Page 3

RONNIE

I wake up to a familiar churning in my stomach, the fifth morning in a row. Stumbling from my bed, I barely make it to the bucket in the corner of my bedroom before the meager contents of my stomach vacate in an undignified rush.

"Goddess above," I mutter, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Nothing's staying down—not the dry toast I forced myself to eat last night, not even the meadowmint tea I hoped would settle my rebellious insides.

The wooden floorboards creak beneath my knees as I push myself upright, ignoring how the room spins.

This sickness came on suddenly, with no warning, and shows no signs of relenting.

I splash water on my face from the small basin, avoiding my reflection in the mirror above it.

I already know what I'll see—skin paler than usual, making my freckles stand out like splattered mud, dark circles shadowing my gray eyes.

I need to open the shop. People depend on my supplies, and I'm the only merchant for miles who stocks certain essentials. I can't afford a day of rest, not when the trading routes have been disrupted by the increased xaphan presence in the region. The irony of that thought isn't lost on me.

The walk downstairs to my small shopfront feels like scaling a mountain.

I unlock the front door with trembling hands, flipping the hand-carved sign to announce I'm open for business.

Morning sunlight slants through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and shelves lined with practical necessities—preserved foods, medicines, tools, lantern oil, and the various odds and ends that keep a village functioning.

My first customer arrives just as I finish arranging a new shipment of dreelk leaves. Mrs. Hemming, with her perpetual frown and sharp eyes that miss nothing.

"Morning, Rosalind." She's the only one who still uses my full name, a reminder of my aunt who raised me with indifferent hands but rigid formalities.

"Mrs. Hemming." I nod, fighting the wave of nausea that rises when I catch a whiff of her floral perfume. "What can I get for you?"

She sets her basket on the counter. "Quillnash, if you've any fresh. And that tincture for my husband's joints."

I turn to fetch the items, hoping my unsteadiness isn't obvious. The shelves seem to swim before my eyes as I reach for the bottle of joint remedy.

"You look terrible," Mrs. Hemming declares, never one to soften her observations. "Pale as death warmed over."

"Just tired." I set her purchases on the counter, concentrating on not swaying. "Trade route delays have me working late."

She sniffs, unconvinced. "Working late, or entertaining that xaphan who visits you?"

Heat flares in my cheeks despite my weakness. Of course people notice. In a village this small, nothing stays secret.

"That'll be twelve lummi." I deliberately ignore her implication.

Mrs. Hemming counts out the coins with deliberate slowness. "You're ill, girl. Anyone with eyes can see it."

"I'm fine." I push her purchases toward her, desperate for her to leave before I embarrass myself by vomiting in front of her.

The doorbell chimes as she finally exits, but before I can gather myself, it rings again. Kai Willowbark enters, her arms filled with bundles of herbs. As our village healer, she's always gathering something for her remedies.

"Morning, Ronnie," she greets, her voice warm and melodic. Unlike most, Kai never judges. Perhaps because she's seen people at their worst—in sickness, in pain, in death. "I've brought those brimbark stalks you wanted to stock."

"Thank you." I gesture to the counter, not trusting myself to walk over. "Just set them there."

Kai pauses, her head tilting as her gaze sweeps over me. At forty-something, she wears her silver-streaked dark hair in a long braid, and her brown eyes miss nothing. Those eyes narrow now as she studies me.

"You're sick," she says simply, setting down her bundles and crossing to me in three quick strides. Her cool hand presses against my forehead. "No fever, but you're clammy. How long?"

"It's nothing," I insist, stepping back from her touch. "A passing thing."

"Five days isn't passing." The voice comes from the doorway where Tomas, the carpenter's son, stands with sawdust still clinging to his clothes.

He's one of my only friends—though his disapproval of Araton has started to drive a wedge between us.

"She's been green around the gills since last week.

Been watching her rush outside to heave when she thinks nobody's looking. "

I glare at him. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Just came for nails," Tomas says, unbothered by my anger. "And maybe to make sure you don't collapse on your customers."

Kai's expression grows more concerned. "Five days of vomiting? Any other symptoms?"

"I'm fine." I move to straighten a display of lantern oil, hoping physical activity will distract them. "Just something I ate disagreeing with me."

"For five days?" Kai follows me, undeterred. "Exhaustion? Dizziness?"

I sigh, recognizing the healer's tenacity. "Maybe a little."

"She nearly fainted yesterday bringing in a crate," adds Eloise, our elderly seamstress, who apparently entered while I was distracted by my misery. "Had to sit with her head between her knees for ten minutes."

"Thank you for the privacy," I mutter, mortified as more customers filter in, all suddenly experts on my health.

"Let me examine you," Kai says, her voice dropping to a level only I can hear. "Whatever it is, it's not improving on its own."

"I can't close the shop," I protest weakly.

"I'll mind it," offers Eloise. "Done it before when you traveled for supplies."

Trapped by their concern, I finally nod. Kai guides me to the small storeroom at the back of the shop, her arm steady around my waist. The irony isn't lost on me—I've spent a lifetime avoiding dependence on others, yet here I am, too weak to argue.

"Sit," she commands, closing the door behind us. The small space is crowded with crates and barrels, but there's a stool in the corner where I sometimes rest between restocking shelves.

