“That’s not her name,” Jane says. “After what happened, after what you did for me”—I’m shaking my head, but tears are already flooding her eyes—“you did help me, Donnelly. You made sure Thatcher was there with me.” Anyone would’ve done that, but I don’t argue. “What’d you name her?” is all I ask. “Maeve. It’s Irish,” Jane says. “It means she who rules. And in Irish mythology, she’s a goddess.” Irish. Because of me. My gaze clouds with more emotion, and I look down at Maeve Moretti. A baby goddess is the perfect addition to the Cobalt Empire—and to Jane and Thatcher’s new family.
