The baby bore down against the nerves in her left leg, sending a burning numbness through it day and night, while a sharp, persistent pain like an iron spike driven into her lower back never eased.
It made her want to curse the gods for saddling only women with such torment.
At some point, Talia began to pray fervently that the child in her womb would be a boy. She never wanted to carry another pregnancy again.
Much as she appreciated the devoted care of Varkas and everyone around her, the mounting physical misery slowly eroded whatever joy she had felt in carrying a new life. In its place, fear took root.
Labor was bound to be agony.
Even taking Varkas into her body had felt overwhelming every single time; how could she possibly endure pushing a child into the world?
Watching her stomach swell, Talia was gripped by an acute dread. She desperately wanted to be rid of the pregnancy as soon as possible, yet part of her wished that final hour would never arrive.
“Your Grace, I brewed some herb tea to settle your nerves. It should help you sleep, if only for a little while.”
Marisen, who had been stirring a pot over the hearth for quite some time, approached with a cup of dark brown liquid. Talia took it and drank without a word.
In the early months, she had refused to touch anything that might conceivably harm the child, but by now she welcomed anything that promised her body the slightest relief. While the life inside her thrummed with vigorous energy, she grew more hollowed out by the day.
Talia feared that by the time her day came, she would not have enough strength left to push.
“Would you take this as well? It is a restorative sent by Her Imperial Majesty the Empress. It is said to revive one’s vital strength.”
As Talia drained the tea, her nanny stepped forward, holding a small glass vial.
Talia looked at it blankly before shaking her head. Her mother viewed this unborn child as an invaluable pawn, so she was unlikely to send poison, but trusting the woman blindly remained out of the question.
“My stomach feels heavy. I don’t want anything else.”
“Please, just a sip, if only in respect of Her Majesty’s devotion. It was prepared from the rarest medicinal herbs—”
“I said no!”
Talia struck the nanny’s hand away in a burst of irritation. The glass vial slipped from the woman's fingers and clattered across the floorboards.
For a fleeting second, anger flared across the nanny’s plump face.
Her lips twitched as if she were about to snap, but she merely let out a heavy sigh and bent to pick up the vial.
A pang of guilt struck Talia, but she turned away and lay down rather than apologize. She was furious that the nanny seemed to care more about wasting her mother’s gift than about her own misery.
She pulled the quilt over her head and dug her fingers into her aching hips.
She whimpered in pain for a long while until the tea finally took hold. As the ache receded into a dull hum, heaviness settled behind her eyes, and Talia surrendered gratefully to sleep.
The respite did not last. At twilight, a violent cramp in her leg tore her from her slumber.
She clutched her calf with both hands as the muscle knotted savagely, screaming aloud. It felt as though a blade had been driven through the meat of her leg, and tears sprang involuntarily to her eyes.
“Bear it for just a moment, Your Grace. I have medicine for you.”
Marisen, who had been resting near the hearth, hurried over and brought a small draught to her lips.
“It dulls the pain. Every ingredient is safe for the child, so please drink without fear.”
Talia hesitated for an instant, but as the spasms showed no sign of releasing her, she parted her lips and choked down the lukewarm draught.
In the meantime, Tiuran fetched a hot water bottle and laid it gently over the seizing limb.
Once the cramp subsided, Talia looked around the dim chamber with hollow, exhausted eyes. Her nanny stood beside the bed, looking down at her with a troubled expression, while two young maids hovered by the door, ready to dash down the corridor for a priestess at a moment's notice.
Talia rasped, hoping to ease their panic.
“I’m all right now.”
“And your belly, Your Grace?”
Tiuran asked, shifting the warm compress down along her calf.
Talia rested a hand against the swell of her abdomen.
“A bit tight… but manageable.”
“I shall fetch another cup of tea. It will help steady you.”
Talia dragged herself upright. Through the window, cracked open for fresh air, the sky was bruised with deep twilight.
“Has Varkas not returned yet?”
“His Grace is at the Association. Word came a few hours ago that he would be delayed.”
Tiuran spoke gently as she propped a cushion behind Talia’s back.
Talia stroked the small, round curve of the baby’s rump through the taut skin of her belly to soothe her irritation.
Throughout the Season of Rest, Varkas had never left her side for long.
He carried out most of his administrative duties at the desk installed in their bedchamber, and once the worst freezes set in, he drastically curtailed his visits to the Association and his appearances before the city courts. Because of that, Talia had indulged in the luxury of ordering the Grand Duke of the East about like a common servant.
He would hold her whenever she woke whimpering in the night, rubbing her lower back or pressing cool, damp cloths to her clammy brow and throat. At times, he had filled the hot water bottles himself, holding them firmly against her aching joints until she drifted back to sleep.
With the coming of the Season of Water, however, Varkas was forced back into his duties. Everything that had been put off through the winter came crashing down upon him at once.
He oversaw the resumption of fief affairs that had ground to a halt beneath the snow, then rode out to the garrison with his knights to inspect the readiness of his forces.
Other burdens weighed upon him as well. Large-scale exercises commenced on the drill grounds of Raedgo Castle, and courier after courier, armed and travel-stained, had begun arriving at the gates.
Talia could sense the northern embers of war stirring into a blaze, yet she deliberately kept silent.
Even if the North went up in flames, she desperately wanted to believe the fire would not reach the East.
Varkas had discharged his duty as a vassal by sending the cavalry; whatever came next was the throne’s problem.
‘Perhaps Gareth will take the field himself to put down the rebels.’
If that man died on the battlefield, Talia would ask for nothing more.
She let out a dry chuckle at the thought of her half-brother run through by a Northern blade, but then a realization struck her like a bolt of lightning, freezing the laughter in her throat.
Could Senevier be pulling the strings behind this war?
If the North truly declared independence, the Crown Prince would almost certainly be named supreme commander.
If her mother managed to herd him onto the field, she would have every opportunity to rid herself of her stepson without drawing suspicion.
Caught in the thought, Talia shook her head with a self-derisive smirk at her own wild imagination.
Formidable as Senevier’s influence was, she could hardly pull the strings of the Northern lords from afar.
And even if she possessed such leverage, would she dare orchestrate a civil war?
A single scrap of proof linking her to treason would send even the Empress to the block. Senevier was not one to wager everything on such a reckless gamble.
Smiling faintly at her runaway fancy, Talia felt a sudden tightening across her abdomen and set her teacup aside. As she moved to adjust her posture, an uncomfortable wetness clung between her thighs, soaking into her skirts.
She frowned, assuming the violent thrashing from her cramp had left her drenched in cold sweat.
Swinging her feet off the bed, she motioned to the maids.
“I need to wash. Draw a bath.”
“Lean on me, Your Grace. Let me support you.”
Tiuran, setting the hot water bottle down, took her by the arm.
Talia gripped the healer’s slender yet sturdy shoulder and pushed herself up. But as she rose, she went completely still: a trickle of warm fluid was running down her inner thigh.
Had she lost control of her bladder?
Mortified, she looked down at the damp patch spreading across her skirt, only to hear a sharp gasp beside her.
“Merciful heavens!”
Flushing scarlet at the assumption that Tiuran had cried out at her disgrace, Talia glanced up—and froze at the sheer terror written across the healer's face.
A cold dread crept down her spine.
“Summon the priestess at once!”
Tiuran’s hands were frantic as she guided Talia back onto the mattress, shouting toward the maids.
“What are you waiting for! Her water has broken! Quickly!”
END