I perch on it, feeling oddly vulnerable as Kai kneels before me, her experienced hands checking my pulse at the wrist.

"When did this start exactly?" she asks, fingers moving to press gently beneath my jaw, checking for swollen glands.

"About a week ago. Just woke up queasy." I swallow hard as another wave of nausea rolls through me. "Thought it would pass."

Kai's hands move to my abdomen, pressing gently. "Any pain here?"

"No. Just the nausea and dizziness." I close my eyes as she continues her examination. "And exhaustion. I can barely keep my eyes open past sundown."

"Hmm." Her fingers press more deliberately now, moving lower on my abdomen. "And when was your last bleeding?"

The question catches me off guard. I open my mouth to answer, then close it. I try to remember, counting backwards through the weeks. A cold realization washes over me.

"I... I'm not sure," I admit, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. "With the trade disruptions and extra inventory work, I haven't been keeping track."

Kai says nothing, but her eyes meet mine with a look that sends ice through my veins.

"It can't be that," I whisper, panic rising. "It's impossible."

Even as I say the words, I know they're a lie. Nothing is impossible, especially not with a xaphan who visits monthly like clockwork—whose heat I welcomed into my body without precaution, believing that we couldn't…right? Their magic surely wouldn't be suited for a human body.

"Let me finish examining you before we jump to conclusions," Kai says, her voice calm and professional. But I can see it in her eyes—the same suspicion that's now screaming in my mind.

Kai's hands move with practiced efficiency, checking my lymph nodes, listening to my heart with a small wooden amplifier pressed to my chest. Each silent nod, each thoughtful hum from her throat, only tightens the knot of dread forming in my stomach.

"Take a deep breath for me," she instructs, her weathered hands warm against my back.

I comply, my mind racing ahead of her diagnosis. The missed cycles I'd attributed to stress. The exhaustion I'd blamed on long hours. The nausea I'd convinced myself was just a stubborn stomach ailment.

"Ronnie." Kai sits back on her heels, her brown eyes gentle but unflinching. "I need to ask you a more direct question about your relationship with the xaphan."

My jaw tightens. "His name is Araton."

"With Araton, then." She doesn't flinch at my defensiveness. "When was the last time you were... intimate?"

The heat crawls up my neck despite my best efforts. "A week ago. He comes through on the same route each month."

"And before that?"

"The month before. And the month before that." I look away, focusing on a crack in the storeroom wall. "It's been going on for about a year."

Kai nods, processing this information with clinical detachment. "And there's been no one else?"

The question stings more than it should. My eyes snap back to hers. "No."

"I had to ask." Her voice softens, but her gaze remains steady. "Based on all the symptoms and what I can feel... Ronnie, you're pregnant. About three months along, I'd estimate."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I've known it was coming—have suspected it since she first began her examination—but hearing it spoken aloud makes it real in a way I wasn't prepared for.

"That's not possible," I whisper, even as my hand instinctively moves to my still-flat abdomen. "Humans and xaphan can't?—"

"Oh, they can." Kai rises, her knees cracking slightly. She's seen everything in her years as our village healer, but even she can't keep the concern from her eyes. "They just usually choose not to."

My mind flashes to the villagers outside, to Mrs. Hemming's judgmental stare, to the whispers that have followed me since Araton first stepped into my shop with that insufferable smirk and golden eyes that seemed to see right through me.

The village barely tolerates my monthly "visitor" as it is. A half-xaphan child would be?—

I can't even complete the thought.

"You're certain it's his?" Kai asks, her voice carefully neutral.

The question lands like a slap. My gray eyes narrow, and I feel the familiar anger rising—the defensive wall I've built since childhood.

"Yes, I'm certain it's his," I snap, standing too quickly and grabbing the wall as dizziness sweeps over me. "Contrary to what this village thinks, I'm not spreading my legs for just anyone who passes through."

Kai doesn't react to my crudeness. "I meant no offense. I only ask because if there were any... human possibility, the situation might be less complicated."

The bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. "When has my life ever been uncomplicated?"

She gives me a small, sad smile. "Fair point."

I sink back onto the stool, suddenly exhausted beyond measure.

The shop feels miles away, though it's just beyond the thin storeroom door.

Out there is a world that has never quite accepted me—the sharp-tongued orphan who keeps to herself and now apparently beds xaphan.

What will they say when my belly swells with the evidence?

"What am I going to do?" I whisper, hating the vulnerability in my voice, the tremble in my hands.

Kai doesn't offer platitudes or easy solutions. Instead, she kneels again, taking my cold hands in her warm ones. "First, you need to take better care of yourself. Proper food, rest. I'll mix you something for the nausea that's safe for the baby."

The baby. The words make it even more real.

"And then?" I ask, meeting her gaze.

"Then you decide what comes next." Her grip tightens slightly. "But whatever you decide, you don't have to face it alone."

Alone. It's all I've ever been. Even with Araton's monthly visits, I've kept him at arm's length, refusing to acknowledge what happens between us as anything more than physical release. I've never allowed myself to need anyone.

Now my body harbors irrefutable evidence of connection—proof that no matter how high I build my walls, I'm not truly separate from the world around me.