Ryatt
“She’s oddly quiet,” Granger says as we step out of the pack house in a village called Reighnier, where the pack Silent Crest resides.
I glance at my mate who is walking back to the two-story stone cottage we’ve been given to sleep in for the night. Her long dark hair is neatly braided down her back, and her brown cloak is spotless as she pulls open the door and slips inside.
I exhale, my stomach tightening as I fumble with the leather armguards around my wrists. “She’s tired. I spoke to her this morning. We’re going to see another healer once we reach Twin Rivers.”
Or what’s left of Twin Rivers. The once prosperous city on the banks of the river that separates the Roguelands from Rifthold is barely more than a village of tents and refugees now. It was flattened during the war, just like Rifthold. Once we cross the river, it could be weeks until we find someone to help Ella with the pregnancy symptoms that plague her day in and day out.
“Is this wise, Ryatt?” Granger asks in a low tone that makes it clear he’s growing nervous. “She’s so thin. Her skin is practically gray.”
“I know,” I grind out. “Trust me, I’ve asked her to just go to the coven, or return to Veiled Valley, but she’s adamant she goes with us.”
She screamed at me this morning, actually. Damn near ripped my fucking head off when I gently told her she looked like walking death, and I was worried about her. But we’ve been on the road for two weeks already, shifting between villages, making stops at every pack.
She’s seen three healers so far, and all of those meetings have been closeted. She doesn’t want me there, and I’m growing suspicious.
Granger leans against a gnarled old-growth tree only a few feet from the front door to the cottage I’m sharing with Ella tonight.
“Do you want to sleep here with us? There’s a couch downstairs.”
“I’ll take a pile of hay over having to bear witness to one of your fights,” Granger replies, his green eyes lighting on mine. “You need to send her home–to Amanda.”
“I’m trying.” I’ll never get my way with Ella. I accepted that the moment I woke up in what remained of her mother’s living room to Isla shoving a vial of her tears down my throat. Ella wouldn’t let me die even though it was what I wanted at that moment. Now, she won’t let me help her, besides asking me to steep the foul herbs she drinks all day and occasionally letting me touch her.
She burns with a fever. She eats so much but doesn’t put on a single ounce of weight. All the while, her belly grows, and it’s obvious now that she’s with child.
“I think youshould return to Amanda,” I tell Granger, if only to change the subject. “Ella will likely deliver the child before we return at this rate, so Amanda will too. They’re due the same day, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Granger sighs. “I’d love to, but I’m needed–”
“You’re needed at home with your wife.”
Granger gives me a look through his lashes that betrays his normally expressionless countenance. “I’ll think about it.”
He kicks off the tree and stalks off into the night.
I walk through the front door and close it behind me, turning the latch. Ella is in the shabby kitchen. A kettle whines as I turn the corner.
“I can make that for you.”
“I got it. It’s fine,” she says, swallowing hard. “But thanks.”
“Can we talk, Ella?”
“About what?” She turns from the wood-fired stove with the kettle and pours the boiling water into a huge mug. Wisps of steam curl around her hands. I’m shocked it doesn’t burn her skin…. Gods, her skin. Those scars around her wrists make me see red every time they catch my attention.
“You’re unwell.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Ella,” I say, trying to keep a firm grip on what little patience I have left. “This goes beyond that. What are these herbs for? I know some of them, and they’re not used for pregnancy, or even during birth.”
“It’s to keep my strength up during our journey. Shifting has been difficult.”
“Once we reach Rifthold, I’ll be spiriting us where we need to go.”
“I’m not sure that’ll make much of a difference.”
“Why are you fighting me on this?” I brace my hands on the worktable in the center of the room. She sets the kettle back on the stove, but her fingers tighten on the handle.
“Ella?”
I can almost see the gears working in her head as her eyes glaze over with some thought.
“What is wrong with you?” I ask, as gently as possible.
“If anything were to happen to me, would you still love her?”
“The baby?”
She finally meets my eyes. “Yes.”
“Of course I would,” I say, exasperated. “Ella, this is nonsense–”
“If I die in childbirth, would you raise her? Or would you ship her off to the coven?”
“Ella, seriously, why are we talking about this? Did something happen? Did one of those healers say–”
“Promise me, Ryatt. Promise me that you’ll look after her and love her like you love me. With all of your heart. I need to hear you say it.”
She has tears in her eyes now. Something’s wrong. Something is terribly wrong.
“You have to talk to me, Princess.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise–”
“Promise me that if you have to choose between us, you will choose her.”
“Enough,” I rasp, holding my hand out. “Stop this. Please, Ella.”
A single tear rolls down her cheek. She tears her gaze from me and gathers up her mug. She tries to step past me, but I stop her, dragging her to a stop.
“Tell me the truth right now.”
“No.”
