The Nechi's Wife

✣ chapter thirty-three ✣

hello! yes, it's been a year. sorry...but I promised myself and anyone still reading that I'd finish this story. we're crawling to the finish line but hey, we're still in the race!

...

Ayan

"How are you doing, mother-to-be?" Omo asked as she entered my quarters. I could only respond with a weary smile. My body had become so much weaker as the pregnancy had gone along. Even walking around the palace left me breathless. She sat beside my mat, gazing upon me kindly.

"I don't have as much energy today," I murmured.

A knowing look spread across her features. "And you miss him."

I had said the same thing last week. She saw through me.

"Yes, but I can't return to Witylt in this state—" I groaned, inhaling sharply as a rush of pain panged near my ribs.

"Are you alright?" Omo asked.

I nodded as I tried to breath deeply. I could not wait to give birth. "The little one is not gentle..."

She rubbed my stomach reassuringly. A stomch that had grown larger and larger every passing month. Until it had become almost unrecognizable to me. To know that a person was inside—waiting to come out—was beautiful and terrifying.

"Perhaps your husband should come to Mereti instead," Omo said. "It would certainly prove his love for you."

She was right. Why was I so adamant about returning to Arania? It was no longer safe for me to travel. I needed to rest for the little one. "I could write him a letter."

Omo appeared hesitant. "Didn't writing letters get you into trouble before?"

"I only want to inform him I'm with child. He deserves to know," I grumbled. I knew it would not reach him in time for the birth, but hopefully he'd come as soon as he could. I felt sick knowing Flynd was completely unaware of our child. It wasn't right.

"Yes, he ought to know," Omo conceded. After a thoughtful pause, she added, "Write the letter, Ayan. I'd much prefer you stay here." Woefulness crinkled the corners of her happy eyes. "I'm so happy you're home. Safe."

"I'm happy to be reunited as well!" I assured. She laughed softly and patted my hand. I didn't need to defend myself. She understood. She always did.

...

Sir Lorcan

As my horse trotted slowly toward my home, anticipation bubbled in my chest like boiling water. As promised, Flynd had distracted the King, enabling me to steal the quill. After I slipped it into my satchel, I made my way back home. The sun was beginning to set, and I needed to act quickly if I wanted to test it before Ma returned home. She often went to the market after noon to purchase food and visit her friends who vended there, but she could return any moment.

Sliding down my horse, walking down the dusty entryway, and opening the creaky door felt like a dream. The only thing holding me steadfast to reality was the coolness of the quill against my skin as I pulled it from my satchel. This quill—the answer to a pressing, suffocating question. The bridge between ignorance and knowledge.

After I'd noticed Ma's reaction to the quill box, I dropped the matter. I set it by a pile of other trinkets near the hearth. As soon as I left, I immediately regretted this decision. Unfortunately, I needed to attend routine affairs at the palace and could only return once they were finished. Once the question became too large to ignore.

However, my anticipation shriveled into dread as I approached the hearth. Not only was the pile of trinkets missing, so too was the quill box. She had discarded them. She must have. I would never receive the answer to my question. I would never—