To the Depths Preview: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Brynn

     “Brynn, my child! Thank all the gods you are here!” The frazzled woman gasped, out of breath. Her hands were full of bloody towels as she answered the large oak door.

     “You should have called for me when it first started, Ms. Thyra.” I reprimanded as I edged past her into the dimly lit brothel and let my dusty hood fall to my shoulders. The damp air was saturated with the scent of oils, incense, and active bodies; pungent as always.

     “You know very well, Miss, that I have delivered my fair share of babes in the last twenty-six birthing seasons you have been alive without needing a healer like yourself.” Thyra huffed as she closed the door.

     The oak groaned as it sealed out the noise of the bustling street; merchants were in full swing setting up their carts for the day.

     Thyra shook her head, worry and despair already transforming her round, ruddy face. “But this one is…”

     “Different. I know. I am sure he is just like his father Sondre already.” I sneered as I headed up the stairway without further invitation needed.

     Of course, that violent bastard would have violent offspring.

     “Disgusting man,” I murmured.

     I knew this brothel and those that frequented it better than most. Lately, Sondre, the Commander of the King’s Guard, spent his time during his favorite sessions maiming the women to the point of needing a healer afterward, inflicting pain his favorite aphrodisiac. I had arrived to find the women bloodied and broken. My visits were becoming far too frequent to put girls back together in his wake. As wretched as he was, there was little resistance to his tactics anymore.

     Only once, I had ever convinced the pleasure house’s owner Madame Ahmila to stand up to him. In return, Sondre had barred the entire military from coming to the establishment and threatened any merchant that conducted business with the women. None of the courtesans could earn their wages. The few shopkeepers who tried to keep the ladies fed were brought out to the square to be flogged or publicly executed for going against the Commander’s decree.

     After a month of not relenting to Sondre’s tightening grip, women in the town started to go missing. Unable to satiate their hunger at the brothel, the Guard found other ways to find release. Now with no need for restraint, their victims were found down river more frequently. Without a localized place to be found and healed, the women succumbed to their injuries long before they ever made it to the riverbanks. Madame Ahmila’s daughter was one of the girls discovered on the shoreline. Stricken with grief, Ahmila yielded to allow the Guard to satiate their darker appetites during their sessions, on the condition I was permitted to heal the women afterward; my visits had become daily ever since.

     “Hush, child, his men are here,” Thyra chided.

     “They are always here.” I whispered over my shoulder as Thyra wheezed up the stairs behind me.

     My arm brushed one of the velvet curtains in the doorway as I turned back. Ahmila refused to have doors in her brothel and hung curtains in every doorway instead. No damaging the merchandise without paying the fee, any session can be interrupted as I see fit! Ahmila would always snap if patrons protested not being able to lock a door when they paid for the time. Even the King dealt with the curtain rule, if he visited. Madame Ahmila, however, did not interrupt nearly as many sessions as she should; we already had lost three girls this week.

     Sondre and Prince Hurthur were two of the highest paying customers; they found ways to satisfy their most sinister of urges here, always willing to pay a handsome fee. The three women that had just died were rarely requested, and Madame Ahmila claimed their sacrifice would keep the other more profitable women safe and motivated to earn even more, with enthusiasm. I had been forbidden to aid the three girls as Sondre and His Highness had specifically paid for the deaths ahead of time.

     Sickening.

     An officer in the King’s Guard stepped out from behind a thick curtain covering the first doorway, at the top of the stairs, and snapped me out of my darkening thoughts.

     “Brynn! I did not know you were here, my sweet.” The approaching officer beamed, brightening his already flushed complexion.

     A genuine smile warmed my face in response.

     Officer Magnus was one of the few who always had a kind word; the wolf shifter was a little rough around the edges but intentionally gentle when it counted. He was a rarity in the Guard.

     “Baby duty, Sir, my apologies.” I started to rush past him, but a glance at the woman behind the curtain gave me pause. I held up a finger for him to wait as I reached into my shoulder bag to pull out a small glass jar of salve.

