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“What happened?” Cypress asks while tossing me a cloth.

I catch it in one hand, then rattle off the details while peeling Juniper’s clothes from her body. Cypress traces her flushed skin while I clean the blood and swaddle her in a blanket.

The centaur works rapidly, pouring something from a miniature carafe down Juniper’s throat, which we get her to swallow while she’s half-conscious. Silvery fluid dribbles from the remains down her chin, and I swipe it with a fresh cloth. The dose seems to work against the pain, because her breathing evens out, and the bleeding stops. But her flesh is hot, and her lips are ashen.

Sylvan lowers herself next to Juniper. The doe curls close enough for my woman to nestle in.

As Juniper rests, Cypress pulls back, gazing at her in confusion. “The sedative will make her comfortable for the time being. For a mortal, it will suffice temporarily, but it is no better than a tonic to a Fae, and it is no solution.” He shakes his head. “I know little of human ailments, so I cannot fathom this one, nor decipher how to remedy it. Though, it seems to be rooted in her womb, which does not make se—”

“She’s pregnant,” I tell him, bunching Juniper’s hands in mine.

Cypress’s head swings my way, his features arrested in shock. Briefly, something else crosses my friend’s face—something as fragile as glass, but it’s gone too quickly to consider it more than a figment of my frenzied mind.

“How is that possible?” he questions.

“The Seeds that Give,” I say. “It happened there, on the night of Middle Moon.” I latch onto his gaze, the dregs of panic filling my mouth. “I can’t lose them, Cypress. I can’t do it.”

He opens his mouth to speak when a faint voice gusts between us. “Puck.”

My attention snaps to Juniper, those green eyes dull and hooded as they glimpse me. Relief floods my stomach. I hunch over, kiss the space between her brows, and stroke her hair.

“Hey there,” I whisper.

Her gaze clings to mine, then travels across the tent to find the centaur and deer hunkered around us. Her words are sluggish, as if she’s speaking around a mouthful of gauze. “Cypress…Sylvan…where…”

“The Heart of Centaurs,” I answer. “You scared the shit out of us.”

“Why? What did I do?”

“Later. You need rest and—”

“My spectacles. My journal.”

The lenses and notebook had slipped from her grasp when she collapsed, and I’d left them in the forest. I’m about to promise I’ll get them for her when my brothers and Juniper’s sisters race into the tent. I can only guess Tímien and the nightingale flew them here. Cove has Juniper’s notebook clutched to her chest, and Lark’s got the spectacles.

“Juniper,” Lark screeches.

“Dear Fables,” Cove exhales as she and Lark huddle around her.

Cerulean and Elixir idle in the periphery, with Cypress clomping backward to join them. My winged sibling retracts his plumes and nods at me. “My father was circling the valley and heard her scream. By the time we reached the glade and saw the blood, you were gone. We checked the cabin first, but it was clear where you had gone.”

Cerulean casts Juniper a concerned look. Elixir furrows his black brows as he listens to the commotion and inhales the residue of blood.

Only his presence would get me to budge from my woman’s side. If Cypress can’t say what’s wrong, Elixir’s the only other option.

I squeeze Juniper’s hands, then release her and launch off the ground. Stalking his way, I mutter under my breath, “Cure her.”

Elixir’s gaze strays toward me, a mind-blowing gleam of empathy reflected there, which has less to do with visceral reflexes and everything to do with the human he loves, how she’s influenced him. “If I can, I shall. But my brews are not fully restored.”

“Your mixtures only poison or cure, right? Then cure her. Whatever it takes.” My words grow hoarse. “Please.”

“You do not need to ask.”

Elixir places a hand on my shoulder, then his attention seeks out Cove. He follows the sound of her intakes, snaking past me and lowering himself on his haunches before the small group. My brother’s black mane falls over his shoulders, and his scales ripple with light as he inclines his head to Juniper. “May I?”

Lucidity clears the fog from Juniper’s features—all but her irises, which have lost their luster. She’s fully conscious now, though wan and beading with sweat. She leans up on her elbows, her voice threadbare. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

“We don’t know yet,” I say, striding to her and sinking to the ground.