BEFORE THE NIGHT IS OVER

Elaris's POV

Averic comes for me personally, instead of sending a captain of the guards.

I am still under formal escort following the council hearing, so four warriors take up a line around us on the way out.

Two ahead, two behind, Averic on one side close enough to hear the measured pattern of his footsteps, but nothing attempts to fill the space in between my step and his.

The palace feels unnaturally subdued.

There are no servants rushing from room to room, no guards exchanging idle words.

Even the constant stream of traffic around the council chamber has vanished now the hearing has been suspended until morning.

After several intersections, it becomes clear that whatever Averic wanted that involved Virelle is done, as warriors stationed at junctions always pull up to one side before allowing passage.

I notice immediately that Virelle is not present.

Her theatrics in the hall meant I expected to see her swarming over attendants or pretending to pray somewhere that she could be seen, but instead there is nothing.

Her absence is a greater concern than I know.

I finally ask Averic, "Where is she?"

"West wing."

"Under guard?"

"Yes."

I glance at him. "Then why did she stay there?"

"Since the hearing."

There is something restrained in his tone.

I do not press him, the last thing I want tonight is another confrontation over Virelle, when Maevra specifically asked for me.

As we turn into the private corridor, I realize what direction we are heading.

Maevra's chamber.

Averic slows.

"My mother asked for you," he says. "I want to know what she intends to tell you."

"So do I."

Averic's attention flickers towards the closed doors ahead.

"Whatever happens in there, don't let her exhaust herself."

"I won't."

The guard at Maevra's entrance immediately opens the way, no announcement needed as Averic enters first, followed by me.

And for the first time since the council hearing began, I am walking towards something that has nothing to do with what the council wants to hear.

The first scent to reach me inside Maevra's chamber is the medication.

Boiled roots and herbs, something bitter clinging to the curtains and bedsheets.

Only one lamp burns near the bed, casting large shadows over most of the chamber.

Maevra is propped against several pillows, her face paler since I saw her last and the hollows beneath her cheekbones deeper, although her breathing is careful.

Her eyes are clear though, and that matters.

She sees me immediately and raises one hand.

The nearest healer moves forward, but Maevra gives him a look and stops.

Then she turns her attention towards the other healers.

"Leave us."

One of them hesitates. "Luna—"

"I did not ask whether you agreed."

The healer lowers his head and Maevra's eyes settle briefly on Averic.

"You too."

Averic's expression becomes guarded.

"Mother, you need—"

"I need my room emptied of people who are waiting for me to become too weak to finish a sentence."

That stops him.

The healers exchange uncertain glances before leaving and I watch Averic closely.

He does not like it.

Neither do I.

But Maevra's eyes remain steady.

Averic finally moves towards the door.

"I'll be outside."

Maevra nods.

He pauses beside me.

"If you need anything—"

"I know," I whisper.

He leaves the door partially open, the two warriors outside as well as the healers.

Inside, the room belongs to Maevra.

And to whatever truth she has been carrying.

Maevra reaches for me, so I cross the small distance between us and take her hand.

Her fingers are surprisingly cool.

The grip she gives is weaker than the woman I first met, but there is nothing uncertain about it.

She holds my hand deliberately.

As if she has summoned the remaining strength in her body for this conversation.

"You heard what the council said," she murmurs.

"Yes."

"They want two women."

Her eyes remain on mine.

"Two pregnancies. Two stories. Two claims."

I swallow.

"They want everything reduced to a contest."

Maevra's fingers tighten around mine.

"Exactly."

Her breathing catches briefly before she continues.

"They will call it jealousy. Rivalry. A dispute over which woman deserves a place beside my son."

Her voice becomes thinner.

"But that is not what this is."

I shake my head.

"No."

"You must remember that when they question you again."

"I will."

"They will try to make you defend yourself emotionally. Don't."

I look at her.

"Then what should I defend?"

"The truth."

Her answer comes immediately.

"The child."

My hand moves instinctively towards my stomach, and Maevra follows the movement.

