Chapter 2

The infant's cries bounced off the narrow stone walls, loud and full of life. Agnes moved the warm, wet cloth over the baby's delicate skin in quick, gentle strokes.

Alistair's Adam's apple bobbed hard in his throat. He took a half-step forward, leaning over Agnes's shoulder, desperate to see.

On the bed, Pandora slumped against the blood-stained pillows. Her hands gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles were pure white. Her eyes were wide, manic, staring at the stone ceiling as she whispered frantic, breathless prayers to any god who would listen.

Agnes moved the cloth down to the baby's lower half.

Suddenly, the healer's hands stopped. Her entire body froze. It was as if she had been turned to stone.

The wet cloth slipped from her trembling fingers. It hit the edge of the copper basin with a sharp smack, splashing pink, blood-tinged water onto the freezing floor.

Agnes's shoulders started to shake. A violent shudder ripped through her spine. She sucked in a sharp, ragged breath. All the color drained from her face, leaving her skin a sickly, translucent gray.

Alistair saw her freeze. An invisible fist punched straight through his chest and squeezed his lungs. His breath caught.

"What is it?" Alistair demanded. His voice was a low, terrifying growl. "Agnes! Speak!"

Agnes turned her head slowly. Her eyes were wide with a terror so profound it looked like madness. Her lips trembled, parting, but no sound came out.

Alistair shoved her aside. He stepped up to the foot of the bed and grabbed the edge of the rough wool blanket wrapped around the crying infant. He ripped it back.

The flickering torchlight hit the baby's lower half.

It was flat. There were no male organs.

It was a girl. The ultimate curse of the Wither era.

Alistair's pupils shrank to pinpricks. It felt like a sledgehammer slammed directly into his sternum. His legs gave out completely. His knees slammed into the hard stone floor with a sickening thud.

He buried his face in his hands. His broad shoulders heaved. A raw, animalistic gasp tore from his throat. It was the sound of a man drowning in absolute despair.

Pandora heard the gasp. Her maternal instincts caught the shift in the room's oxygen. Her brain short-circuited. The last thread of her sanity snapped.

"No... no! It's impossible!" Pandora shrieked.

The sound was agonizing. She didn't care about the tearing pain between her legs. She thrashed wildly, trying to drag her exhausted body toward the foot of the bed.

Alistair's head snapped up. Survival instinct kicked in. He lunged forward, grabbing the wool blanket and wrapping it tightly around the baby. He spun around and caught his wife just as she nearly tumbled off the mattress.

He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to his chest.

Pandora fought him. She beat her fists against his chest. Tears flooded from her eyes, soaking right through Alistair's linen shirt.

"It's a girl... God, why are you punishing us? !" Pandora screamed, her voice cracking into a hysterical sob. "Orestus will sell her! They'll treat her like livestock! My baby!"

Alistair clamped his large hand over her mouth. He shot a terrified look at the heavy oak door. If the guards heard this, they were dead. All of them.

Agnes backed away from the bed. She retreated until her spine hit the cold stone wall. She slid down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. "We are going to hang," she mumbled, her eyes vacant. "The King is going to kill us all."

The baby girl felt the panic in the room. Her cries grew sharper, piercing the air. Every wail felt like a serrated blade sawing against Alistair's heart.

He had to stop this. He grabbed Pandora by the shoulders and shook her. Hard.

"Quiet! Pandora! Look at me!" Alistair hissed. His eyes were wild, feral. "We cannot break down right now!"

Pandora's screams choked off into violent, gasping sobs. Her chest heaved. She reached out with trembling arms.

Alistair gently placed the doomed baby girl into her mother's embrace.

Pandora looked down at the tiny, red face. The sheer force of a mother's love slammed into her, overriding the panic. She pulled the baby tight against her bare chest, trying to shield her from the cold room and the colder world outside.

The baby felt the warmth of her mother's skin. The sharp cries slowly faded into soft, contented smacks of her lips. She had no idea she had just been born into a slaughterhouse.

Alistair stood up. He walked to the oak door and pressed his ear against the thick wood. He held his breath, listening for the clank of armor or the shout of guards.

Nothing. Just the storm.

He turned back to the room. He looked down at Agnes sitting on the floor. He drew the dagger from his belt. The steel caught the candlelight. His eyes were dead and full of warning.

Agnes slapped both hands over her mouth. She shook her head frantically, silently promising she wouldn't make a sound.

Alistair sheathed the blade. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at his wife. "I have to go to the Great Hall. I need to see what Orestus is doing. I need to know if he suspects anything. Wait here."