     “Twice a day for the next week.” I said slipping the jar into his hand. I glanced at his groin and back up to his eyes with pursed lips. He had an uncomfortable few days ahead of him.

     “Damn the Depths, Shay!” He barked, whirling around to shoot a glare back into the room.

     The curvy brunette slipped on a sheer robe and tied it with a braided leather belt, unfazed.

     “You know I am training the new lads next week;” He bemoaned, “It will be hard enough without my bits chaffing all afternoon in the heat.”

     “You asked for the best, love. If you wanted clean, order a young one next time.” Shay quipped as she tossed her loose waves back to reveal an unamused expression. With a shrug, she left with her payment.

     “I am sure Caraway would be happy to see to your needs next week, once that has cleared up; I know you are a favorite of hers.” I patted Magnus on the shoulder and continued up another flight of stairs.

     I did not have space in my mind to feel sorry for him today. A healer could drain their reserves dry if every itch or burn was tended to by magic; this birth would demand all I had to offer. Magnus would have to deal with a natural remedy for his folly.

     “Did I hear Brynn Ulfhild’s voice?” A stout man with even his chest hair starting to grey rounded the corner.

     I stifled a groan at the sound of the treasurer’s voice. The man believed he was the goddess’ gift to women, even the ones he did not have to pay; his slimy persona made my skin crawl, and never in excitement.

     “I’ve got three beauties waiting for me in there, got any of them candies?” He asked, wiggling his bushy eyebrows, a foreign substance was caked in them that I did not dare venture to guess what it was.

     The candies, however, were one of the main requests from the patrons in this establishment. My blend of herbs and roots, mixed into honey drops, which helped improve specialized blood flow and elongated the men’s performance time, were always in high demand whenever I visited.

     “Treasurer, a pleasure, as always,” My smile was all teeth as the corners of my mouth refused to curve. I tried to suppress my gag reflex from the rancid smell coming from the tight braids on his head. I handed him an amber sweet from a pouch at my waist and, unfortunately, grazed his damp palm. “Here, this time, let it dissolve under your tongue for a better effect.”

     “Can I get two?” He begged while following close behind me. His pants were still half laced, his flaccid penis swaying as we walked up the hall.

     I saw the women in his suite first, waiting on the chaise lounge. Caraway was sitting with her head in her hands to massage her temples. Her blonde curls shimmered in the light at the movement. Seated next to Caraway, Liv had rolled her head back to stare at the ceiling and sighed, her knee bouncing impatiently. Then, there was Sif, in all her glory.

     While the other two were naked, Sif wore a white chiffon dress cinched at the ribs with a leather bodice. She twirled a crop between her fingers as she stood leaning against the backrest. She brushed her dark brown hair behind her ear and locked eyes with me before tapping the other two on the shoulders with the crop to seem interested. Treasurer Melik was their least favorite client as he never knew what to do with the rising number of women he would order. Sif was one of the more expensive courtesans to purchase time with and was usually out of his price range.

     He must be growing bolder with how he swindles money from the crown.

     They all straightened as the King’s treasurer walked in behind me, still muttering about two sweets, or even a third.

     “Melik, good sir,” I paused to glance at him without reaching into my bag again. I motioned my chin to his favorite appendage between his legs. “If it ruptures with two and you lose that head you are so fond of, do not say I did not warn you.”

     The rotund man shuddered, and the movement made a slight flapping sound.

     Caraway turned away to hide her grimace.

     Sif snapped her fingers; Caraway and Liv stood and started toward the main bedroom.

     “One is fine then, yes, yes. Thank you, Brynn.” He blushed as he placed the sweet into his mouth and looked greedily at the women before him.

     “May I?” I asked the ladies, already crossing the room, and pointed to the doorway leading to the courtesans’ personal bedrooms.

     “Of course!” Chimed in Caraway, “She is in my room for delivery.”

     “I knew that!” Thyra huffed as she finally caught up to us, “This way, Healer. Sif, the side room is free now for you all to proceed.”

