Novar woke up feeling sick. She barely made it outside her hut before vomiting into the bushes behind it, heaving until her stomach was empty and her throat burned.
'Not again,' she thought, wiping her mouth with shaking hands.
Third morning in a row. Three mornings of waking nauseous, barely able to keep anything down until midday. Three mornings of feeling strange and foreign in her own body.
She stumbled back inside her hut and sat heavily on her bed, hands trembling as she pressed them against her stomach.
Other signs too, now that she was paying attention. Breasts tender when she moved. Exhaustion that sleep did not cure. Emotions volatile, crying at small things that normally would not affect her. And her cycle, which should have come days ago, conspicuously absent.
'No. Please, no.'
But even as she denied it, she knew. Deep in her bones, in some ancient feminine knowledge that transcended conscious thought, she knew.
She was pregnant. With Axel's child.
The man who had killed her father.
The man who was now her chief.
The man she could not stop thinking about despite everything.
---
The realization sat heavy on her chest as morning progressed. She tried to eat breakfast and could not. Tried to focus on her usual tasks and found her mind wandering. Tried to convince herself she was wrong and failed utterly.
By afternoon, she could not bear the uncertainty anymore. She needed confirmation. Needed to hear it from someone who would know for certain.
She found Kerra at her healing hut, working with dried herbs and preparing medicines.
"I need to speak with you," Novar said quietly. "Privately."
Kerra's experienced eyes saw something immediately. "Come inside, child."
The older woman closed the hide door behind them, creating privacy. Novar sat on a woven mat, hands clasped tightly in her lap to stop them shaking.
"Tell me your symptoms," Kerra said gently.
"Morning sickness. Three days now. I can barely eat until midday."
"What else?"
"My breasts are tender. I am exhausted all the time. I cry over nothing." Novar swallowed hard. "And my cycle is late. Should have come six days ago."
Kerra nodded slowly, already knowing. "When was your last intimacy?"
"Ten days ago. With... with Axel. The day before my father died."
"And you have been with no one else?"
"No one. Ever. He was my first."
Kerra's expression softened with compassion. She moved closer, taking Novar's wrist to check her pulse. Fast and fluttery. She looked into her eyes, checked the color of her tongue, gently palpated her lower abdomen. Very early still, but Kerra had delivered babies for forty years. She knew the signs.
"You already know the answer, child," Kerra said finally, sitting back. "Why do you ask me?"
"Because I need to hear it from someone else. Need it to be real."
"You are with child. Perhaps ten days along, maybe twelve. Very early, but the signs are unmistakable."
The words hung in the air between them, making it undeniably real. Novar's hands moved to her stomach, pressing against the flat surface that would soon swell with life.
"What do I do?" Her voice came out small, frightened.
"You tell the father. You tell the chief. You decide how you want to face this."
"My father's grandchild," Novar whispered. "Fathered by the man who killed him. What kind of story is that?"
Kerra took her hands gently. "It is a complicated story. But it is also a story of life continuing despite death. Of hope emerging from tragedy. That child is innocent of all the circumstances of their creation."
"The tribe will talk. Some will judge."
"Some will. But most will celebrate. A chief's heir provides stability. Continuity. Hope for the future." Kerra squeezed her hands. "And you forget, child. You are not just anyone. You are the former chief's daughter. If you frame this as a blessing, as honoring your father's legacy through his grandchild, many will accept it."
Novar thought about that, turning it over in her mind. Political framing. Strategic announcement. Her father had taught her these things, even if he had never expected her to use them quite like this.
"It is politically important," she said slowly, mind working through implications. "The chief having an heir. Especially one who carries the old chief's blood. It legitimizes his rule. Bridges past and future."
"Exactly. You understand these things. Your father raised you well."
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Kerra spoke again, practical as always.
"I will give you herbs for the nausea. They will help some, though morning sickness is natural and healthy. Shows the pregnancy is strong." She began mixing a preparation. "Eat small amounts throughout the day rather than large meals. Rest when you need to. Your body is doing hard work right now."
"How long until others notice?"
"A few weeks before you start showing. Maybe a month. But morning sickness is hard to hide if people are watching closely."
"Then I need to tell him soon. And announce it to the tribe. Before gossip and speculation start."
"When will you tell him?"
Novar took a deep breath. "Tonight. The mourning period ends at sunset. I will tell him tonight."
---
She spent the rest of the afternoon in her hut, processing everything. Sala came to check on her, concerned by her withdrawn behavior.
"What is wrong?" her friend asked, sitting beside her on the bed.
Novar broke down then, telling her everything. The symptoms, the visit to Kerra, the confirmation. Sala listened without judgment, holding her friend's hand through the tears.
"What are you going to do?" Sala asked finally.
"I have to tell him. Tonight."
"How do you feel about him? Truly?"
Novar was quiet for a long time, thinking about the question seriously. "I do not hate him anymore. I thought I would, thought I should, but I do not." She looked at Sala. "I have been watching him these past days. The way he works, the way he teaches, the way he thinks about tomorrow and next season. He is trying to be good. Trying to do right by the tribe. That matters."
"But do you love him?"
"I do not know. I do not think so. Not yet." Novar touched her stomach. "But maybe I could. Is that terrible? Is it wrong to think I could fall for the man who killed my father?"
"I do not know if it is wrong," Sala said honestly. "But I know it is human. And I know that child deserves parents who try to care for each other, who build something good from something complicated."
They sat together as afternoon turned toward evening, Sala's presence a comfort in the chaos of Novar's thoughts.
---
The evening brought the formal end to the mourning period. The tribe gathered at the sacred spot where Tovar's ashes had been scattered, a small ceremony marking the transition from grief to acceptance.
Novar spoke final words to her father's spirit, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.
"Father, thank you for your protection and guidance. I am sorry for how things ended. I ask for your blessing for what comes next, for the path I must walk that you never imagined." She paused, hand moving unconsciously to her stomach. "Guide me as I navigate what lies ahead."
The elders formally declared the mourning complete. Life could return to normal. Novar was no longer bound by mourning restrictions.
The evening meal was subdued but warmer than previous nights. The tribe gathering around the fire, sharing food from yesterday's successful hunt. Axel spoke briefly about the visible crop growth, excitement in his voice as he described what they would see in coming weeks.
Novar watched him from across the fire. The way he spoke with enthusiasm but not arrogance. The way he included others in his vision. The way children leaned in to listen, unafraid, and warriors nodded with respect.
'He is building something. Actually building, not just taking.'
After the meal, as people dispersed to evening activities, she caught his attention across the firelight. Their eyes met, and she tilted her head slightly toward the edge of the village. A signal.
He understood immediately, nodding subtly. He waited a few minutes, speaking casually with Dren, then excused himself and followed.