop shifts, and supply inspections, finishing with a surprisingly tender nose-boop. It's difficult to remain strictly intimidating when you do that.
Midnight Meteor Madness
Evening descended, the meteor shower planned for the moment before midnight. Nursemaids tuck-me-ined prematurely, cradle lullaby humming at 50% strength. I held position until snores indicated the coast was clear.
MAP NET once more. The amber node's pulse accelerated. I zoomed in: the south orchard wardstone.
Someone had replaced a key glyph with its inverted duplicate—switching from repel to attract. That accounted for the "presence" moving in.
No remote SSH, but perhaps a mental overlay would have sufficed. I pictured the right glyph until my brain was feeling like overclocked RAM. The cradle vibrated, canopy flashed—amber to blue. Patch was deployed.
And Then… Weaponized Nursery Décor
A gentle pop echoed underneath the cradle. My porcu-lion toy—formerly an innocuous cedar carving—leapt upright, its eyes ember-red, its teeth now much too pointed for wood.
It warbled its customary lullaby… at twice volume… in what I can only call demon vibrato.
I squealed. The cradle flung up rune shields. The toy ricocheted off the barrier, scratching like a mad hedgehog. Its quills lengthened into spikes.
Door burst open—guards, torches, and then my parents. Varundar drew his sword; Ishvari's nightgown flew behind her like a storm cloud.
The toy came at me. Varundar's blade cut it in midair, sparks flying the drapes. Ishvari whispered a counterspell; runes on the toy fizzled out. It fell into a harmless clump of cedar.
Varundar kicked it over. "Sabotage," he snarled. "Secret hex activated tonight. Send it to the Conclave. Double the nursery guard."
Silver in the Shadows
Later, wrapped between my parents on the nursery couch, I heard their soft, resolute voices. Ishvari pressed her forehead against mine. "The world might desire you, but we'll out-trick them."
I wished to believe her. I did believe her. But as I fell asleep, something moved at the edge of my peripheral.
Two cats, silver fur, mercury eyes—sat on the balcony railing, tails unfurling in slow, rhythmic curves. They blinked at me in synchronized unison.
Then they vanished.
The cradle whirred as if nothing was amiss. But I knew better