     “I will be back later.” I placed a hand on Sif’s forearm as she reached for me. She lifted her free hand to my face and kissed me in greeting.

     “Before my skin smells like his.” She whispered against my lips before kissing me again with a smile.

     I gave her hand a squeeze once her grip drifted to my wrist. I leaned closer to let my lips brush against her ear.

     “It is only a light dose. He will not last long.” I breathed.

     I felt her stifle a chuckle against the skin of my neck, then she pulled away with a stern face as if I had just shared something serious.

     “We await good news on Asta.” She said, her eyes still gleaming with mischief.

With a nod, I followed Thyra into the discrete hallway behind one of the panels in the wall.

“How bad is Asta?” I asked, once we were out of earshot of the treasurer’s session.

     “Bad. I don’t know if you can even save her, Healer. The baby isn’t going to make it either, I think. I have delivered many babes before, but this…” The woman searched for the right words, but I knew where her mind had gone; Nothing about this pregnancy had been typical. “This is wrong, it won’t live. Shouldn’t live, the way it is trying to come into the world. The goddesses will never allow it.”

     Not a terrible outcome if it did not.

     I tried to shake the dark thought out of my mind, but I could not lie about how I felt about this birth. Most women took a contraceptive tonic that I brewed for the establishment regularly, which naturally prevented most pregnancies. A collection of vials for the men to ingest when they arrived were available as well. But Sondre…

     Sondre paid to breed, unobstructed and unhindered. Sondre wanted this child. I knew it was not the baby’s fault its father was a monster, but this world did not need a smaller version of Sondre’s darkness within it.

     The hallway and surrounding stairways were blanketed in layered rugs and tapestries to dampen the sound between the business side of the establishment and the living quarters. The image of one tapestry caused my chest to tighten as we walked; It depicted the Night Wolves of the neighboring kingdom. A Night Wolf’s unintentional first action in life was the death of his mother in childbirth, which earned him a curse from the goddess of Death. Their pitch-black coats blended into the threads of the sky belonging to the darkest night of the solstices. The molten eyes glowed red and orange in the tapestry, full of wrath and murder.

     This was the bleak reality of what would happen if I failed; As a healer, it was my duty to bring mother and child safely through the birthing process and prevent such creatures of darkness from being created and roaming the kingdom. The reminder of that became all too real as we climbed the final flight of stairs and were met by muffled screams. I quickened my pace past Thyra, pulling vials out of my bag as I went. As soon as we entered the room, the girl in bed howled for me.

     “Get it out of me!” Asta’s wide eyes were bloodshot from straining, “Get this damned monster out of me!”

     She grasped the blood-soaked sheets until her knuckles whitened. Her amber hair was plastered to her forehead; It was stained with crimson streaks as she clawed frantically at the form coming out of her, then wiped the sweat and hair out of her face.

     “It shifted.” I said, barely above a whisper.

     What the actual fuck.

     I whirled around to Thyra in a rage.

     “Why the fuck did you not tell me it had shifted?” I rasped.

     Thyra only stood there. All the blood had drained from her face.

     “When I left, it had not—It is splitting her open, Healer.” She choked as she wobbled at the sight.

     Newborn wolf shifter males were nursed a tonic weeks after birth to induce their first shift to prevent any harm to the mother and child during labor. A shifted babe in the womb would mean near certain death for the human mother, and, most likely, the child as well. I had suspected she carried a boy the way it tussled within her over the last months but for the boy to have already shifted…The red eyes of the Night Wolf tapestry seared though my thoughts, challenging me to prevent such a curse from unfolding before me.

     No...

     “Great Tyr above, help me tend to your child.” I pleaded in hopes the Old God would hear me.

     I shook off the shock and went into solution mode.

     “I am here, Asta, eyes on me.” I commanded.

     “She is burning, Healer!” One of the maids pleaded, as they all caressed Asta’s forehead, arms, and back with cool rags. “We told her to rest, but she keeps trying to get up.”

