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“I need room,” Elixir instructs.

Cove ushers Lark from their sister, but I’m not moving. Neither does Elixir ask me to as he braces his hands on Juniper’s stomach, feeling her contours through the blanket. The bronze caps on his fingers twitch, and he closes his eyes.

Juniper’s hand steals out for mine, her fingers clammy and digging into my palm. Our pulses smash together. I know her fear like she knows my own, because it’s the same one.

Everyone in the room goes still, apart from Sylvan bristling her tail in agitation. Elixir’s eyelids wince, then flare open. Gold floods the room, but the sheen isn’t blinding. It’s aware—and disturbed.

If my brother’s one thing, it’s direct. “Your child,” he says to Juniper, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him sound this ominous. “It’s depleting your strength.”

“What does that mean?” Cove asks, her lisp thickening.

“How the hell can that be happening?” Lark demands.

Juniper’s face pinches with dread. “It means the child is too powerful for me.”

“Because she’s human,” I grate out.

Elixir nods. “The embryo is likely divided, equally mortal and immortal. But its form is robust, as powerful as any Fae. So when I listen to your body, the flow of your blood and the tempo of your heart, I hear them faltering. This wasn’t the case when I first detected your condition. The change must be new.”

“Meaning?” Cerulean insists from beside Lark.

Juniper glances at me. “Meaning I’m not…I won’t be able to…”

She won’t be able to carry the kid. Not through to the end. They’re linked, so it’s not a question of one or the other.

If she dies, they both die.

Every ounce of blood inside me drops to my limbs. Just last night, she’d been petrified of not being able to protect our kid from this world. Not once had we considered we’d have to protect them from Juniper as well, from her inability to bear their power.

Timbers crackle, sparks dashing from the fire. Outside, the willows shiver throughout The Heart of Centaurs. The ambience should be a comfort in neutral territory, but right now, it reminds me of a reptilian shudder, like a snake hissing.

“Elixir.” My head clicks over to him. “Tell me you have something for this.”

But he makes no reply. Instead, his metallic orbs dim.

“Cypress?” I press, swerving to my friend.

The centaur’s face twists in misery. “Such a restorative is unheard of…” But then his expression transforms, the pleats flattening. “Wait. Elixir, if there were indeed an ingredient that could aid Juniper, would you be able to distill its properties?”

Elixir considers the question. “My reserves are limited. Chances are high, it would need to be the sole ingredient necessary.”

“It would be.”

“In that case, yes.”

“Then there might be a way.”

Everyone veers toward Cypress as he explains, “There is a plant that may help Juniper. Its extract could provide her with the fortitude to bear the infant safely. Moreover, it would create a protective coating around the womb, like a wall of muscle. If anything happened to Juniper from then on, this would barricade the embryo from harm and enable us to extract it, then plant it in The Seeds that Give. No matter what, that would ensure its survival.”

“Like a backup,” Juniper interprets.

“You won’t need a backup because I’ll kill anyone who tries to get near you,” I tell her.

Cypress flattens his palm in a mollifying gesture. “In any case, this plant will help, Fables willing.” But he wavers and glances at Elixir. “It is a botanical magnifier.”

My brother’s face ticks, as if debating Cypress’s meaning. But a second later, Elixir’s eyes radiate in understanding. “Magnifier,” he repeats, the word heavy on his tongue.

My best friend nods. “The very one.”