Marie climbed back onto the bed, her expression unreadable, jaw tight as she knelt beside Jasmine's still, broken body. Blood soaked the sheets, the scent thick and metallic, mingling with sweat and the sharp sting of herbal salves that hadn't even been used yet.
She exhaled, settling both hands on Jasmine's womb.
"Keep the towels ready," she said without looking back. Her voice was low, grim. "This won't be clean."
Ned stood frozen for a moment, but Loren, flinched him back to life.
"You have to be firm Ned." Loren reprimanded.
He grabbed one of the steaming bowls and began soaking the fresh cloths brought by the maids, his fingers trembling.
Marie's lips moved, and with each word, the air around her shimmered.
The old tongue. Ancient magic.
Her eyes flickered silver as her hands glowed faintly blue.
Then—Jasmine's body arched.
Not violently, but like something inside her stirred and jerked in protest.