     “Move her to the edge of the bed, then everyone out.” I ordered as I walked around them to kneel at the bedside.

     The maids scooted Asta closer, a leg now on either side of me as I rolled up my sleeves to prepare the area. Blood already caked her thighs.

     “Except you, Ms. Thyra. Bring me the water before you go.” I insisted.

     “You heard the Healer, everyone out, go! Go! Shoo, all of you.” Thyra waived her hands at them, suddenly coming back to the moment, even swatting at the maids with a towel to herd them out.

     “Cut it out of me.” Asta hissed.

     Although it was a practice permitted in other kingdoms, here in the South, our goddesses frowned upon such unnatural approaches to birth. Regardless of how well a Southern healer would tend to the mother after removing the babe with a blade and healing afterward, both mother and child would mysteriously fall ill, and their lives would be forfeit to Valdis, our Goddess of Death. Neither Dahlia nor Valdis permitted taking complete control over the matters of life or death in such a way.

     “I will take my chances with Valdis’ sickness later. I know you can do it, cut it out of me!” Asta demanded.

     She is not thinking clearly due to the pain. I will not condemn her to such a fate and watch her die, helpless to stay Valdis’ hand.

     I rubbed a numbing salve I had grown immune to in my hands then down Asta’s hips, inner thighs, and around the crowning head of the beast trying to come out of her. Asta released a sigh of immediate relief as her shoulders sagged slightly.

     “You’ve torn badly, Asta.” I said quietly, in as soothing of a tone I could muster. I put my fingertips close to the child’s skull, but there was no warmth as my magic reached out to sense a heartbeat.

     A cold darkness seeped from the babe deep into the bones of my arm; it was not the usually taxing sensation of magic usage.

     Something is terribly wrong.

     I closed my eyes and pushed my magic further, letting my hand rest on the deformed head as the bone shifted under my touch.

     “Asta…” I opened my eyes to search my dear friend’s gaze, but found the unfortunate fact we both already knew to be true etched into her features.

     The child was dead.

     “I won’t have to hide it if it is already…truly…dead.” Asta’s voice hitched. “Sondre forced me to drink that damned tonic to make the babe shift early this morning. He was trying to get the little beast to kill me. He said I would be remembered for my sacrifice; a price he is willing to pay to usher in his cursed child. He gloated that he wanted his own pack of those horrid Night Wolves as he held my chin and forced the liquid down my throat. But in his haste, he has killed the boy, hasn’t he?”

     My pursed lips were answer enough for her.

     “Then get, this abomination, out.” Asta croaked.

     “Okay. Breathe for me. Listen to me, no one is killing you today.” I said with authority that filled the space, even as my heart stuttered.

     Sondre has openly admitted it now; this is what he wants.

     There had been rumors that Sondre was attempting something sinister. Roderick, my raven-familiar, had repeated things he would hear whispered around town, and the tone of conversations had been growing darker as of late. Roderick’s recent reports rattled in my mind,

     The power of a mother’s blood.

     Cursed children.

     The goddess Valdis must not find out.

     Kill the mothers.

     Kill the mothers.

     Kill the mothers.

     A gasp broke the repeating sound of his warbled voice in my thoughts. Thyra had paused at the entryway as she returned with a pail of water, petrified by the gory sight before her.

     I did not break from Asta’s gaze, “Time for you to go, too, Ms. Thyra. Leave the pail and go.”

     Thyra opened her mouth to protest but quickly frowned when a raven, with crimson glinting in his wings, flew in from the open window and landed on the back of the chair closest to me. Tension released from my shoulders as Roderick hopped closer to me and croaked a greeting.

     “Cursed beast.” Thyra muttered and scurried out of the room, clutching the rowan sprig pinned to her apron. She believed the rowan would keep away the dark spirits attributed to Roderick’s kind; little did she know, Roderick enjoyed the tea I would make from the berries, completely undeterred.

