Ella
All is well. Nothing is amiss. Our daughter is growing as she should be.
Here’s a list of herbs. The alchemist in the market can make you a bundle for teas and spicing your food. You should be eating this as often as you can. It’ll help with the aches and fatigue. The midwife’s words echo in my mind.
All is well. No signs of distress. No inklings that a curse is eating me alive.
I watch the village of Hannis from my window at the inn as I cradle the swell of my stomach.
No one suspects a thing is wrong with me.
Maybe Petra was wrong. Maybe she lied and was only trying to scare me, but the memories of Kane’s blade slicing my skin ebb through my mind and leave scars in their wake.
I need to know for sure if I’m cursed and what it means. And, more importantly, how to break it.
The midwife comes and goes with a smile on her pleasant face, but I haven’t left the room. I’ve barely touched the cold breakfast foods laid out on a small table near the window. The tea has grown cold.
What’s wrong with me? I’ve never been one to just… give up. Keeping secrets? Well… I’m very good at that. But I’m keeping a secret from Ryatt, and that feels… so wrong.
I should tell him, but then he’ll make it his mission to fix me. He’ll rage throughout our already broken and bleeding kingdom for a cure.
And if I’m wrong about the curse, and my fluctuating powers and aching body is only a reflection of my advancing pregnancy, then his efforts will be wasted, and I can’t do that to him.
This is my burden for the time being. It’s decided. I’m not telling him until it’s confirmed.
I run my hands over the soft, well-crafted violet tunic and matching pants I’ve been provided and walk back to the bed to fetch the brown cloak laid out on the fresh sheets. I clasp it at the neck and quickly braid my hair, curling a few of the front pieces around my fingers before pinching my cheeks to bring some color back to my skin.
I eat a few large bites of food despite my lack of appetite to make it look like I at least tried to fuel myself, then I leave our snug room and head out into the village.
It’s beautiful here. It’s also a very old place. I can feel ancient magic thrumming through the chorus of cheerful voices wandering from shop to shop, from home to home. The worn mountains in the distance are a vivid emerald green. I slowly make my way in the direction of the apothecary shop the midwife mentioned, her list clutched tight in my hand.
“Ella.”
I stop at the sound of my name and turn. Ryatt is walking steadily toward me looking like a dream in his full leather get-up. In the glimmer of early summer sunshine, I catch the rare gleam of the chestnut brown that weaves through his normally black hair. It’s long enough to fall over his shoulders now, and I haven’t seen it undone like this since we left Maatua.
My handsome mate in all his glory stops before me, that cocky smile on his face as he grips my elbow and leans down to kiss me.
“Whatever happened to your leather jacket?” I ask as he pulls away.
“What?”
I reach up to pull a few blades of grass from his leather vest. “The jacket you always used to wear. I haven’t seen it on you in ages.”
“I lost it in Rifthold,” he says, a bit wistfully. He brushes my braid over my shoulder, his fingers lingering on the ribbon I used to tie it off with. “Westfall and I had to shift abruptly, and I never returned to retrieve it.”
“I’ll buy a new one while we’re here,” I offer, motioning to a nearby shop with all kinds of clothing items on display, including intricate works made of leather.
“It’s not replaceable,” he says softly, shrugging. “It belonged to my mother.”
“I highly doubt she was your size,” I tease, and his eyes crease as he smiles.
But that smile fades as a thought dons on him.
“What's wrong?”
“Now that I think about it, I believe that jacket might have once belonged to… Westfall.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding. Disappointment floods my mind as I watch his face undergo a great change from amusement to something like disgust. “Have you talked to him about… him being your father?”
“Of course not.”
I purse my lips. Ryatt has, of course, filled me in on what happened in the aftermath of Westfall and I being attacked at the river. Westfall was terribly wounded but thankfully found by scouts dispatched by Artyom and Granger. He spent a week recovering in a rural village before Ryatt ordered him to return to Veiled Valley.
Apparently, he’s on his way to catch up to us, and if only to distract myself from the knowledge of the curse gnawing at my system, I’ve been hatching a plan at an intervention.
“He’s going to be our daughter’s grandfather.”
“By blood, yes.”
“What’s your problem with him?”
“He didn’t go back for my mother.”
I raise my brows and try to argue that I saw a vision of them in their final moments together. Westfall didn’t have a choice. He had a chance to save Ryatt, and Ryatt’s mother wouldn’t take no for an answer.
But then Granger comes into view.
“Luna,” he says to me with a bow.
I frown at him. “Stop calling me Luna. It creeps me out.”
Granger furrows his brow at me and glances at Ryatt, whose expression is now back to its usual smugness.
“Ella,” Granger drawls dramatically.
“Better,” I huff, and reach for Ryatt’s hand, but Granger steps closer, leaning to whisper in his ear.
Ryatt looks down at me, frowning. “I have to meet with the Alpha of Hannis. It’ll bore you to death. The witches are going to depart tonight for the coven if you’d like to say your goodbyes.”
“Okay–”
Ryatt briskly kisses me on the top of the head and then is gone before I can take a breath. I watch him wade through the crowded market with his Beta at his side. I feel a pang of sadness for Amanda, given that she’s stuck in Veiled Valley while we’re here, preparing to depart for lands unknown.
At least, lands unknown to me.
I visit the alchemist like planned and leave her pungent shop with a cloth bag filled with herbs and spices. My brain spins over her brewing instructions as I walk the quarter mile or so to the infirmary.
It’s busy. Witches are packing up their donated goods and clothing. Some of them are heavily bandaged, but there’s a new light in their eyes, new hope.
It warms my aching heart to see it.
