THE OLD DAMAGE

Elaris's POV

The next morning I wake before Neryss, but I lie still for longer than usual.

There is no dramatic pain.

That almost makes it worse.

My body just refuses to obey the speed I expect from it.

When I finally sit up I have to pause before standing, my muscles feeling drained rather than sore as if I had run through the night even though I was on the cot the whole time.

I drink the herbal mixture the outer healer left me on her last visit,

it is bitter enough for me to grimace but for a short while I feel better.

The heaviness lifts enough that I can prepare breakfast and fold up the blankets, but there is still that strange hollow feeling underneath it all, like my essence is stretched thin.

Not empty.

Not yet.

Just that I can almost see the places where strength should be.

I refuse to name the feeling so instead I break up the morning into manageable chunks.

Eat.

Rest.

Drink.

Walk.

Rest again.

Scene 2

Neryss observes without making a show of it.

She begins to tackle the heavier tasks before I even get to them.

The water bucket has vanished from by the door and the wood pile is smaller without me touching it.

The meals are more substantial.

She adds extra portions of broth and stores the herbs I need where I can reach without having to climb.

I watch her for a while.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Pretending you aren't worried."

She gives me a dry look.

"I am not pretending anything."

That earns me a small smile.

She doesn't tell me to send for Averic.

I appreciate the restraint more than she knows.

Instead she bolsters the household around the problem we have, but do not name.

By evening she has rearranged the supplies so that I always have everything I need within reach.

It is practical.

Quiet.

And far more comforting than pity would have been.

The third time the supplies arrive shortly after midday.

This time there is less of everything and one other thing.

A narrow medical case.

It is dark leather, reinforced at the corners and bearing the insignia of the senior pack healers.

I recognise it immediately.

Neryss does too.

She looks from the case to me.

"There was no letter."

"I can see that."

The servants who delivered it have already gone.

There is no message saying who ordered it or demanding that I use it or requesting a report.

Just the case.

I stare at it for several seconds.

Averic does not need to write his name for me to know who is responsible.

Someone has told him that I am not recovering as I should.

Or perhaps he has been observing the pattern of supplies in the house and realised that ordinary food was no longer sufficient.

Either way he has deduced something I did not tell him.

I dislike that.

I also can't deny the usefulness of what lies on the table.

Neryss opens the case in front of me.

Inside are clean bandages, small packets of restorative herbs, fever powder, measuring spoons and several sealed draughts.

One vial immediately catches my eye.

The label indicates a stabilising essence tonic commonly distributed to pregnant wolves whose reserves have become dangerously low.

Neryss reaches for it.

I stop her.

"Not that one."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what is in it."

She turns the vial over.

"The seal is intact."

"That doesn't mean I have to take everything he sends."

I select the mildest restorative draught instead.

It does little to buoy my limbs or clear my thoughts, but it is enough to disguise the underlying weakness for a while.

I return the stronger vial to the case.

If I ever need it I will decide that for myself.

I will not let medicine become another invisible thread pulling me back toward Averic.

By the third evening the problem ceases to behave like ordinary exhaustion.

I attempt to climb the three steps leading towards the small upper loft.

Half way up my vision swims.

I stop, one hand gripping the railing and the other instinctively covering my stomach.

The child moves beneath my palm.

A firm kick.

Then another.

I smile to myself, breathless.

"You're stronger than your mother today."

The words come out as a gasp.

I abandon the stairs and sit down on the cot in the lower room, waiting for my breath to steady.

Three steps.

That is all it took.

I remember once crossing entire corridors after an essence donation without allowing anyone to see how badly my legs had shaken.

Back then I had convinced myself that weakness was temporary because I had somewhere I needed to be.

Now there is nowhere to run toward and my body is beginning to tell me that pretending otherwise will not make it recover.

Neryss finally stops trying to hide the concern.

"The donations did more damage than you knew."

I look at her.

She hesitates, then continues carefully.

"The smoke attack didn't create this. Neither did the confinement. They made it worse."

She gestures at the medical case.

"You were already living on whatever reserve your body managed to rebuild."

I say nothing.

"The pregnancy needs essence constantly. Your body is feeding it from somewhere."

I glance down.

Neryss lowers her voice.

"If that reserve keeps shrinking the blood moon will not be the only danger."

The words settle heavily.

I understand what she means.

The moon is no longer the deadline.

My own body may become the threat long before anything outside the house reaches me.

For years I gave Caedmon pieces of myself because his survival depended on them.

I never stopped to consider what survival would cost me afterwards.