     I nodded to the raven and wet a towel in my hand to wipe away some of the smeared blood from Asta’s entrance to see what I was doing. The bird landed on my shoulder and tucked a loose strand of auburn hair back into my braid.

     “Breathe with me, Asta.” I coached.

     Asta’s ragged breath eventually linked with mine as Asta’s pain began to ebb into my hand. I hooked the tension in her body with my power and pulled slowly. I squared my shoulders as her anguish filled me before my healing magic soothed it away from us both.

     “That’s it, let go. Good girl. Look at our pretty bird.” I soothed.

     As Asta gazed at the raven, her panic eased, and her body relaxed slightly.

     When she and I dared to go on picnics together outside the walls of town, Roderick was always with us. Whenever she was afraid of the surrounding forests, I would remind her that our dark guardian was flying overhead, and it would put her mind at ease. I needed that comfort for her now and shrugged the shoulder on which Roderick was perched. He opened his majestic wingspan to get her attention and shifted to cause his red tipped feathers to catch the light.

     “Proud bastard, always making things about you.” Asta whispered as she let a soft chuckle loose from her chapped lips.

     While she was distracted, I moved my hand further away and tendrils of power floated from my fingertips, like a mist catching the sunlight. The golden tendrils covered the baby’s head and eased into Asta, numbing all sensation.

     All healers were taught how to tap into their personal own supply of magic causing their tendrils of power to glow gold, but they were limited by their own physical strength and health. I, however, strayed from the healer’s text in dire times, such as these, and channeled that which was forbidden in my kingdom; I reached out to the magic surrounding me. I linked to the black garnet pendant around my neck, a temple blessed talisman hanging from Caraway’s small mirror, the mirror itself, the passion and bodily worship in the rooms around us, and the bones of the lost beneath the very foundation of the pleasure house. The strength of life and death coursed through my veins as I channeled it into Asta’s womb. The babe’s head and shoulders compressed as the light shifted into a crimson glow. I began to remove the fetus from her, my magic crushing the bones of the stillborn creature until it was able to come out easier. Asta let out a relieved moan once the rest followed. Roderick fluttered to the floor and pulled a towel close by to wrap the deformed creature.

     “Thank you, my lovely helper,” I said quietly as I placed the mangled form into the towel. “A bit more, sweet girl.”

     Tendrils of deepening ruby power entered Asta again to make quick work of the afterbirth. The door creaked open, and Thyra came back in with more towels. In an instant, my magic defensively shifted back to gold of its own accord as it unlinked from outside power sources, and I felt the tax on my frame increase with a startled gasp.

     “I cannot wait outside while another one of my girls dies.” Thyra protested, her eyes misty.

     “She is not dying today.” I professed. The light vanished from my hands as I turned to the emboldened intruder, knowing full well she was not ready for our current reality. “Here then, if you choose to stay, wrap this up for me to take.”

     I offered the bloody toweled mess to Thyra.

     Unquestioningly, Thyra reached for it but gasped, stumbling back once she caught sight of the mutilated child.

     My expression hardened as I set it down on the floor next to me and refocused on my work. Asta continued to bleed, and I reached into my bag for a dark amber vial embossed with the sigil of the Night Wolves on the side.

     Thyra murmured a prayer as she perceived its origin as a thick cloudy liquid spilled out into my fingers.

     “Valdis and Dahlia spare us.” Thyra touched her forehead then navel with shaky fingers.

     “You can leave them out of this. Don’t be superstitious, Ms. Thyra. She will bleed out if I do not have a little help. If the Night Wolves can help, then so can you. Take the babe and get out.” I ground out, the exasperation deepening my voice.

     As a healer, I was forced to learn the healing properties of anything that could be of use; ironically, the harbingers of death to the East, who I tried so desperately to prevent the furthering of their curse, could provide assistance with the most drastic of healings. I had traded much for this vial, and it had saved many lives already. I did not have the luxury of such moral dilemmas when finding ingredients to help my patients.

