Chapter 26
The carriage rolled to a stop before the Silverwing Estate. Through the window, the familiar facade glowed warm gold in the dying afternoon light, white stone catching the last of the sun.
Khaeric shifted beside her, preparing to carry her again.
“I can walk,” Aeryn said.
“Ye can also let me help ye.” His tone left no room for argument. Khaeric didn’t wait for the driver. He pushed the door open and lifted her again, carrying her down the steps as if she weighed nothing.
Eliara appeared in the doorway before they’d crossed the threshold; composure gave way to alarm as she took in Aeryn’s pallor. “Princess—I’ll call for the midwife.”
“No.” Aeryn’s voice came out sharp. The last thing she needed was another examination, more prodding, more questions.
Khaeric grunted. “Call for the midwife, Eliara.”
Aeryn’s head jerked up. “I just said—”
“Ye collapsed at the palace.” His voice held the quality that meant he wouldn’t be swayed. “Ye vomited on yer aunt’s floor. Ye can barely stand.” His arms tightened around her. “The midwife comes.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Eliara’s footsteps retreated down the corridor.
Khaeric carried her through familiar corridors, up the stairs that had seemed so grand when she’d first arrived. Now they felt endless, each step jarring despite his careful movements.
Their chamber door opened at Khaeric’s touch. The bed looked impossibly inviting, its embroidered coverlet rumpled from this morning’s hurried departure.
“Rest,” Khaeric said, lowering Aeryn onto the bed, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “The midwife will be here soon.”
A soft knock woke her.
The light had changed, no longer the warm gold of late afternoon but the cooler tones of early evening. How long had she been asleep?
“Princess?” Eliara’s voice came through the door. “Arwen has arrived.”
Aeryn pushed herself upright, head still fuzzy with sleep. Khaeric stood at the window, broad shoulders silhouetted against the fading light. He turned as the door opened, and Arwen entered.
“Princess,” Arwen greeted, bowing before approaching the bed.
Khaeric moved to Arwen’s side, his demeanor guarded but not hostile. “She collapsed at the palace,” he said. “She vomited and fainted.”
Arwen’s fingers pressed gently to Aeryn’s wrist, checking her pulse. “When did you last eat, Princess?”
There had been mint tea early this morning, and the ginger pastries Eliara had sent up. But that had been hours ago, before the Council summons. “This morning,” she answered.
“And nothing since?” Arwen’s brow furrowed, her fingers moving to another point along Aeryn’s abdomen.
“No.” Aeryn shook her head.
Khaeric’s grunt of displeasure rumbled through the chamber.
“I had tea,” Aeryn said. “And the ginger pastries.”
“Tea and pastries aren’t enough,” Arwen said, her tone firm but not unkind.
“Your body is supporting both you and the child. The nausea makes eating difficult, I understand, but you must try.” She withdrew her hands from Aeryn’s abdomen.
“The fainting spell was likely caused by a combination of stress, exhaustion, and insufficient nourishment.”
Khaeric turned away, hand scrubbing across his face, fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose. “We should’ve done what Brenn recommended.”
“He said weekly was fine,” Aeryn protested.
Arwen’s gaze shifted to Khaeric, curiosity flashing in her eyes. “Forgive me, my lord—who is Brenn? And what did he recommend?”
“He is the Chief Healer in Beinn Ork.” Khaeric’s hand dropped from his face. He turned back toward Arwen. “Among orcs, when a mate is carryin’ and cannae keep food down, there’s another way to provide nourishment.”
Khaeric’s gaze drifted back to Aeryn, his expression hardening.
“Brenn said weekly was fine for a woman carryin’ in Beinn Ork.
But ye’re no’ in Beinn Ork anymore, lass.
And ye’re no’ dealin’ wi’ the usual stresses of pregnancy.
The stress, the confrontation, ye collapsin’—Brenn would’ve changed his recommendations.
He’d say more frequently. Maybe every few days instead of weekly. ”
“What exactly did this healer recommend?” Arwen asked, her attention shifting between them.
“It’s... a private matter,” Khaeric said, voice gruff. “Between mates.”
Arwen’s brow furrowed, her professional composure wavering. “My lord, if there is a treatment that could help the Princess manage her symptoms, I need to understand what it entails. I cannot advise on its safety or frequency if I don’t know what it is.”
Khaeric’s shoulders tensed. “It’s no’ somethin’ that needs discussin’ with—” He stopped, exhaling through his nose. “It’s an orcish practice. One that’s been used for generations.”
Arwen looked from Khaeric to Aeryn. The midwife’s expression settled between professional curiosity and concern.
“It’s safe,” Aeryn said. “The method works. I’ve—we’ve used it before.”
“Used it before,” Arwen repeated slowly. “And it helped with the nausea?”
“Yes,” Aeryn said. “It helped significantly.”
Curiosity lingered on the midwife’s face, her fingers drumming once against her thigh.
“I see.” She paused. “If this method truly helps with nausea and provides nourishment, then perhaps you should consider using it more frequently than the healer originally suggested.” Arwen’s hands folded in her lap.
“However, I wonder if there might be a way I could assist as well.”
Arwen’s hands withdrew from Aeryn’s abdomen, folding in her lap.
“I practice a form of magic called Análaeth Fóral. It works with the blood directly, helps the body absorb what little it takes in.” Her gaze moved to Khaeric, measuring.
“It won’t replace nourishment. But it may ease the body’s work. ”
“Of course, please,” Aeryn said. “If it will help.”
“Good.” Arwen nodded. “The ritual is not invasive. I’ll need to place my hands on your abdomen and speak the incantation. The magic will flow through your blood, strengthening it, helping your body process nutrients more efficiently.”
