Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(62)

“And because of the binding.”

“What?”

“The low magic binding. The blood. You know my mother bound my legion curse with her blood, and you know that if she dies, the war-gifted side will be let loose. Which is exactly what you’ve always wanted.”

For a moment, Emilia stares at Jules wordlessly. Then her eyes darken, and she steps up close.

“I would never want that. She is your mother! Have you forgotten that I had a mother who died?”

“No,” Jules says quickly, ashamed to admit that, for the moment, she had. “This war is everything to you; that’s all I know.”

She braces, sure that Emilia will use her war gift to shove her, to explode in her face. But instead, her shoulders slump.

“It is not everything.”

She turns and stalks off, and though Camden trots halfway down the hall after her, Jules cannot bring herself to.

“Jules?” Madrigal calls. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine.” Jules returns to her mother’s room and puts the neglected cup of nettle leaf tea into her hands. “Now drink.”

Madrigal takes a sip. “You are a good daughter, Jules Milone.”

“A good daughter.” Jules snorts. “I’ve only been as good a daughter as you have been a mother.” She looks at Madrigal, still small, beneath her enormous, swollen belly. “Maybe we both should have tried harder.”

Madrigal purses her lips. “Your friend Emilia is very fond of you.”

“Of course she is. I’m her pet queen. Ridiculous as that sounds.”

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Are you pleased? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to go to the warriors and learn their side of my gift? Embrace some great destiny?”

Her mother frowns at the tone that has crept into her voice. Jules had not meant for it to, but nor can she help it. It has been this way between them for too long to change, even in the face of illness.

“Maybe once,” Madrigal says. “That was what I wanted. But now I’m dying, Jules. And I would just very much like for us to be able to go home.”

“And we will. Or you and the baby will, and with luck I’ll follow, someday.”

“I heard what you said out there, in the hall. But it isn’t true. The binding must be cut from my vein with a blade. If I die having this baby, you will remain bound, until you choose to release it.” She stares into her teacup. “I may be a bad mother, but I wouldn’t have placed a binding on you that could be broken if I died by accident.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Never mind. I’ve left things with Cait. Thinned blood from shallow cuts. And she knows how to—”

Madrigal groans and grasps the sides of her stomach. The cup tumbles into the bed and tea stains the quilt dark.

“Madrigal?”

“Call Willa. Call Caragh.”

Jules shouts for them. Moments later, Willa limps into the room, hurrying without her cane, and shoves Jules out of the way. Willa presses her hands into Madrigal’s stomach and pulls back the blankets. There is blood, and water.

“What do we do?” Jules asks.

“Get your aunt from the barn. Tell her to prepare for a birth.” Willa lays Madrigal back onto the pillow with strong arms and uses gentle fingers to caress her cheeks. “There is no stopping it now.”

As Madrigal’s labor intensifies, Jules and Camden wait with Emilia in the sitting room, staring into the fire.

“Is that normal?” Jules asks when Madrigal starts to scream.

Emilia raises her brows.

“I do not know. The war gifted often scream during birth, but it is usually more of a bellow. Like an elk.” She makes a fist. “Like triumph.”

Madrigal’s cries do not sound like triumph.

“Here.” Mathilde comes to them from the kitchen, carrying cups of watered wine.

“Where have you been?”

“Away. Keeping busy. Oracles are no comfort during times like these when we cannot foresee the outcome.” She takes a swallow from Emilia’s cup before handing it over. “And even sometimes when we can.”

The door to Madrigal’s room opens and shuts, and Willa comes hurriedly down the hall. Her face is impassive. Calm. But the gray braid near the nape of her neck is wet with sweat.

“What’s happening?” Jules asks. “Are they . . . will they be all right?”

Willa ignores her and goes in to retrieve something from the kitchen. She returns in moments with a tray. It is covered over with cloth, but Jules sees the shine of silver underneath. Blades.

“Willa?”

“It will be over quickly, one way or the other.” She says nothing more, and they hear the door open and shut again.

“It will be all right, Jules,” Emilia says. “Who better to deliver a baby than the Midwives of the Black Cottage?”

“I will go outside and start a fire,” says Mathilde. “I will pray for her.”

The door down the hall opens again, and Aria the crow comes flying out of the room in a panic. Her poor caw sounds raw to the ear, and she batters her wings against the walls.

“Should we let her outside?” Emilia asks.

Jules looks to Camden, and the big cat deftly stalks the crow until she is close enough to pounce, then traps the bird softly in her jaws. She lies down on the rug, purring as Aria stops flapping and calms, her little beak wide open to pant.