     With shuddering breaths, Thyra gathered the soiled towels and the cursed bundle to rush back out of the room, mumbling more prayers to her goddesses.

     I rolled my eyes at the woman as I slipped my fingers into Asta and coated her inner walls with the liquid. Asta’s body shook violently at the foreign presence, but I assured her that we were almost finished. The healing was instant as the solution soaked into her tissues and stopped the bleeding. There was no need for stitching or cauterizing with this vial.

     “Healer’s help or not, no working for a few weeks, okay?” I warned as I withdrew my fingers and ran my hands up Asta’s thighs, mending any cuts and scrapes with other salves as I went.

     Asta slumped from exhaustion as the last of the mending was complete. I pulled down her night shift to offer her a little privacy now that the ordeal was nearing its end.

     “Come, up we go, Asta. We need to move you to your room before Caraway gets back. The Treasurer never lasts long; the maids can freshen up her sheets once we leave.” I said as I gently slid an arm under Asta’s legs and around her back to lift her frail frame up with ease.

     Asta put her arms around my neck but that was all her energy allowed her to do. Asta was one of the smaller women in the brothel, subject to more than one man’s need for dominance. Not only was she a friend of mine, but a frequent patient. I carried Asta to her room, weaving tissue and lessening inflammation with subtle golden tendrils of magic as I walked. Asta rolled her head to rest on my shoulder.

     “Will you burn it?” Asta asked quietly, her breath tickling my collarbone.

     “Yes, sweet child.” I replied kissing her forehead; the sweat and blood left a tang on my lips, but I did not pull away. “It was deformed so we cannot offer it in the local temple with the Solstice approaching. But I will burn it, don’t you worry.”

     “Not to his gods. Do not take my boy to Sondre or his hateful gods.” Asta pleaded as tears filled her eyes.

     “I would never.” I promised.

     The bastard will never see what his twisted greed had created.

     “Valdis and Dahlia don’t deserve my baby boy, either. They did not intervene; they did not stop Sondre. I called to them when he forced me to drink that tonic. But they did nothing,” She alleged, sorrow weakening her hatred.

     I felt dampness on my chest as her tears fell.

     We passed the Night Wolf tapestry and Asta took a shaky breath, “Will you bring him to your deity in the forest?”

     “Bless the Depths!” I coughed on the laugh that caught in my throat. “Aksel will be amused that you think him a god. But, yes, I will bring your boy with me to the forest this afternoon to be offered up; his soul will join your ancestors in the Depths and wait for you. I will not need a temple’s blessing in the East. Our pretty bird will join me and watch over your son and me. The words will be spoken, my dear, and he will be at rest.”

     I consoled her as the raven flew ahead of us into the room with an answering croak.

     Her room was cramped like the others. A little bed touched the three walls in the back, and I had to turn sideways to slip past the small dresser. It was covered with small trinkets from her past favorite patrons and a couple from our closest friends. A carved wooden dragon was in the center of her collection. Rune had taken the role of Asta’s protective older brother and had whittled it for her during a picnic the three of us had last year; he had spent weeks trying to find the right mossy dye from passing merchants to stain it the color of Tyr’s green scales. As a member of the Guard, he spent many nights here and the nearby tavern to break up fights and protect these women. He only frequented Sif’s chambers now but looked after each of the girls all the same.

     “Now, rest.” I said, setting Asta down on the lumpy, straw mattress. “I will speak with Madame Ahmila about some time off, starting you back in the kitchens first would be best. The tearing has healed, but it will still take time for your body to adjust; there are limits to what I can do. Nature must take its course as with the aftermath of any pregnancy.”

     “Thank you, Bry.” Asta whispered as exhaustion took her deeper into a dream state.

     I pulled a blanket over the young woman’s petite shoulders.

     “Burn him...” She mumbled half awake.

