The second child had turned.
Heila kept her hands where they were, and she kept her face very still, because Olwyna was watching her and Olwyna could not be allowed to see what she felt.
In the hours before dawn, the child had lain head-down beside their sister, exactly where they ought to be. Now, with their sister gone and room to move at last, the babe had shifted. Their head was high beneath Olwyna's ribs, and their little feet were pointed down toward the world.
Every midwife in every village in the Vale knew what that meant. Babes who came feet-first came hard, and slow, and far too often, they didn't come alive. Sometimes they took their mothers with them.
"Lady Heila?" Morwen whispered, her face creased with worry.
Heila didn't answer her. She was listening to the second heartbeat. It was quick, still, but she could feel the strain in it, the way a bird's wings beat faster when it's frightened.
The child didn't have long.
