Hector studies me for so long I squirm against my chair. “We could have a baby.”
I freeze with my hand reaching for my goblet.
Hector picks up his goblet and drinks like he didn’t just announce something that significant.
We cannot have a baby.
My hand drops back to the table with a thump. A normal wife would nod and say she would be delighted.
“We cannot.” The truth shatters inside me as I think of those twins he teased me about when we still lived in Astarobane.
He shrugs. “You were the one attached to Edvard.”
“Yes… But…”Change the subject.“How long have you known about Cenric and Everly?”
Hector grabs his wine again and drinks before answering. “Long enough.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I don’t want to talk about children?”
The legs of his chair scrape against the wooden floor as he stands. “I thought of you. You looked happy with Edvard.” With those words, Hector moves to the window.
I sigh and sink into my chair. He doesn’t know how much my heart aches to have a baby, but I cannot be selfish and do that to a child. It would be wrong in every way imaginable.
The next morning, I rise before him, go to the woods near the palace, and I collect stariah mushrooms. Thankfully, they grow here, and I don’t require Kyanite herbs.
They will not stop anything that might have already happened, but they will prevent me from conceiving when I’m with Hector again.
The sun glares over my shoulder as I trot back to the palace and prepare the tea.
Tears prick at my eyes as I drag the chair to the corner and plop down with my bitter concoction. If my world were different, and ifIwere different, I wouldn’t think twice about having a child. But I cannot have a baby with a man I will eventually have to leave. I wouldn’t do that to him, nor would I do that to a baby.
So, I drink my disgusting tea and long for a different world.
ChapterThirty-Eight
The weight of everything I was forced to do earlier in the day follows me as I walk down the narrow staircase to the lower levels in search of the kitchen. As I make it to the last step, the sounds of sobbing and pleading reach my ears. I hurry to the landing and into the kitchen, where a group of people huddle around someone on the ground.
An older Bloodstone woman lies crumpled in the center, her skin pale, and her mouth trembling as she whispers pleas to Olah.
“Do something,” a young man pleads. “I beg you. Please do something.”
With no other thought than trying to help, I push my way through and kneel next to the woman. Everyone fades as I chant those healing verses, trying to mend, to renew what’s broken, but the light refuses to be called from the shadows. I try again, chanting the healing words, but my voice is nothing more than a broken reed shaking in the wind.
Nothing happens. The color doesn’t return to the woman’s cheeks.
Her lips still. Her eyes lock behind me.
No. No. No.
The Bloodstone people stare at me with wide, accusing eyes. I stagger to my feet and hurry outside, needing the coolness of the air. I gulp in deep breaths, but the woman’s pale features still etch into my thoughts.
I have lost my ability to do the one thing I have always wanted to do.
I am broken.
