“Thank you, Conrad. For your offer, and your company this morning.”
“An honour, Princess.” He flicked the reins lightly. “Besides, I couldn’t let you brave the village alone. You’ve only just arrived, and I imagine the place still feels half foreign.”
“It does,” she conceded, looking out again. “But not unfriendly. And it’s beautiful in its own way.”
“Aye. Blackwood-Veyrde might not be as grand as Xuên-Sarai, but it grows on you. Like moss, or morning bread.”
“High praise.”
“The highest.” He smiled again, then added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “People talk, Princess. They’ll talk today. But they also watch. And I think, if they see you come all this way to help, they’ll start seeing more than just gossip.”
JingYi didn’t reply right away, and Conrad didn’t say another word. He simply steered them down the winding trail toward Lornhelm that soon came into view below them, nestled between the curve of the hills. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, the scent of pine kindling catching in the crisp mountain air.
When they dismounted just beside the village green, several heads turned. A cluster of women sweeping their stoops paused. A baker’s boy emerged from a cottage with flour on his elbows and stared openly.
Conrad offered a wave. Gingerly, they waved back. To her, he murmured, “They don’t bite. Simply curious.”
He nodded toward a neat, slate-roofed cottage, where a thin, welcoming plume of smoke rose from its sturdy chimney. “This way.”
JingYi adjusted her grip on her medicine chest and followed him down the path.
Conrad explained, “We go to the Hearthstones first. Ulrik, the father, is stubborn as a rock, but good-hearted once you dig deep enough.”
They reached the cottage just as the door banged open. The charcoal tang of a banked forge breathed from the blacksmith workshop beside it. At the threshold stood a tall, broad-shouldered man, his thick beard silver-streaked. A leather apron slung from his shoulder. Soot streaked his sleeves, ash clinging to his boots. He crossed his arms, his brows lowering as he measured them.
“What’s this?” he barked. “I didn’t send for any?—”
“Ulrik,” Conrad quickly said, “this is Princess JingYi. She’s come to help your daughter.”
The man’s frown deepened as he studied her. “The lord’s new wife?”
“I’m trained in medicine,” JingYi said. “I only wish to help.”
Behind him, a softer voice called, “Da, let her in.”
A young woman appeared in the doorway, round-faced and visibly pregnant, one hand resting on the swell of her belly. She looked no older than twenty, her expression shy but curious.
“Please, Da. I’d like to speak with her. I spoke to Lady Yrenna a couple of days ago about some womanly pains.”
At the mention of ‘womanly pains,’ Ulrik’s stern expression faltered. He shot a searching look at his daughter’s face, then stepped aside, muttering, “She was fine before. Don’t need no poking and prodding now.”
The house’s interior was warm and tidy. A fire crackled in the hearth. Herbs drying near the window. JingYi washed her hands at the basin and sat beside the young woman who had lowered herself carefully onto a stool.
“What’s your name?” JingYi asked.
“Annett, Your Highness,” the girl replied. “I’m due in a month, I think.”
“Is this your first pregnancy?”
“It is, Highness.”
“Have you had pain? Any bleeding? Do you sleep well?”
Annett shook her head. “No bleeding. Some backaches and my feet swell by night, but . . . I thought that’s normal.”
JingYi nodded and knelt beside Annett. Her palms found the swell of the belly first—warm, tight, alive beneath her touch. She pressed gently, mapping the shape beneath the skin. Then she reached for a small instrument, shaped like a horn. The cool brass settled against her ear as she tilted the other end against Annett’s stomach, listening for the quick, small rhythm she hoped to find.
“Your baby’s strong,” she told Annett. “You carry them low. It may mean you’ll deliver sooner than expected. Your backaches are from the babe’s position. May I?”