Aeryn settled back against the pillows. Arwen’s cool hands came to rest on her abdomen, fingers spreading across the silk of her gown.
The incantation began, words rising and falling like water over stones. Warmth bloomed beneath Arwen’s palms, spreading outward in waves that deepened with each repetition.
The heat intensified, no longer gentle but insistent, pressing deeper into her flesh. The incantation shifted, the words taking on a deeper resonance. The magic concentrated at her pelvis, where their son grew.
The incantation ended. The sensation faded to a pleasant tingle, then disappeared. “How do you feel?” Arwen asked.
“A bit better,” Aeryn said.
“Good. The magic should help your body process nutrients more efficiently over the next few days.” She withdrew her hands, straightening from her crouch beside the bed. “But you must still eat, Princess. The magic can only work with what you give it.”
“I’ll ensure she eats our evenin’ meal,” Khaeric said. His amber eyes fixed on Arwen with an intensity that made even the unflappable midwife pause. “Every bite of it.”
Aeryn opened her mouth to protest—she was perfectly capable of feeding herself, thank you—but the look Khaeric gave her stopped the words cold. Not angry, exactly. More like the expression he wore when dealing with particularly stubborn clan members who refused to see reason.
“That would be wise, my lord,” Arwen said, rising.
She moved toward the door, then paused, glancing back at them.
“And Princess, whatever method you and Lord Khaeric have been using to manage the nausea, I would recommend increasing the frequency. Your body is under considerable strain. Whatever supports your body at this time is worth pursuing.”
The door closed behind her, leaving them alone in the growing darkness of their chamber. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant tide through the open window.
“Ye should’ve told me ye had no’ eaten properly,” Khaeric said finally, turning away from her.
Aeryn’s hands twisted in the silk of her gown. “I didn’t think—”
“That’s the problem, lass.” He turned, concern and helplessness warring across his face.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
His jaw worked beneath gray skin. “Ye’re carryin’ our child, Aeryn. Our son. And ye collapsed because ye didnae eat enough.” He crossed to her in two strides, settling on the edge of the bed. “I cannae protect ye from everything. But this—this I can do somethin’ about.”
“I know,” Aeryn said quietly. Her hand rested on her belly, the small swell warm beneath silk.
Khaeric’s hand covered hers, heavy and steady. “Tomorrow,” he said, “ye’ll eat breakfast. A proper one. And lunch. And dinner. No skippin’ meals because we’re runnin’ late or because yer stomach’s unsettled. Even if it’s just a few bites.”
“I will,” she promised.
His thumb traced circles against her knuckles. “And we’ll follow Brenn’s recommendation more often. Every few days, like I said. Maybe more, dependin’ on how ye’re feelin’.”
A knock interrupted them. Eliara’s voice carried through the wood, pitched with careful formality. “Princess, Lord Khaeric—I’ve brought your evening meal.”
Khaeric rose from the bed and crossed to the door, pulling it open to reveal Eliara flanked by two younger servants carrying covered trays. “Bring it in,” he said, stepping aside.
The servants arranged dishes on the small table near the window, steam rising from covered platters.
“I’ve instructed the kitchens to prepare foods gentle on your stomach, Princess,” Eliara said, lifting one of the silver covers to reveal sliced chicken in a pale broth.
“Broth with tender meat, soft bread, and stewed fruit. Nothing too rich or heavily spiced.”
“Thank you, Eliara,” Aeryn said.
“Of course, Princess. Will there be anything else?” Eliara asked.
“No,” Khaeric said. “Thank ye, Eliara. That’ll be all for tonight.”
The door closed behind her, and Aeryn found herself alone with Khaeric and a table of food she wasn’t sure she could stomach. He pulled a chair to the bedside, then filled a plate with small portions of everything.
“Come on, lass.” He settled into the chair, plate in hand.
Aeryn eyed the food warily. Her stomach hadn’t quite settled, and the thought of eating stirred the queasiness again.
“Start wi’ the broth,” Khaeric encouraged.
Aeryn lifted the spoon, watching the pale liquid slide back into the bowl. The first sip went down easier than she’d expected. She took another sip. Then another, without thinking about it.
“Good,” he murmured, grabbing the fork and spearing a piece of chicken. “Now some of the chicken.” Aeryn took the piece he’d selected. “Good lass,” Khaeric said, already reaching for another piece. “Now, another—”
Aeryn scowled. “Stop telling me what to do,” she snapped, though she took the next bite regardless. The chicken went down as easily as the first.
Khaeric chuckled. “Aye, well, someone has to. Ye’re terrible at followin’ orders, even when they’re for yer own good.” His tusks caught the lamplight as his mouth curved into a grin. “Must be that stubborn human blood yer aunt was complainin’ about.”
Aeryn snorted, laughter bubbling up, hand pressed to her mouth. “My stubborn human blood,” she repeated between gasps. “You’re using my aunt’s insults against me now?”
Khaeric’s grin widened. “If it gets ye to eat, I’ll use whatever works.” He selected another piece of chicken, holding it toward her. “Besides, she was no’ wrong about ye bein’ stubborn. Just wrong about everything else.”
She reached for the bread, tearing off a small piece and dipping it into the broth. Khaeric set the plate aside, his hand lingering on her knee. “How do ye feel now?”
“Full,” Aeryn admitted. “And tired.”
“Then rest.” Khaeric rose, beginning to unfasten the elaborate clasps of his formal attire. “We’ll figure out our next steps tomorrow,” he said, draping the outer jacket over a chair.