The candles had burned down to stubs twice since midnight, and Heila had stopped counting the hours.
She stood on the wooden step Emmie had dragged to the side of the bed so that she could reach while her small hands rested on the great curve of Olwyna's belly, and she listened. Not with her ears. She listened with the faint silver-green glow that spilled from her palms, sinking down through skin and muscle to the two small lives beneath.
Two heartbeats. Quick and fluttering, like birds in a cage.
Still beating strong.
"Breathe, Lady Olwyna," Heila murmured. "Slowly. Let it pass."
Olwyna's fingers tightened on the sheets until her knuckles went white. Her chestnut hair was plastered to her brow with sweat, and her face had gone the color of old linen. She breathed, the way Heila had taught her, long and slow through the worst of it, and when the pain finally ebbed, she sagged back against the pillows with a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh.