I refuse to let the fear decide what happens next.

"I am not sending for Averic."

Neryss does not argue immediately.

"I can still stand."

"That is not the measure of whether you're safe."

"I know."

I look toward the medical case.

"He sent those supplies without asking permission. I accepted them because they were useful. That doesn't mean I'm inviting him back."

Neryss studies me.

"What if you need more than what is in that case?"

I have no answer for that so I give her the only one I can.

"Then I will decide when that happens."

The boundary I set last night remains intact.

My weakness will not become an excuse for someone else to cross it.

I would rather face the consequences of my own decision than wake one morning and realise that fear made the decision for me.

That night sleep refuses to settle properly.

I drift off, wake, drink water, lie back down, wake again.

Each time my body feels heavier.

At one point my heart begins beating too hard for the stillness of the room.

I sit up, my vision softening around the edges.

I count slowly until it passes.

The child moves again.

That becomes my anchor.

Not Averic.

Not the palace.

Not the council.

My child.

I place my palm over the movement and wait until my breathing steadies.

Eventually the room clears but I remain awake.

There is a difference between surviving an episode and recovering from it.

I am beginning to understand that I have been doing the former while pretending I was doing the latter.

The next morning someone knocks.

Neryss reaches the door first.

It is not a palace servant.

The woman standing outside is the outer-settlement healer.

She carries the same worn medical bag she had during her previous visit.

Her expression tells me she did not come for a social call.

"I heard you've been struggling."

My stomach tightens.

"Who told you?"

"No one from the palace."

She steps inside only after Neryss has checked the road.

"News travels between settlements. A pregnant woman living alone at the edge of the territory who keeps nearly collapsing becomes a subject of conversation."

I almost object to the word collapsing.

Then I remember the previous evening.

The healer looks at me for several seconds.

"Sit."

I obey.

Not because she outranks me.

Because I know I need the examination.

Her examination takes longer than the first one.

She checks my breathing, my pulse, the strength of my wolf essence.

She places two fingers near my wrist, closes her eyes and senses the flow beneath my skin.

Her expression grows increasingly serious.

"What?"

She opens her eyes.

"The damage was never repaired."

I remain still.

"The essence donations you made over the years depleted more than your ordinary reserve. Your body compensated by drawing from deeper stores."

I swallow.

"And now?"

"Your pregnancy is using what remains."

The healer explains that the child is growing normally, but my body is struggling to supply both the pregnancy and itself.

The restorative draughts can slow the decline.

Food can support me.

Rest can preserve what remains.

But none of those things can replace what is missing.

"Without a significant donation of compatible wolf essence," she says, "you will not safely carry this child to term."

I stare at her.

She does not soften the next sentence.

"And if the depletion continues at this rate, you may not survive the next turning of the moon."

For several seconds I hear nothing except the fire.

The healer's words drag an old memory into the room.

Another medical chamber.

Another body failing.

Another decision placed in my hands.

Caedmon had been dying.

I had been carrying my first child.

The healers had told me that giving him what he needed could cost the pregnancy.

I had chosen him.

That choice had ended one life and nearly ended my own.

Now I am standing in almost the same place.

Except there is no Caedmon dying in another room.

There is no Alpha demanding that I sacrifice myself.

There is only me.

My body.

My child.

And a debt left behind by everything I gave away before I learned that love could consume more than it returned.

I touch my stomach.

The child moves.

A small, unmistakable answer.

The healer watches me.

"This time," she says gently, “the decision concerns your life too.”

I close my eyes.

I know.

That is what makes it frightening.

The healer repacks her supplies slowly.

At the door she stops.

"There is something else."

I look up.

She does not speak carelessly.

"There is only one wolf in this territory whose essence is strong enough and compatible enough to reverse the damage at this stage."

I already know the answer before she says it.

"You already know who it is."

My mouth goes dry.

I say nothing.

The healer opens the door.

Before she can step outside the sound of a horse reaches us from the outer road.

One horse.

Not a group.

Not a council escort.

It stops at the same respectful distance the supply carts have maintained.

Neryss turns towards the window.

I remain seated.

I do not need to see the rider to know why my chest has suddenly tightened.

The healer looks from me toward the road.

"You weren't expecting anyone?"

"No."

The horse moves outside.

A familiar presence settles at the edge of my awareness.

Averic has not crossed the boundary.

He has not knocked.

He has not called my name.

But somehow before I asked for him and before I was ready to face him, he is already there.

And this time I know exactly what my body may require from him.