     “I promise, he will be burned.” I swore as I brushed the curly amber hair from Asta’s pale forehead to press my lips against it for one final kiss. “Sleep. May Tyr, Your Protector, watch over you. May his wings shield you, and may the light of his fires burn away your fears, my sweet sister. Ms. Thyra will be up to help bathe you later and wash away the pain of today.”

     We may not have the same parents, but, in the brothel, I had raised Asta like a little sister since the day Asta was dropped off at this doorstep. Her mangled flesh was just as tattered as her clothes, once the Guard had used her up and left her here. Half of her bones were broken when her family had missed protection payments to the King’s Guard. Asta was given to Madame Ahmila to pay off the family’s debts once she had her first bleed and could be worked and bred at the brothel. My blood boiled every time I remembered the worthless people who had sired her; whenever I passed their lonely, unmarked graves in the cemetery, I spat on the cursed ground where even grass refused to grow.

     Fuck them, for all eternity.

     I motioned to my winged companion as I walked out quietly. Roderick flew to my shoulder and nuzzled the side of my cheek with his beak. He warbled in hushed gravely tones and nipped at the loose auburn strands at the nape of my neck as I worked my way to the exit of the brothel. Thyra waited impatiently near the large oak door leading to the street, struggling to maintain composure as she fiddled with the wrappings around the swaddled child. She carefully handed the bundle back to me, and I gently put it in an extra bag slung across my chest. Death was an unavoidable part of the job, regardless how good I got at the craft, but this next part never got easier.

     “She is sleeping for now. I will be back for my usual check-ins to speak with Madame Ahmila tomorrow. I need to see Sif later; plus, there is that business about the pup in the hallway.” I said nodding to the floor above us, where a soft growl sounded in response.

     “Don’t rush back.” Thyra motioned to the lump in my bag, the muscles in her throat constricting. “Handle that, Healer, before the Commander comes looking for the child. He will want to know what went wrong to be more successful with his next pup. It will take days for you to get far enough from the Commander, if you go on foot...”

     “Commander Sondre, with all his breeding plans, can go fuck himself. The day we all stop cowering to that evil man is the day we stop risking our girls and burying their children.” I replied as I gritted my teeth and I took the rag Thyra offered for my bloodstained hands.

     Even she suspected his intentions for this child and future pups, yet she stayed silent…

     Fantastic.

     I wanted to scream in frustration at the whole situation but taking it out on Thyra would not help anyone. We needed to not allow Sondre to pit us against each other when there were so few allies to be had. I let a sigh release my unspoken condemnations.

     “I will travel with Rune,” I shook my head at her attempted protest, “Which will drastically shorten how long the trip will take. We should be back before most of the girls’ shifts start tomorrow night.”

     Thyra simply nodded, worry deepening the wrinkles around her eyes.

     I paused and forced myself to see the woman behind the flustered façade. The way her brows knit together betrayed her; she was scared, just like the rest of us. Her slightly swollen ruddy hands, from always cleaning with too hot of water, were trembling. There were more white strands mixed in with the ginger hair around her temple and knots at the nape of her neck from not taking time to tend to herself instead of the women within this building.

     I tilted my chin to the small worn twigs peeking out of the front pocket of Thyra’s apron, resituated after her recent prayers.

     “While I am out that way, I will try to find more rowan berries for teas. Maybe even bring back a fresh sprig for you, if you’d like.” I offered. There was not much I could do for her, but this small gesture lit up her face.

     “Dahlia bless you! I’ll need as much rowan as you can spare me to rid the place of the spirits that little one has brought with it. Those woods you go into, though, for burning…” Thyra said with a wary eye at the raven nipping at my hair. “They be unnatural, Healer, unnatural.”

     “Unnatural.” Roderick croaked in a tone mimicking Thyra.

     The sun caught the subtle reddish hues of his dark wings as Thyra opened the main door to the street. He nudged my jaw with his beak once more before taking flight as he warbled; the sound was far too akin to him muttering under his breath at Thyra as he flew off.

     “Then it will be the perfect place to burn this unnatural thing, will it not?” I replied as I gently tapped a hand on the bag and walked out.