Page 76 of Haunted

A door creaks open, and cool air stirs. I almost breathe a sigh of relief because, with the air, Niawen’s presence blows into the room, caressing my overheated forehead. All of us turn to see Niawen with her back against the door.

My guard steps in front of her. “You need to leave.”

“Wait,” I say. “It’s Lady Niawen.”

The guard steps aside. “I beg your pardon.”

Niawen nods and moves to the bed.

I address her as if she’s an old friend. “I’ve tried for three days to turn the baby.” I swipe at my brow, surprised at how easily my confession comes. Niawen’s presence restores my confidence. “I was successful yesterday, but the babe flipped back. And now the labor has started.”

Niawen studies Siwan and the situation. “She’s breech?”

“Footling,” I say.

“She can be delivered, but we’ll have to be patient.”

Relief floods me. “Damnation, Niawen. Why didn’t I tell you—?”

“Instead of sneaking off into the night? Because you’re cocky.”

“I’m glad you pointed that out. We can all rest assured.”

Siwan groans, and Niawen rushes to her feet. “Get her to the edge of the bed. Once the body has emerged, the babe must hang to engage the head. I’ll keep the infant warm so she won’t draw breath. Don’t open the door or create a draft.” She touches Siwan’s leg. “You can do this.”

I’m happy to let Niawen take over. I move to the side and become the assistant, taking orders.

55

Niawen and I follow the guard back to the citadel.

“Are you going to tell me what possessed you to keep Siwan’s labor a secret?” She growls as she lifts her feet through the snow. “Is that why you were pacing?”

“Deiniol came to me three days ago. He said his wife was having pre-labor pains. The midwife tried to turn the baby weeks ago while room remained in the womb, but she had no luck. He begged me to try. I had never used my light in such a way before. I’m no healer.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.

Too prideful.

“I could have done it,” she says.

“I didn’t realize your skills extended to healing.”

“You can’t be serious. What of the half-emrys in your homeland?”

“Not many of them are healers,” I say. “Very few are.”

“What are they, then?”

I stare straight ahead as I trudge. I hate to unveil this truth of my homeland. “Barbaric murderers.”

“And you?”

I know what she’s thinking. She simply can’t understand how a realm full of half-emrys aren’t healers, but she doesn’t yet know about the Dark Emrys. Or the dark side of the half-emrys.

“A scholar.”

She nods a few times as she absorbs the information. She’s confused, and I’m dying inside because of my half-truths. Niawen tells me about people she healed in Talfryn, from the broken leg of a bricklayer to sick children to even the queen with an unknown illness.

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