Sweat beads on Ellie’s forehead, and her breathing has become labored.
Labor.
No. No, no, no, no.
I watch in horror as Ellie’s slender fingers creep toward her swollen belly.
It’s like she’s having to fight just to move her hand.
The Others’ bite contains paralytic venom.
I try not to imagine what that will do to Ellie’s baby.
No, no, no, no, no.
“We need to get her to safety,” says a strained voice. Marcus. He’s backed his way to the three of us, firing arrows at the Others approaching. “I’ll cover you while you move her. Amity, help Blaise get Ellie to safety, okay?”
Amity turns to me. “I can keep pressure applied to the wound if you can carry her.”
I nod and make to lift Ellie, but Ellie grits her teeth and shakes her head. “No. No, save the baby.”
Amity and I exchange concerned looks.
“We have to get you to safety first. The baby needs you living to survive,” I explain.
Tears soak Ellie’s warm brown cheeks. Moonlight reflects in her pupils. “I think…I think my baby is already coming.”
I look toward Amity, hoping the little encyclopedia of medicine will have an argument for why that’s not the case. But Amity only looks up at me with those big brown eyes of hers and nods.
Fates, no. No, no, no, no.
It’s too early, much too early in Ellie’s pregnancy. Even in her delirium, Ellie must realize too, because she lets out a strangled sob.
“Is there a way to stop the labor?” she asks, practically begs. “Please, please. Please make it stop.”
It takes me a moment to realize Ellie isn’t talking to us.
She’s talking to the Fates.
So I start talking to them too.
I’m not sure whether they hear the prayers of night stalkers who betray their friends. Part of me wonders if asking will only make things worse, but the prayers come anyway, almost contrary to my will, a string of pleadings incomprehensible in my panic.
“You need to get her under cover,” Marcus grumbles, face strained as he stumbles backward toward us, still letting arrows fly. My stomach plummets when I catch sight of his quiver and realize he’s only got three arrows left.
I make the decision to carry Ellie into the trees.
Ellie’s breathing has gotten more rapid. She keeps clenching her jaw instead of allowing herself to scream.
“It’s okay; you can scream,” I tell her as I set her on the ground close to where the group hid their baggage.
She shakes her head, sweat drenching her forehead. “It’ll alert them.”
“No more than the scent of your blood already has.” I’m not sure it’s the right thing to say, because Ellie’s cheeks sink with horror, but the next time a contraction rips through her, she lets herself shout all the same.
“How is she having contractions? Shouldn’t the venom be keeping that from happening?” I ask.
Amity shakes her head. “If it’s psychosomatic like lychaen venom, it shouldn’t matter. Ellie isn’t in control of her contractions; her body is.”
Amity’s pulling vials and other materials out of her satchel, but her fingers keep fidgeting.
It’s not like Amity to shake like this.
It’s then that I realize Amity is preparing to deliver a child who won’t be viable.
No, no, no.
I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t…
But no. I have to breathe. This is my fault, and I have to see it through. I have to be here for Ellie, for…
Evander comes bursting through the trees, front soaked in the inky blood of the Others.
There’s a crazed look in his eyes, one that’s utterly unfamiliar on his usually gentle, carefree face.
It slowly morphs into horror when he realizes what’s happening.
Ellie catches his eye, and the sorrow they exchange with that one look threatens to shatter me.
