Chapter 27
Elara
Elara dragged her arm across her brow, leaving a trail of flour on her forehead.
The clanking of pots and pans and the chatter of the kitchen staff flowed all around her.
Lysandra, in her feline form, was curled up in the corner, belly full from the treats Meg—the servant girl Elara had rescued in the red parlor—had slipped her.
“I almost didn’t recognize you.” Sera’s voice drew Elara’s attention away from the pie crust she was rolling out on the counter.
“Thank you for meeting me here,” Elara said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Any more progress on the journal?”
Elara—with Lysandra’s help—and Sera had taken turns painstakingly translating the mysterious journal from the library. They’d made out a few poems and a brief first-person account detailing the last battle of the Shattering.
Sera, to Elara’s surprise, grabbed an apron from the wall and donned it, covering up her glistening silver dress. “I’ve been working on some sort of recipe. I think it is for a potion, but I can’t tell what for yet.”
Elara nodded as a wave of nausea washed over her. “Thank you for your help.” Aside from her vision, Elara had no reason to mistrust Sera, but worry prickled at the back of her mind.
Sera smiled and pointed at the dough. “What are we making?”
“Beef and onion hand pies.”
“My favorite,” Sera whispered. “What’s really going on, Elara?”
Elara froze, her gaze sweeping over the bustling, noisy kitchen. She pressed her fingertip into the pie crust, tracing out the letters: “F-I-N-D-T-H-E-M.”
Sera’s emerald eyes widened with realization, and she nodded. She smoothed the message out of the dough with her own flour-coated hands.
“Why?” she mouthed.
“Can you help me?” Elara asked, gesturing to the pot of meat and vegetables simmering behind Sera.
“I’ll do my best,” Sera said, ladling the pie filling into a bowl and placing it on the counter for Elara.
Elara smiled. “Meg,” she called over to the servant, who quickly hid a piece of chicken—surely destined for Lysandra’s belly—behind her back. “I have a job for you too.”
In the months that Elara and Caelan had been training and scheming, winter had finally come.
The last fortnight had passed in a blur, the cold days spent training and the insufferable evenings spent waiting for Sera and Meg to report back on her family’s location.
Elara hoped Caelan was faring better with his soldiers.
She woke early, the stars still shining in the breaking dawn, to a powerful cramping in her lower belly.
After tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable in her too-soft bed, she finally swung her legs over the side of her bed and stood.
As she rose, the thin fabric of her nightgown brushed her thighs, coated with sticky crimson blood.
I wish my healing essence affinity could save me from my monthly cycles.
She riffled through one of her nightstand drawers for cloths and stumbled over to the adjacent washroom, still half asleep.
As she cleaned herself, she noticed that her bleeding was much heavier than usual.
Clumps of bloody tissue came away from her body, and a sickening wave of nausea washed over her, the metallic scent of blood filling her nostrils.
Returning to the bed, she peeled back the top blanket, and an enormous stain glared up at her from the sheets, a shocking splash of crimson against the once-pristine white.
Elara sensed what was happening, but she needed to speak with Ursa to be sure.
At the ringing of a bell, Iris hurried in with Elara’s breakfast. The sturdy woman gasped, almost dropping her tray as she entered the room and beheld the scene before her.
Her eyes darted between the blood and Elara’s drained face before she placed the food on the table and wrapped her arms around her trembling charge.
“Can you please send for Ursa?” Elara asked, fighting back her tears.
“Of course, dear. Stay put. I’ll be right back.” Iris bustled off, wiping a stray tear from her own cheek with the hem of her apron. The small motion was almost enough to crack Elara’s thin facade of composure.
When Ursa arrived a short time later, Elara had changed out of her soiled nightgown.
Iris had insisted on leaving the sheets undisturbed so Ursa could inspect them.
Ursa, her wrinkled face mirroring Iris’s somber expression, embraced Elara, her grip conveying unspoken understanding and support.
A strange coldness enveloped Elara as she hugged the woman back, her arms feeling numb around Ursa’s torso.
I never even knew I wanted a child. The realization of her loss hit like a blow, a desperate longing for something she couldn’t begin to grasp.