Two young teenagers run by laughing, the sound rich and like the sweetest music.
“Queen Ella,” Giselle says as I approach. She rises from the ground where she was assisting another witch pack a canvas bag with provisions.
“Hello. Are you all heading out soon?”
“Yes. We sent a few scouts ahead of us, and one returned. It’s a weeklong journey to the coven but we’ll pass several villages along the way to resupply and rest.”
I glance around the room. It’s impossible to tell which witches are mixed with wolf, but my anxiety around their journey back to the coven is softened by the idea of their group having shifters who can scout ahead to ensure their route is safe.
“We’ll be fine. The worst is over.” Giselle lays a hand over my wrist, and I jump at the contact. Her touch funnels through me like a wave of pure heat. She suddenly pulls away and looks me in the eyes. Her lips part, and her brows furrow. “Qu-Queen Ella, can I speak with you privately for a moment?”
I nod as gooseflesh ripples over my skin. Had that strange heat been her powers? Ryatt did tell me Giselle was known for her healing powers…. Had she sensed something wrong with me, like I assume?
She leads me to a quiet corner of the infirmary.
“I wasn’t in the temple within the cave when you battled with Petra,” she says in a near whisper. “But I’ve heard snippets of what was said from our sisters who were in attendance. May I–may I see your scar?”
“My scar?” I ask, more to myself than to her.
She nods then motions for me to follow her through a nondescript door leading into what looks like a storage room. I walk behind her and come to a halt in the center of several crates. A musty smell hangs in the air, but my view of the space is obstructed as she closes the door, and we’re cloaked in darkness.
A flash of golden light erupts and then softens. I turn to face Giselle and gasp.
She glows. Every inch of her body is glowing with golden light, and her eyes are like molten metal as she steps toward me. “Please, sit.”
Too shocked to speak, I unceremoniously pull down my pants and sit on the crate, spreading my legs enough for her to inspect the scar on my inner thigh.
Her hands are hot against my skin, and at her touch, my skin begins to glow from within until every single vein is illuminated. I gasp. I’ve never seen anything like this before. Instinctively I pull up my shirt and look down at my belly as Giselle’s light courses through me.
I can see the baby clearly, nestled deep and safe in my womb. She’s bigger than I expected, but the midwife told me today that I’m almost five months along now.
“She’s sucking her thumb,” Giselle says with a smile, but the smile doesn’t meet her eyes as she continues to inspect my scar.
I haven’t looked down at it yet. I’m too shocked to pay it any mind as I examine the glowing veins and arteries visible under my skin. Even my bones glow.
But then I see it. The second I look down, my stomach twists into a knot.
Around the scar left by Kane’s blade, black ripples fan out around the soft scar tissue like little fingers trying to reach deeper into my body.
But a silvery substance fights against the curse now confirmed to be lurking under my skin.
“Your powers are fighting it. That’s why you feel weak.” She leans back to examine the baby next. “She’s fine, Your Highness. I can’t see or sense the curse in your womb.”
I fight the urge to vomit at the sight of the black tendrils of magic under my skin. “Can it be cut out?” I’d cut my damn leg off. I really would.
“No… but there’s someone who might be able to help, I believe. And it’s a good thing you’re following Alpha Ryatt into the Wastes. I can’t remember her name. It’s been… decades, since she lived with the coven. She was one the enslaved witches in Rifthold, but before that, she was a particularly gifted healer and a scholar in curses. She’s rumored to have escaped King Kane at some point and practices her craft in the Wastes, near the Alabaster Mountains.”
I remember that mountain range from Ryatt’s map. They’re so far south, it would take months to get there, I’m sure.
“What can I do about this now?”
“Try not to get hurt or sick,” Giselle says, meeting my eyes. “Any infections will weaken your powers, which will allow the curse to grow. An injury will do the same. I can smell the herbs you bought today. They will help keep you healthy for sure, but I will add some of my own to the mix before we leave tonight. You must rest, Your Highness. At any chance you can, rest. Eat well. Don’t use your powers unless absolutely necessary.”
“What about shifting?”
She sighs. “If I didn’t think you needed to find the witch in the Wastes, I would recommend you come to the coven for healing. I think shifting is necessary for your journey, but it will cause the curse to spread. Definitely.” She clicks her tongue in thought. “You’ll feel worse as you go along. It’s imperative you find this witch.”
“How will I know it’s her?”
“You will know,” she says, meeting my eyes. “Intuition. Trust no others with the truth. His Highness–”
“He doesn’t know.” I roll my lower lip between my teeth. “I don’t want him to know, not yet. Not if I want to make it to the Wastes in time to get help.”
She nods, grim understanding flashing behind her golden hued eyes. Her powers slowly fade until we’re cast in darkness once again. I hear her shuffle toward the door, but I ask, “How long do I have?”
She stills, and I hear her exhale deeply. “You may not survive the birth if this curse isn’t broken. That kind of trauma could…. It would cause the curse to spread exponentially. Once it reaches your heart–” she cuts herself off. “You have four months, maybe five. Your power will weaken until then as it fights off the curse.”
Shit. What am I going to do?
“Tell him when you’re ready, and Your Highness?” She turns to me, her face and body completely shadowed by the darkness. “There is a chance this curse can’t be broken.”
“I understand,” I whisper back. She opens the door and leaves me to sit in my thoughts.
Four months. I have four months.
But I’m not thinking about my own life as my hands rest on the swell of my belly.
Ryatt will raise our daughter alone if I can’t find this witch.
I have to tell him. He should know.
But then I think of his feelings toward Westfall, and how he…how he blames him, his own father, for his mother’s death.
Would Ryatt blame our child for mine?