"That child is pack blood," she says. "Not a bargaining piece. Not a political inconvenience. Not something the council gets to treat as negotiable because another woman claims she carries my son's heir."

Something inside me loosens painfully.

For weeks I have been forced to think of my pregnancy as something that needed to be hidden, guarded, explained or proven.

Maevra speaks of it differently.

As fact.

As blood.

As family.

She looks directly into my eyes.

"Do not let them turn your child's existence into a question simply because Virelle is willing to make hers a performance."

Maevra shifts her attention towards the doorway.

"Averic."

He appears almost immediately, he must have been just outside.

He crossed the threshold but stopped beside the bed.

Maevra looks at him for several seconds before saying, "I know which claim is true."

Averic says nothing.

"I knew during the first week."

My breath catches.

Maevra continues before either of us can interrupt.

"I knew before you announced anything. Before the council. Before Virelle arrived. Before the palace became a courtroom."

Averic's fingers settle against the edge of the mattress.

"How?"

Maevra gives him a tired smile.

"Because I am your mother."

That almost draws a reaction from him.

Almost.

She turns towards me.

"I knew what I saw when you began carrying that child."

Then back to Averic.

"And I knew what I saw when Virelle began telling everyone she carried yours."

Averic's face remains composed, but his attention sharpens.

"Mother—"

"No."

She stops him.

"I have watched you question everything because you were afraid of being wrong."

Her breathing grows uneven.

"But I will not leave this world knowing you allowed caution to become an excuse for refusing what you already know."

Averic lowers his head slightly.

Maevra's voice softens.

"I will not die and leave you free to pretend you do not know whose child she carries."

The words settle heavily between us.

No council language.

No legal argument.

No evidence table.

Just a mother speaking to her son.

Averic does not defend himself.

That surprises me.

After everything that has happened, I expected him to explain the council, the law, the evidence, the absent witness.

Instead, he moves to the side of the bed and rests one hand against the wooden frame.

His attention remains on Maevra.

"I never wanted you dragged into this."

Maevra gives a quiet scoff.

"You did not drag me anywhere."

Her eyes shift towards me.

"They did."

I see something change in Averic's posture.

His hand curls slightly against the bedframe.

"You should rest," he says.

Maevra looks almost amused.

"That is what frightened men say when they don't want their mothers to finish speaking."

I almost smile.

Averic doesn't.

But he doesn't leave either.

Maevra looks at him again.

"Let her stay."

He meets my eyes.

Then he nods.

"I'll be outside."

This time, when he steps away there is no argument.

He leaves the door open and I hear his footsteps stop just beyond it.

He is still close.

Maevra waits until Averic has moved out of sight before she gestures for me to sit.

I pull the chair closer to the bed.

Her breathing has become shallower, but her attention remains fixed on me.

"There is something I should have told you sooner."

My stomach tightens.

"What?"

"Not everything Virelle does is meant to destroy you directly."

I remain silent.

"She knows how to make people destroy one another for her."

That sounds more dangerous than an ordinary threat.

Maevra continues.

"Virelle learned a long time ago that my son hates acting without certainty."

"I know."

"She uses that."

Her gaze moves towards the open doorway.

"Every accusation leaves him needing more proof. Every piece of proof becomes something she can explain away. By the time enough evidence gathers to form a pattern, everyone is exhausted."

The realization is unpleasantly familiar.

"She wants him to keep questioning."

"Yes."

Maevra closes her eyes for a breath.

"Because while he questions, she moves."

Maevra opens her eyes again.

"Do not waste your strength trying to make her confess."

"Then what do I do?"

"Survive her."

Her answer is immediate.

"Survive the hearing. Survive the blood moon. Survive long enough for the truth to become impossible to bury."

Maevra's hand shifts against mine.

"The examination will expose what cannot be hidden."

I look at her.

"The blood moon?"

She nods.

"If the council allows it to happen without interference."

That qualification catches me.

"What do you mean?"

Maevra's expression becomes grave.