A wave of need washed over her—more than anything, she wished for her mother’s comforting presence, safe and sturdy, able to guide her.
Her thoughts warred, leaving her speechless and uncertain.
But words proved unnecessary. The other women cleaned up her room until all evidence of tragedy had been removed.
Iris procured fresh blueberry pastries for them to eat, and Ursa handed Elara a steaming mug of jasmine tea to drink.
“Why?” Elara whispered.
Iris shook her head. “It’s not your fault, dear. I’ve seen this many times. There’s rarely an explanation other than the stars’ will.” A hand flew absentmindedly to her own belly, and Elara wondered if Iris had not only seen it, but experienced a loss herself.
Ursa placed a hand on Elara’s arm. “Your miscarriage was early enough that you don’t require medical treatment. Your magic will allow your body to heal without my intervention,” she said softly.
Why didn’t my essence prevent this from happening in the first place? Elara thought.
After months of breaking herself down in training and reveling in her body’s ability to rebuild itself with her healing power, she was shocked that this loss was even a possibility.
Will it happen again when we are trying?
Is something wrong with me?
What if I can’t have children at all?
Elara’s thoughts raced to the worst-case scenarios.
Tears finally fell down her cheeks, and she curled into a ball in her fluffiest chair, holding on to her warm cup of tea so tight she could almost hear it groaning.
Ursa stroked her hair, her featherlight touch a welcome distraction, and Iris squeezed her arm.
“I’m so sorry, Elara. We can leave—give you some privacy,” Ursa said, standing.
Elara grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “Please stay,” Elara muttered between sobs. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Knock, knock. The firm familiar taps drew Elara’s attention to the door.
“You’re late, Princess,” Caelan called out from the hall. “Training started an hour ago.” The playfulness in his voice was laced with a hint of concern.
Iris, obeying Elara’s pointed look, opened the door and hurried him inside.
He beheld Elara in her chair, a small, shivering ball of misery—her eyes were puffy, her nose running.
Sheer exhaustion washed over her for the first time since they’d met.
He rushed to her side and kneeled down by the arm of the chair, taking one of her frigid hands and wrapping it in the warmth of his.
“What happened?” Caelan looked from Elara to the two women attending her, eyes wide with fear.
Elara only shook her head as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
Caelan turned to Ursa, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, and gave her a questioning look.
She gestured for him to step back outside the room.
Elara overheard Ursa’s hushed, urgent voice through the door, followed by Caelan’s sharp intake of breath.
He entered the room alone, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor.
Brushing away the tears that blurred her vision, Elara met his gaze, searching his eyes. She worried she would see pity there but was relieved to see only grief. Someone to share the loss with. Caelan’s devastation mirrored her own, which gave her an odd sense of comfort.
“I’m here, my love.” His voice hitched on the endearment, but the sincerity in his statement rang true.
“You’re not relieved? With everything going on, it’s not exactly an ideal time to start our family.” She sniffled.
“I would never think that. We would be stars-blessed to have a child.” He stroked her back, soothing them both.
Elara leaned into his touch, savoring the roughness of his calluses as his palms moved from her mid-back to her bare shoulders.
She placed her hand on top of his, where burn scars bubbled and smoothed the flesh.
I’ll never gain another scar in my lifetime.
Not any visible ones, at least, she realized.
“What if this means we can’t have children? What if my essence affinity is the reason?”
Will you still love me? Will my kingdom survive without an heir? Elara’s eyes pooled with tears, offering a silent prayer that he would understand.
“Think about it, Elara. Your ancestors passed this power down to you through the generations. How would that be possible if this loss was caused by your magic?”
Hope, both sweet and terrifying, crept its way into her fragile heart.
“And we will have children someday. I’m sure of it.”
“What if we can’t?” she whispered. The despair was a crushing weight, threatening to suffocate her.
“I love you no matter what,” he said, offering her a lifeline in a sea of doubt and uncertainty.
Elara sagged in relief at his declaration, clinging to his words. “I will love you no matter what,” she whispered back.
Caelan scooped her into his arms, cradling her, and carried her back to the bed. He climbed in next to her, the solidness of his body a comfort against her shaking form, and they lay there until her tremors subsided and his tears dried.