Tetsu.

  The giant of a boy stood heaving in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with uncharacteristic panic. “She’s—she’s—” He tried to speak, but his voice cracked under the weight of urgency.

  Llana’s brow creased instantly, her eyes flicking to the splintered doorway. “Tch” she clicked her tongue just under her breath, scanning the crooked nails and sagging wood scattered across the floor. It was evident this wasn't the first time the door had been broken down in such a manner.

  Her attention soon snapped back to Tetsu. “Well, what are you waiting for? Lay her down.”

  Tetsu rushed forward, easing the woman—Usra—onto the center cot as gently as he could manage for his size. Her breaths came in short, erratic bursts, and sweat clung to her brow despite the cold.

  Chase stood frozen nearby until her eyes fell on the woman’s stomach. A large swollen lump protruded from her midsection.

  The woman’s face was flushed a violent red. Tears streaked her cheeks. And wrapped tight around her waist was a deep velvet kirtle that looked painfully constrictive.

  Llana’s tone snapped sharp.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking. Get me some moon dates and remon. Pantry—second shelf.”

  Chase startled. “O-okay”

  As she scrambled toward the back of the room, a howl ripped through the air—raw and guttural. Llana was already at the woman’s side, kneeling by the bed with both hands on her.

  “Usra,” Llana said gently, shifting her tone to something steadier—softer. “I need you to hold on for just a little longer, alright?”

  She reached for the bindings on the woman’s dress, working quickly to unravel them.

  “What were you thinking?” she muttered as her fingers moved. “Wearing something like this with a baby nearly at the gate—are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  The woman didn’t respond—she couldn’t. Her voice was gone to the pain.

  Chase returned then, awkwardly carrying a heavy ceramic bowl filled to the brim with obsidian-colored fruit. In her other hand was a jar of pale yellow paste.

  Llana turned to her. Stared.

  “I said some,” she snapped. “Are you trying to anesthetize her or send her into a coma?”

  Chase recoiled instinctively, clutching the bowl tighter. “I thought I’d bring it all so you could pick how mu—”

  She was cut off as Llana snatched a handful of the moon dates from the bowl, then dipped two fingers into the jar of paste, scooping a modest amount before shoving the rest of the ingredients back into Chase’s arms.

  “Set those down. Not there! God—by the hearth.”

  Chase did as she was told, though she hardly prevent her hands from quaking in panic.

  Llana moved quickly, grabbing one of the empty mixing bowls from the cart beside the cot. Her hands worked fast—crushing the fruit, folding in the paste, swirling it into a thick, pulpy substance that darkened into a deep purple hue. The smell of lavender blossomed almost immediately, heavy in the cabin air.

  She lifted the bowl to Usra’s lips.

  “Small sips,” Llana said calmly, brushing the woman’s soaked hair back from her brow.

  She didn’t allow anyone time to appreciate the scent. Without ceremony, Llana grabbed a fistful of the paste from the bowl and pressed her hand over the woman’s mouth, squeezing the mixture inside with a firmness Chase couldn’t help but flinch at. She looked on, vaguely horrified. That couldn't have been sanitary.

  But Llana was already wiping her hands clean on a towel, then reaching to clasp the woman's trembling hand.

  “That should help with the pain,” she said, her tone softening as she steadied her voice for the harder part. “But this next part isn’t going to be easy.”

  Her eyes moved slowly over the woman's face.

  “You're going to have to start pushing now. Don’t think about anything else. Just that. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  The woman managed a sharp, uneven nod, her breath catching as another contraction rolled through her like a wave of fire.

  “Is there anything I can—”

  “Nothing now.” Llana cut off Tetsu without looking at him, her words precise and final.

  The giant nodded, falling silent with a stiffness that spoke to how useless he felt. His hands clenched and unclenched as he hovered near the bed, trying not to hover too close.

  Then—

  A sudden shout echoed from outside the front door.

  Llana's eyes snapped toward the frame. “Chase! Close that damn thing. We can’t have any idiot barging in here, regardless of how many splinters or paper cuts they have.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Chase jumped, rushing toward the crooked doorframe—

  “Chamberlain! Please, you need not involve yourself with such domestic matters of the village. Though we are profoundly thankful for your concern—”

  The Chief’s voice cut through the air like a sudden chill, smooth and saccharine as ever.

  Llana’s brow creased. Her fury drained in an instant. She lifted a hand sharply.

  “Wait.”

  Chase froze mid-step.

  Then, another voice—one not from the village.

  “Nonsense, Chief Deta. How could I be so cruel as to not accommodate such unpredictable circumstances? It would be utterly shameful for me to lack concern for the woman. And, after all, continuing the meeting without her would be a most pointless endeavor.”

  Llana winced.

  Then, through the gap in the door, waddled a stranger. A round man, with a gait both pompous and measured, like every step he took was being recorded for posterity. He wore a fine wool coat that looked entirely unsuited to the rough mountain air. His mustache was thick and comically oiled, and a gold-chained monocle hung precariously low between his left ear and eye.

  He looked around the room with raised brows, ignoring the tension like it had been set there for his benefit.

  “Pardon my sudden intrusion,” he said grandly, voice full of performative courtesy. “But may I be so bold as to inquire after the health of the young woman?”

  He took a step further inside, his eyes peering in with mild interest—though his eyes didn’t linger long on the object of his supposed concern.

  His gaze drifted from the woman writhing in pain—briefly, as he scanned the rest of the room. Then, he walked in. Doing so as though his presence were a favor, a gift everyone was too simple to properly appreciate.