"Virelle will not welcome an examination that can distinguish truth from performance."

I think of the confidence she displayed in the hall.

The way she accepted the examination as though it were another stage prepared for her.

"She agreed willingly.“Of course she did.”

Maevra almost smiles.

"Never mistake willingness for safety."

The room seems smaller.

Maevra lowers her voice.

"She may believe she can control what happens before the examination. She may try to make your body fail first. She may try to frighten you into refusal. She may try to make the council believe you are too unstable to proceed."

I place my free hand over my stomach.

"The child is strong."

"For now."

The words hurt.

Maevra squeezes my fingers.

"Listen carefully, Elaris."

I lean closer.

"Do not fight every battle they place in front of you."

Her gaze holds mine.

"You do not need to defeat Virelle tonight."

"What do I need to do?"

"Reach the blood moon."

Her voice is barely above a whisper now.

"Nothing more."

I nod.

"Then that is what I'll do."

"Survive."

"I will."

"Until the examination."

"I promise."

Maevra's eyes close.

For several seconds she says nothing.

Then she whispers, "Good."

I stay beside her.

The promise feels heavier than any vow I have made before.

Not because Maevra asked me to win.

She didn't.

She asked me to remain alive.

Maevra opens her eyes again.

"You are thinking about the first child."

The words strike deeper than I expect.

"Yes."

"You cannot save that child now."

I lower my head.

"I know."

"But you can protect this one."

My throat burns.

"I will."

Maevra studies my face.

"Then stop punishing yourself for surviving."

I look at her.

For a moment, she seems almost like the woman I knew before illness consumed so much of her strength.

Then her breathing changes.

She takes a longer breath than before.

It does not come easily.

I rise halfway from my chair.

"Should I call the healer?"

She shakes her head.

"Not yet."

Her eyes close.

When they open again the clarity remains, but the effort required to maintain it is obvious now.

"You must be ready," she whispers.

"For what?"

"For what happens when everyone finally stops pretending this is only about two women."

Before I can ask what she means her gaze drifts towards the door.

Her expression tightens.

Then she looks back at me.

"Remember what I told you."

I nod.

"Survive."

A few minutes later, Maevra's breathing becomes noticeably heavier.

I stand.

"I'm getting the healers."

This time she does not stop me.

I call towards the doorway.

Averic enters immediately, the healers following him.

One checks Maevra's pulse while another adjusts the pillows behind her.

Her breathing is shallow and uneven now.

"What changed?" Averic asks.

"No sudden injury," the senior healer says. "Her essence is simply struggling."

Then the healer looks towards the side table.

A cup sits there.

I recognize it.

Maevra's evening medicine.

The healer walks towards it.

Stops.

Looks at the liquid.

Then looks at the other healer.

Something about the exchange makes my stomach drop.

"What?" Averic asks.

Neither answers immediately.

The senior healer picks up the cup without drinking from it.

"This isn't the colour it should be."

Averic turns towards him.

"Explain."

"The preparation should be pale."

He tilts the cup beneath the lamp.

"This is darker."

My attention locks onto the liquid.

The difference is subtle.

Someone unfamiliar with Maevra's medicine might have missed it completely.

But I have prepared enough doses to know.

That is not the right colour.

Averic reaches for the cup.

The healer hesitates.

Then gives it to him.

Averic lifts the cup toward the lamp.

He does not drink.

He smells it.

"What was she given?"

The night healer standing beside the medicine tray answers immediately.

"The evening restorative."

"Who prepared it?"

"I did."

Averic turns.

"You?"

"Yes, Alpha."

"From which bottle?"

The woman's lips part.

"The bottle on the evening tray."

Averic looks at the cup again.

"Who gave you the order?"

"No one."

The answer comes too quickly.

I notice it.

So does he.

Averic takes one step toward her.

"You prepared this without an order?"

The healer retreats instinctively.

"I was told it was the usual dose."

"By whom?"

She says nothing.

The room becomes crowded with movement.

