Her Jewels hung heavy around her neck. Stored in rich velvet, nestled against each other; heavy and empty. The healer had drained them for her again, and promised, again, that it wouldn’t be long now. Soon Winnie would not have to watch, and feel - that was the worst part, the feeling - her Jewels drained of vitality. Soon she would be rid of the heavy, but not empty, weight she carried.
Her fingers kneaded the tight skin, chasing a foot away from her kidney. Soon. Oh how she ached! Her feet throbbing as she walked the winding path back to her cottage. She shared it with no one but her little maid girl. Sweet as a lamb and twice as biddable. But ugly, the poor unfortunate. Winnie preferred it that way. ”Soon.” She told her baby with a pat to its bottom, politely turned up under her ribs.
With a wary look at the darkening clouds on the horizon, Winnie turned the corner. The path wound up and around, curling between pastures and orchards as it climbed the mountain side. She had walked it some many times, Winnie could close her eyes and never step off the path. Sometimes she did just that, face tipped up to the warm sun, hands holding her belly as her back strained at the weight.
Today she kept her eyes open and walked swiftly as she could, swaying with each step.
Quicker than she had ever seen a storm roll in over the mountains, it came. Dark clouds chased by lightening, whiter than a bride’s veil. It turned the sky from black to silver, etching the clouds with blue fire. The thunder nearly knocked her from her feet. The air concussing her, the ground trembling. The air was fractious, whistling through the trees and rattling the wooden fence slats. Worse, the rain started in a drenching downpour.
”Mother Night.” She fretted, rubbing her stomach with one hand and her back with the other. She never had liked storms. They were dangerous in the mountains. Quick to flood or snow in. The weather was fickle and vindictive so close to the sky. Winnie was wet through in moments. Hair slicked to her scalp, weighted down until it tore loose from its bun. Her dress clung, skirts slapping around her legs, too wet to fly in the wind.
Desperate, she cut through a field. A short cut she often took when she was too tired or too lazy to take the whole road back to her cottage. The path was long because it wound, gentle where it could have been short but taxing by simply going straight up. Just then a harder walk seemed more prudent than an easy one.
She was half way across the the mile when the pain started. The dull ache in her back growing sharper. Her stomach tensing, already tight. Skin taut over muscle that flexed. It stole her breath. Rain dragging her down, wind battering her. Winnie groaned, turning her shoulders into the wind and wading forward through the grass.
By the time she stumbled into the ditch, Winnie was bent double. All she could do was pant. Breathing in as much rain as air. She wasn’t even sure if she was going the right direction anymore. Chilled and coughing, Winnie shrieked as the grass gave way to mud, and the mud gave way beneath her. She stumbled and then slid into the ditch.
Around her the storm only grew. Rain running through the grass, into the mud and down into the ditch with Winnie, where she screamed. She’d been screaming since she fell. It wasn’t just the gut wrenching pain that rippled across her stomach and around her back. But the sharp, searing agony in her leg, and the wet hurt at her temple. They’d filled the ditch with stones dug up from garden rows.
By the end her screams were nothing more than ragged whispers. No help came as she was ripped open and emptied out. The world fading in and out around her. Dark then bright, but always wet and loud. Water deepening. It swept the blood down the mountainside. Winnie’s blood, potent with her least used caste. And then the world grew hushed so the small cries could be heard. Possessing all the strength her mother lacked.
Winnie held her close. Laying her over the velvet bag her Jewels rested in. Empty and twice as useless now that she could use them. Now when she really needed them. So she used the craft of her body. The power inherent in her blood, the amount that did not spill out, overflowing into her Jewels. Winnie wrapped her in a shawl from her cabinet and a warming spell. And then wrapped that in a shield to keep the damning damp of the rain out.
And still her blood spilled down among the rocks. Joining the growing torrent that swept it away, feeding the land with queen’s blood. Winnie stayed there, hold lax, shields lasting longer than the breath in her body. She waited, pale skin framed by dark hair and mud. Lips bloodless where they rested against the dark curls if her daughter. She waited, still and quiet, with more patience than she’d ever accomplished in life.
Braden’s agonized cry would have pleased her. All the loss and torment in the utterance of her name as he slid down into the ditch to join her. Cursing as he collected the wailing infant and tried, futilely, to rouse his queen. But she would not wake, and her small, empty, body was heavy as he carried her home. Baby dropped in her cradle and forgotten by all but the servant girl while he tended his queen’s body.