  Near instantaneously, Llana spun around, turning her back to the man as she reached for the cart beside the bed, rattling through jars of herbs with sudden purpose. Her movements were sharp, deliberate—but too much so. Chase blinked, confused at the abrupt shift. Her brows knitted as she glanced from the Chamberlain to Llana and back again.

  Tetsu tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. Though, truthfully, it was hard to tell if the look came from confusion… or simply his usual way of processing things.

  “Sh-she’s in quite the critical stage at the moment,” Llana said, her voice suddenly laced with breathless urgency. She didn’t turn around as she spoke, her words a little too carefully enunciated. “So I apologize for being unable to give you the proper greeting, sir Chamberlain.”

  Oddly, her tone was different. Quieter, thinner—not the clipped and commanding voice Chase was used to.

  “This matter requires my full attention,” Llana added quickly, grabbing a white cloth from beneath the bed and draping it carefully over the woman’s lower half. “I hope you understand.”

  The Chamberlain paused. His monocled eye narrowed behind its lens as he watched the motion of her arms, the careful bounce of her ponytail.

  For a moment, his expression slipped—something sour curling at the edge of his lips.

  But only for a moment.

  “Of course! You must be the village healer,” he said, his voice lifting into a performance of good cheer. “I’ve heard much of your competence from Chief Deta.”

  Llana’s hands tightened slightly on the edge of the cart as the man spoke.

  “Please, please,” the Chamberlain continued, making a show of glancing around the cramped room. “Pretend as though I’m not even here.”

  The man chuckled as he stroked his moustache, his gaze falling on the laboring woman—now markedly quieter since his arrival. Her breaths came sharp and shallow, as though she were swallowing the pain for his sake. Her hands gripped the sheets, knuckles pale, and yet she made no sound. Only her eyes moved—fluttering between him and Llana, as if there were something she wanted to say… but couldn’t.

  “Ahem. I see you’ve already found your way to our healer’s residence,” came the Village Chief’s voice, hurried and tight. He stepped into the doorway, his smile barely holding shape beneath the sheen of sweat that had begun to gather on his brow. “Of course, of course, I should’ve expected such… thorough concern on your part, Chamberlain.”

  He scanned the room, landing briefly on Llana’s turned back. For a moment, their eyes met—just a flicker—and that was enough.

  Get him out.

  The Chief swallowed. “Ch-Chamberlain Edgar! I understand your concern, but truly, this is no place for a delegate of the capital! A delicate matter, you see—very delicate indeed. I must insist that you take your well-earned rest. We can reconvene first thing in the morning—fresh minds, fresh thoughts—”

  “Chief Deta.” The Chamberlain’s voice came crisp and cold, the courteous tone gone without ceremony.

  The Village Chief flinched, caught mid-sentence.

  “I do appreciate your eagerness to protect my dignity,” Edgar continued, his round face folding into a smile far too practiced. “But I believe I made my wishes quite plain. Did I not?”

  There was something in his posture—his leisurely poise, the way he fiddled with his monocle—that made his authority all the more grating. A man who didn’t need to bark to command a room. And worse, knew it.

  The Chief bowed his head, jaw tight. “R-right, of course. My apologies, I only meant—”

  “Excuse me,” a soft voice sounded suddenly from just below the Chamberlain’s elbow.

  He looked down, finding a pair of eyes, wide and gleaming gold as they stared back up at him. The eyes belonged to a young girl, her hair a snow-white pelt of silk hanging over her shoulders.

  The Chamberlain blinked.

  So did she.

  And then, with a slight furrow of her brow and a tilt of her head, she asked:

  “Are you the Monopoly Man or something?” Her eyes brimmed with curiosity.

  Silence overtook the room. Even Usra’s panting seemed to pause, like the air itself had been knocked sideways.

  The Chamberlain opened his mouth. Closed it again.

  “I… beg your pardon?” he said finally, blinking as though he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her correctly.

  Chase’s expression didn’t waver. She looked at him intently, as though still waiting for his answer.

  “I’m sorry,” Edgar said again, crouching slightly now, a bemused smile creeping onto his face. “A monopoly… man? I confess I’m unfamiliar with the term. Is that a sort of—title?”

  Chase frowned. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “It just felt like it fit you.”

  There was something honest in her tone—so simple and unpolished that it disarmed even the Chamberlain. An amused smile grew ever so slightly on his face.

  “And you are?” he asked gently, peering at her now with more charm than scrutiny.

  Chase lifted her chin. “Chase.”

  “Chase,” Edgar repeated, tasting the name. “How unusual. A lovely name indeed.”

  Behind him, the Village Chief shifted anxiously on his feet. Llana, too, had glanced back from her place at the bedside—her gaze locked firmly on Chase now, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. There was no doubt she was listening.

  “And you belong to the healer, I presume?” Edgar asked, still crouched, one brow lifting beneath the glint of his monocle.

  “Belong?” Chase echoed, frowning. “I’m not a sheep.”

  That drew a soft snort from Tetsu in the corner, though he caught himself almost immediately.

  “My apologies,” the Chamberlain said smoothly, rising back to his full height. “You’re her apprentice, then. A charming one at that.” His eyes lingered just a little too long. “Your hair—such a peculiar shade. Has anyone ever told you it’s quite... regal? It almost reminds me of the ancient portraits in the capital.”

  Chase blinked. “Portraits?”

  The Chamberlain’s smile curled wider. “Yes, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd told me you were a princess.”

  Behind him, Llana’s knuckles tensed white around the edge of the cart.

  The Chamberlain turned his head slightly—more of a glance than anything—as if remembering she was there at all. “And your mentor clearly hasn't told you much of the capital. A curious pair, the two of you.”

  He smiled again, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes this time.