One healer begins checking Maevra's breathing.

Another reaches for a cleansing draught.

Averic keeps the cup in his hand.

"Seal the medicine stores."

The senior healer nods.

"No one enters or leaves that room until we know what she received."

The night healer's face has gone pale.

“I didn’t poison her.”

No one has accused her.

Not yet.

Averic's attention shifts toward her.

"Then tell me who gave you the preparation."

"I—"

Her words break.

She looks toward the open doorway.

I follow her glance.

There is nobody there.

But the look is enough.

Someone had given her instructions.

Or she believes someone had.

Averic notices.

"So," he says quietly, "we are doing this again."

This time, his words carry no uncertainty.

Maevra suddenly reaches for me.

I move to her side.

Her fingers close around my wrist.

The grip is weaker than before, but she is trying to hold me there.

"Maevra?"

Her lips part.

Nothing comes out.

Her eyes find mine.

There is something urgent in them.

Not fear.

Recognition.

As though she has understood something the rest of us have not.

I lean closer.

"What is it?"

Her fingers tighten.

Then loosen.

Her breathing falters.

I feel the faint movement beneath my fingertips as her pulse stumbles.

Once.

Then steadies.

Then skips again.

"Averic."

He is beside us immediately.

The senior healer presses two fingers to Maevra's throat.

"Her rhythm is unstable."

"Fix it."

"We're trying."

Maevra's eyes remain open.

She looks at me.

I squeeze her hand.

"I'm here."

She does not answer.

Her fingers move once against my wrist.

A tiny motion.

Then stillness.

Not death.

Not yet.

But the absence of movement frightens me more than words could have.

The healers begin working around her.

A cleansing spell flickers across the room.

Another healer reaches for an essence stabilizer.

Averic stands beside the bed, watching every movement.

I remain where Maevra left me.

Holding her hand.

Waiting for her fingers to move again.

They don't.

The senior healer takes control of the chamber.

"Everyone back."

Averic does not move.

"Alpha, back now. You're obstructing the healers."

Averic steps away reluctantly.

I am also ordered backward.

I resist for half a heartbeat before obeying.

The healers surround Maevra.

One presses both palms over her chest while another works along the channels of her arms, attempting to slow the collapse.

The room fills with hurried commands.

"Stabilizer."

"Not that one."

"Bring the silver-root solution."

"Her channels aren't responding."

Averic turns toward me.

There is something different in his face.

Not accusation.

Not hesitation.

Not the guarded restraint he has carried through the hearing.

Fear.

Raw and immediate.

Then the senior healer speaks.

"Her essence is collapsing."

A second healer examines the cup.

The senior healer's attention snaps toward it.

"Whatever was in that cup is still working."

My stomach twists.

Averic looks at the cup.

Then at Maevra.

Then toward the doorway.

His voice is controlled when he speaks.

"Seal this chamber."

Before anyone can answer, hurried footsteps thunder down the corridor.

A warrior appears first.

Behind him comes Lord Sennik, his robes disordered from being summoned in the middle of the night.

"What happened?" Sennik demands.

No one answers immediately.

He looks from Averic to the healers.

Then to Maevra.

His expression hardens.

"I was told there was a disturbance."

Averic steps toward him.

"This is not a disturbance."

Sennik stops.

Averic's eyes move to the cup still held by the healer.

"Someone gave my mother something that is killing her."

The words strike through the corridor.

Inside the room, Maevra's body suddenly jerks against the pillows.

The healers shout.

A burst of unstable essence tears through the chamber.

The lamp flickers.

And beneath the noise, I hear one of the healers whisper something that makes every part of me go cold.

"The substance is reacting to her blood."

My hand flies to my stomach.

The child moves.

Once.

Hard.

As though answering something I cannot see.

Averic turns toward me.

For the first time since the hearing began, the political mask is completely gone.

What remains in his face is raw.

Dangerous.

And directed at the room around us.

The night is not over.

And Maevra is no longer merely too weak to speak.

Something inside her is fighting for its life.