That strange sensation in my guts—like subtle, yet constant shifts of air—was neither the decay of my innards nor the wiggles of maggots. It was…

“Only hunger.”

The familiar tap-a-tap-taps of Orlaigh’s hurried steps echoed from the corridor, but they stilled at her sigh. “Lass, ye cannae brine in the water for hours like a pork shoulder on a Sunday morn.”

I wiped the steam from where it had settled on my cold forehead and frowned at the blackish half-moons along my nail beds. “It’s the only place that keeps me from shivering.”

Aside from Enosh.

For days, I’d pressed myself against him while he slept and slept. Good thing he did, because I knew he wouldn’t have tolerated me near him otherwise.

My ribcage shrank around my organs. “I’ve ruined this so completely.”

“Come now.” Orlaigh squeezed the dark water from the ends of my hair, letting the remnants of the walnut dye prattle onto the rock. “Ever seen what happens to cuts of meat when left in a warm place too long?”

“No.”

She made a disgruntled sound at the back of her throat. “It’ll go gray and slippery as it rots.”

When I curled my fingers into my palm, sensing a layer of slick on my skin, my stomach clenched—from hunger. With a sigh, I climbed out of the spring and huddled into the fur she held out.

“How c-can you st-stand the cold-d-d?”

“In time, the cold will mean nothing to ye, or how ye long for… something warm.”

That something being Enosh.

His omnipotence had turned into a visceral force that pulled me toward him, so strong it sent a wash of longing through me that almost mimicked warmth. It explained how I wanted nothing more but to melt into him.

Not so much how this emotional wreckage between us leeched the remaining blood from my quiet heart…

Orlaigh patted my shoulder as she dried me off, then reached for the broad band of cloth sitting on a rock. “Enough of all this wallowing in yer sorrows. What ye need is sun, lass. Aye, there’s not much the fresh air and sun cannae fix on the mind.”

I lifted my arms, staring down at how she wrapped the cloth around my abdomen, letting my wounds disappear behind the cotton. “Outside?”

She nodded. “This place reeks of death, and it’s not me own breath yet.”

“I don’t want to leave.” I nearly groaned at that statement. A month of trying to escape this place, but now something inside me revolted at the thought alone. “Neither do I want to get stabbed for a fourth time the moment we step outside.”

“Reckon ye cannae die of it again, lass.” She snorted at what had to be corpse-humor and held one of my dresses out, waiting for me to step into the circle of black feathers. “Certainly not beyond a gate where everyone’s dead already, anyway. Those poor souls who survived the wrath of a god dinnae dare come near it. I go there sometimes. Wasn’t born there, but the lands are still me home.”

Beyond the Soltren Gate.

A new shudder chased along my spine, and my palm circled my belly in some cruel, distorted instinct I somehow couldn’t shake. How strangely my fate echoed the one of Njala, calling my thoughts back with its persistent resound.

“I still don’t understand any of this.” Making it impossible for me to rid myself of this mourning over the loss of something that had never existed in the first place. “How could I’ve been so wrong? As a midwife…? I retched up every breakfast.”

“If I had fish heads for breakfast, I’d retch’em up, too.”

“Well…” I couldn’t even argue with that. “What of the grains, then?”

“Aye, ye were injured lass, scared and all alone with yer hardships. Of course, yer stomach would’ve gone sour with worry.”

“But—”

“Hush now.” She ran the fur along my strands, haphazardly drying them off. “Let it go, lass. All this talk, the false grief… What does it change?”

My chest deflated.

Nothing.

Deep down, I knew I should be relieved at this revelation. I would never be a mother, yet I had to do the motherly thing and find peace in the fact that my child was safe and well.

Also imagined.

When another shift in my stomach vibrated against my knuckles, I quickly dropped my hand. “Maybe I should wait for Enosh to wake so he can take the rot away.” The way wrinkles formed between her brows dragged heavily on my confidence. “He’ll… make it go away, right?”

“Lass, have ye ever met a man who woke from a nap in a mood other than sullen and irritable? Removing rot takes me Master—”

“Great effort.” I swallowed nothing but air faintly tainted with the rancid onset of my own decay. “Yes, I remember. I just can’t imagine he would be quite so cruel.”

A humorless chuckle vibrated her chest as she gestured for me to step into my slippers, then ushered me into the corridor. “Nay? Then ye have lost yer wits right along with the beat of yer heart.”

Maybe I had.

Personally, I blamed the wedding.

After I’d given my vows, Enosh had lifted his mask of the bitter god one vulnerable inch at a time, letting me glimpse the loving man beneath. He’d spoiled me with the sweetest words and the most tender of touches. He’d torn down the last of my hate-forged defenses, leaving my cold, silenced heart helpless and exposed.

With his mask back in place and seemingly poured from iron, what fate would await me once he woke?

My fingers went to my belly once more, pushing the feathers where the cotton beneath caught on my wounds and burned. “I want these gone. Can’t stand how they still cause me agony. Do you think he’ll truly let me keep them forever?”

“Ach, lass, everything will be awright.” Her words smoothed over the pressure of dread in my chest, but only until she stopped, held her arms out, and pushed the sleeves of her checkered dress past her wrists. “So long as ye brave yerself for the worst.”

Sour gall burned at the back of my throat as I stared down at the deep red wounds on Orlaigh’s arms, like rings of raw flesh past her wrists. “You’ve never showed me these before...”

“Because ye never asked how I died,” she said as she tugged the fabric neatly back over the wounds, continuing toward the bridge. “Ach, how angry me Master was for letting the little lady get taken away, her belly round with his babe. Aye, I’ve warned her, but who listens to old Orlaigh? Chaperoning her was like herding a bunch of flea-ridden cats.”

“What did Enosh do?”

Shrugging, she crossed the throne room. “Dragged me behind his horse until Eilam came for me breath.”

My muscles tensed at the sound of that name, until my feet faltered to a halt at the first gaping hole in the bridge toward the Soltren Gate. “If I go outside and Enosh wakes, he’ll think I’m trying to escape.”

Orlaigh’s voluptuous body shook with a chortle. “No matter which direction ye run, lass, ye will always end up straight in his arms. If me Master had any fear of you escaping, I reckon he would not be sleeping the time away.”

Shoulders slumping, I nodded and weaved behind her, around the holes of the decrepit bridge. Death was my collar. The Pale Court was my cage. And my chain...? A pressure inside my chest, like an invisible force that urged me to turn around.

It strengthened as I navigated along the sharp rock walls that snaked toward the chirping birds. Whereas the Æfen Gate had an incline, this tunnel opened straight into a cutting breeze that pulled on the bright green bushels of grass spread before us.

My mouth gaped open as I turned back toward the gate, blinking quickly to adjust to the sudden brightness out here. The wind tousled through my hair, letting smudged blonde strands flutter across my face before the gusts broke against the rock, scattering into a dozen whistles.

I assessed the archway set into the stone of a mountain, which extended in ledges of rock to both sides. From there, they spread across the landscape as far as the eye reached, coming together in gray chains that rose and fell through meadows of lush green.