I grit my teeth and look down at my hard headed mate. Be loving, be gentle. Be kind, for the love of the gods. That’s incredibly difficult to manage when what I want to do is shake her until she comes back to her senses.
She tries to yank her arm out of my grasp, but I tighten my grip.
Her sea-green eyes meet mine. “Let. Me. Go.”
“Tell me what's wrong, and I’ll think about it,” I hiss.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Her nostrils flare as that famous temper flickers to life. Here we go. Our favorite thing to do–fight.
“Let go of me, you fucking brute!”
I pull her into my chest and crush my lips to hers. Her tea spills, sending a shock of boiling heat ripping over my thigh, but I ignore it, breathlessly pulling away. “Tell me!”
She shoves me back so hard I nearly crash into the doorway leading back into the main part of the cottage. “Do you really want to know? I already know what will happen if I tell you, Ryatt, which is why I haven’t.”
“Oh, for the love of the gods–”
“Oh, they’re not listening, Ryatt. Trust me. I’ve been pleading for their help for weeks now!” Her voice takes on a bitter edge as her chest puffs out, her hands curling into fists. “Kane fucking cursed me, Ryatt! Goddess! He not only cut out your mark but cursed me in the process. I am dying. Every minute of every day I grow weaker. My powers are fighting against it but–the shifting–” She starts to crumble as my mind reels over what she just said. “Giselle said I need to find a witch who lives past Rifthold in the wastes. She can’t remember her name–”
“You’re going back to the coven right this instant!”
“You don’t understand! This is why I didn’t fucking tell you!”
“How long have you known?” Fury shreds my senses apart.
“Weeks now. Three weeks since Giselle confirmed it.”
And we’ve been traveling for two weeks. She’s been shifting for two weeks. “The herbs are to try to stop the curse?”
“There’s only one person who might have a cure, and she’s in the territories we’ll be visiting soon.”
“I don’t believe that. The mystics–”
“They can’t help me. Sending me away is as good as sealing my death, Ryatt!”
“You should have told me the second you thought–”
“My mom’s tears didn’t heal the wound on my thigh, Ryatt. Don’t you remember?” Her voice suddenly softens. “Oh, my Goddess. Ryatt, I might never see my mom again–Oh, no–”
I catch her as she crumples to the ground. I cradle her like an infant, absently rocking her back and forth. I’m pissed the fuck off, sure. But still, a new kind of fear blurs my mind and echoes through my very soul as I feel how thin, and how weak, my mate is in my arms.
“We have work to do. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d put off dealing with your enemies and focus on this instead. Our people can’t take another war–”
“I cannot lose you,” I say into her hair. “For fucks sake, Ella. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I couldn’t. Not when all of this unrest is happening and then–and then your hatred of Westfall–”
I pull away from her and grab her by the chin. “What does Westfall have to do with anything?”
“He is your dad. He had to leave his mate to give you a chance at a better life, and you still blame him for her death. You can’t see past that. How are you supposed to see past my death and still love our daughter?”
My heart caves in on itself. It’s the meanest, but truest, thing anyone has ever said to me.
I’d choose Ella if I had to, and she knows it. I would choose her over and over again.
Isaac’s vision comes to mind, and I get it–finally. I bury that sudden truth and lock it away, not wanting to even think about it.
“What exactly did Giselle say about the curse?”
She tells me what she knows, what she assumes. She could live a long time with the curse, but her powers would be useless, too focused on keeping the curse from ravaging her body. Any illness or injury could cause the curse to spread quickly because her powers would be even weaker at that point.
Childbirth would likely kill her in this instance. The curse would be unleashed, her powers at their most frail.
She’ll die.
Fuck no.
“There has to be a way!”
“Ryatt, please–”
“We can’t go to the Wastes, not now–”
“But the witch–”
“She might not be there. I’ll send scouts. We’ll stay here in the meantime.”
“No. I have to go. I have to follow you past Rifthold. Please!”
I look down at her and realize with heartbreaking clarity that she’s right. I realize that my request for Isla’s tears won’t matter. They’ll do nothing against this curse.
We have no options.
But I do know one person who might have a temporary solution or two.
Without further conversation, I scoop Ella into my arms and carry her to bed. I tell her to stay there and then make her another cup of tea, taking stock of every single herb and spice she’s been prescribed. I take it to her and then leave the cottage, traveling deep into the forest. A quick message to Granger over the mind-link is all that’s needed to make my intentions known.
Keep Ella in bed. Do not let her up until I return in roughly twelve hours’ time.
Using my powers like this… It’s not a good idea, not when I need to be at my strongest when we cross into Rifthold within the next three days.
I draw my sword in a moonlit clearing and pull a single moonstone from my pocket. Before I can even shut my eyes, the world around me starts to spin, and then the smell of leather and parchment fills my nose, and a craggily old voice murmurs in shock, “Your Highness?”