It took three attempts before Tyton believed that the baby was alive.
When the realization finally set in that he couldn't hear Airlie crying, that her labor had ended but no one was preparing a funeral pyre, he fled the room without waiting to be dismissed, eager to see with his own eyes a living high-fae child. Airlie and Roan’s son.
Firna stands before me with a resigned look on her face as she bows her head, prepared to take whatever punishment I might deal her for the events that transpired. For any other, I might have more doubts or questions to be answered, but I know my keeper and her love for Airlie, I know how loyal she is to me and my household. If there’s any anger in me about what happened here today, it’s not directed at her.
My tone is firm but low as I say, “There wasn't anything else you could do.”
Her head snaps up, her gaze meeting mine, and she nods slightly. “I saw the dungeon. I'm aware of the danger she truly is, but she fought for that baby. She was willing to do anything to be in that room and help the princess. The Fates chose her for you for a reason.”
I'm getting quite tired of everyone telling me the same thing as though it’s as simple as agreeing and taking her to my bed.
I fix her with a hard look. “The entire kingdom relies on my decisions, and though the Fates have told me what they intend for me, it’s still my responsibility to find my way there and I won’t be questioned about my decisions.”
Firna glances at the door as though she expects someone to burst in, or perhaps a guard to be pressing his ear against the wood, but when she turns back to me, there’s a determined set to her mouth. “My apologies, Your Highness. The most important thing right now is feeding the princess and her baby. This isn't just about Princess Airlie but the kingdom as well. The Unseelie Court will see that the Fates are with you, that you’ve been the one to lead us out of this war, and that baby is the first sign of the tide turning. We need to find the herbs and provisions.”
“Show me the list of things she gave you.”
Firna pulls out a small scrap of parchment with her own handwriting, rough and smudged as she'd taken down the list in haste. “There's nothing on it that’s dangerous, but I've never claimed to be an expert on such things.”
She might not claim it, but she’s been Keeper of Yregar for many years and knows more than most. I read the list, but it doesn’t mean much to me. “Do we have any of this?”
Firna’s mouth turns down at the corners. “Some but not all of it. I checked the stock of the ale that she requested, and we have enough of that to get through the first three months. The herbs are harder. The fae flowers have stopped growing, and we have only a small amount left of what we were able to preserve. The witch says we must find the milk thistle. There’s a tincture she can make with it, the simplest of all her remedies, and so if nothing else, that one is vital.”
I don't even know what milk thistle looks like, but I'm sure I haven't passed it on the barren plains in centuries. Nothing grows there.
I dismiss Firna, sending her back to Airlie to continue tending to the princess. She spent the morning collecting as many baby items as she could find around the castle, but it has been many long centuries since the last royal baby was born. The seamstress has been put to work to ensure the baby is clothed and warm, and the kitchens are working hard to find variety in her meals, as the witch had instructed.
A cradle, once used by royal families visiting Yregar long before I called it home, has been brought down from one of the storage rooms, and the maids are scrubbing it clean for him, awe in their every move.
Airlie did all of this herself during her first pregnancy, preparing for a baby she was so sure would live. Her fate had instilled a confidence in her that had defied all logic.
It makes sense to me now, why she chose to fall pregnant and the long months she spent ignoring everyone’s concerns as she built a nursery for her unborn baby. She filled it with all the things she wanted for her son, everything made just for him, with all of her hope and love woven in.
Roan had gotten rid of everything during those first weeks of their mourning. Airlie couldn't bear to look at any of it, and so he took the clothes and blankets down to the orphanage, telling the women there to dispense them to anyone in need.
When they thanked him, he simply turned on his heel and left, furious that the Fates had forced this nightmare onto his family.
Back in Airlie’s rooms, I find her sound asleep and tucked in her bed with extra blankets. The tray that Firna brought her is mostly empty on the table beside her bed, a few small bowls with fruit in them remaining, in case she should wake hungry. The large pitcher of water has been refilled, and it’s clear that the maids left everything she could need within arm’s reach.
The baby is wrapped in blankets and nestled in the bed beside her, sleeping peacefully. The witch sits in the armchair and watches them both carefully, her eyes never straying from the infant.
Tauron and Tyton are there, both watching the witch. How Airlie can sleep through such animosity is a testament to the exhaustion she must feel after the labor.
Tauron turns to me and murmurs, “Is there any news of Roan?”
I shake my head. “The messenger won't have made it to Fates Mark yet. The frozen plains of ice will add at least another day to the trip.”
The ice never truly melts in the Outlands, even in the peak of the hottest summers the Southern Lands have seen. The terrain is impossible to navigate if you’re unfamiliar with it, and though the commander sent Fyr, with his vast knowledge of the Outlands, it still could be days before he finds Roan. The last we heard from him, he was securing the patrols and checking in with the villages to be sure there were no other witch sightings or potential for danger before he returned to Yregar.
“Are we just going to leave her here with them forever? I can’t stand the sight of her watching the baby,” Tyton mumbles, softly enough that the witch can't hear it.
I shoot him a look for the tone he’s using, but his eyes are fixed on the witch. “It’s an impossible decision. If I take her out of here and something happens to the baby, no one else will know what to do.”
Tauron scowls. “Firna was once a wet nurse. She helped your mother through her labor with you and helped her raise you. We can leave Firna with Airlie and get the witch out of here.”
I shake my head. “The baby came early. Firna is worried that without a healer he’ll struggle and weaken. All of the herbs and remedies Firna knows of are lost to us now. The herbs the witch listed for her were once commonly used by the women in the village—Firna spoke to some of the maids to confirm it. The fae flowers are gone—we have no choice but to find the milk thistle.”
Tauron curses under his breath. “Is there anything at Yris? I will go and face the regent and the Unseelie Court myself if it gets Airlie what she needs.”
