Page 108 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

I pause, lost in thought. Whenwasthe last time I had my period? I remember having it prior to the solstice, when I’d had particularly bad cramps and Nemeth had made me a cup of tea. We’d joked that it was the last of that flavor of tea until we gotour supplies in, and that we’d be glad to get new flavors, because we were down to our least favorites…

And one of my favorites prior to that had been one that had an herb that prevented pregnancy, and I’d sneered that I didn’t need it.

I can’t be pregnant, though. I’m the Vestalin with cursed blood. I can’t get pregnant, can I? That’s what I’ve always been told.

Or is it that I can get pregnant, but I can’t carry it to term?

The thought is a terrifying one, and I wish I’d paid more attention to what was written about the blood curse. I trail my fingers over my belly, worried. If it wouldn’t make Nemeth fret, I’d get up and retrieve my knife, ask it questions. As it is, Nemeth has enough to worry about. I’ll wait until I’m alone, and have my knife clarify what the truth is.

I can’t be pregnant.

Later that night,I slip out of bed.

Nemeth immediately reaches for me, stroking a hand over my arm. “Sick?”

“No, I just need the garderobe,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.” I pick up my dressing gown, slipping it over my shoulders and wrapping it around my body. I hope he doesn’t notice the heavy pull of one pocket, where I hid my knife earlier. I hate that I’m keeping secrets again, but I need to know for myself, first. So I head to the garderobe and shut the door, and then pull out the knife.

“Am I pregnant?” I whisper.

It pulses in my hand.

Panic floods through me. How? It doesn’t make sense? I’ve been told all my life that a Vestalin with the blood curse cannot get pregnant. Haven’t I been told of relatives that had the same curse who lived their lives childless and alone? I want to ask if I’ll be able to carry it to term, but the knife can’t see the future any more than I can. Asking will get me no answer, which feels the same as a “no,” so I’m not even going to ask that. I’ll ask other things instead. “Is the baby healthy?”

Yes.

Hot relief floods through me, and I sag against the door, clutching the knife. “Does Nemeth know?”

No answer.

That doesn’t surprise me—I just figured it out myself. “Am I healthy enough to carry the baby the full nine months?”

No answer.

My lungs tighten. I close my eyes. Okay, okay. That doesn’t mean anything. My question might be too vague. I might not be healthy enough right now because I haven’t been taking my full dose of my potion. “If I eat properly and take the right dose of my medicine, will I be healthy enough to give birth?”

A shiver of affirmation, and I feel like I can breathe again.

I didn’t know Nemeth could make me pregnant. I don’t know what to think about the realization that I’m going to be a mother. I’ve never considered it. Never considered a life in which my blood curse wouldn’t prevent me from carrying on my bloodline. I’ve been told all my life that I can’t give a husband heirs. That because of my blood curse, I’ll remain sick and a burden all my days.

This seems impossible. But I think about my dark hair, and how everyone in Lios has the pale, blond hair except for those of the line of Vestalin. Of the stories that we have Fellian blood and that’s why our coloring is different. The rumor of Ravendor, the first Vestalin, giving birth to half-Fellian children that shehid away from the world. Everyone thinks that they’re garbage rumors. I’ve always thought that they were garbage rumors…but now I wonder.

“Is it true?” I ask the knife. “Do I have Fellian blood in my veins?”

The knife throbs in affirmation, and I gasp.

It seems my ancestor found a mate in this tower after all. But are the stories true? Did Ravendor hide her children away from the world? Or did she betray her Fellian mate and destroy him, as Nemeth’s people believe?

I don’t know what to think.

A week doesn’t feellike enough time to prepare. There’s endless amounts of work to be done.

Food must be cooked, and bread baked. Our meat is already dried, but any foodstuffs that aren’t portable must be made into something that is. We’ll only be able to carry limited amounts of goods with us, so we take the last of our stale flour and withered nuts and make a traveling bread that’s hard and dry, but will last a long time. We cook up everything that won’t travel and eat our fill, and Nemeth uses the last of my potion supplies to make enough doses to last me for two weeks if I take it daily after we leave the tower. Until then, as we prepare, I’ll continue on half-doses.

I sew adjustments to my clothing as Nemeth packs and repacks our bags, trying to see how much we can bring with us. He makes careful plans, determined to give us the best chances to survive. I know he’s miserable at leaving his books behind. I want to tell him that we can come back for them after we get mypotion, after our futures are settled, but something in me knows we’re never coming back here.

Once we cross over the threshold, we’ve committed to our fates.

So I sew. My dresses are frothy, silly things with tight bodices and ribbon detailing and silken panels. They’re useless for travel, since I’ve only ever gone by carriage in the past. But when we leave this tower, there will be no horses waiting for us, no retinue to take us to our homeland. We’ll be crossing on foot, and we don’t know how long it will take, or how unpleasant the weather will be. For the entire week as we prepare, thunder crashes and wind howls so loud we can hear it even through the stones of the tower. I can only imagine what sorts of storms we’ll be pummeled with when we depart and invoke the goddess’s wrath.

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