Chapter 87

The walls shook again. Dust drifted down from the rafters like ash. Somewhere in the distance, the horn sounded—low and long, the signal that another wave was coming.

October didn’t flinch.

She sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of their chambers, a bowl of cool water beside her, a cloth draped over her shoulder, and Elara in her arms—burning with fever.

The child’s skin was flushed a frightening crimson, her tiny chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. She whimpered softly, lips cracked and dry. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t open her eyes.

October pressed the damp cloth to her daughter’s forehead again and again. She'd nursed her just an hour ago, the child too weak to even latch properly. Her own body ached from exhaustion, from hunger, from fear—but none of it mattered.

Only Elara.

A nursemaid had tried to take the baby hours earlier, whispering some nonsense about rest and duty, but October had simply turned and said, “Touch her, and I’ll kill you.”

She hadn’t raised her voice. She hadn’t needed to.

No one came after that.

She leaned in close now, lips brushing Elara’s temple. “Stay with me,” she whispered. “I’ll fix this. Mama’s right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

A loud crack echoed in the courtyard outside. Screams followed it, and the scrape of something metal being dragged across stone. October didn’t flinch. She was no longer a woman in a besieged palace.

She was a mother with a dying child.

A knock came at the door—short, sharp, urgent.

“October” It was Scheuer’s voice, tight and worried. “there are nobles here to talk.”

October didn’t answer at first. Her fingers were trembling now. She had never seen a child burn so fast. Not even in her old life. Not like this.

Scheuer cracked the door open and stepped in, her boots covered in blood. “We have to go. Now. They are—”

October turned to face her. “She’s not breathing right.”

That stopped Scheuer cold. Her mouth opened. Closed.

“She won’t last the night.” October’s voice broke for the first time.

Scheuer approached slowly, glancing at Elara’s small, limp form. “We can carry her. There’s a safe tunnel—”

“She needs a healer, not a tunnel.”

Scheuer crouched beside her. “We don’t have one.”

October stared at the floor. Her mind reeled. She thought of the whispers. The warnings. Baldwin’s late-night disappearances. The way he always returned with the smell of burnt herbs and snow in his hair—even in spring. The locked door in the western tower. The guarded cellar.

The forbidden healer. The one no one was allowed to speak of.

The one tied to dark magic.

He’d told her only once—months ago. That if anyone ever knew, the empire would burn him at the stake.

“She’s dying,” October said, more to herself than anyone.

Scheuer reached for her shoulder. “October—”

“I have to take her to him.” October stood, Elara cradled to her chest, so light she felt like air. “I don’t care what he is.”

“Baldwin will kill him if you do.”

October met her sister’s eyes. “Then he can hate me later.”

\---

The door to the western tower stood sealed with iron latches. No guards, not tonight—they’d all been called to the walls. She kicked it open with her boot.

The air inside was damp, thick with incense and smoke. The stone staircase wound down in silence, deeper than she'd ever dared go.

Elara whimpered again, so faint it was almost imagined.

October pressed her close. “Hold on, my love. Just hold on.”

She reached the bottom at last.

A dark hallway stretched before her. Lanterns flickered to life one by one, as if sensing her presence.

She turned the final corner and saw the door—the real one. Carved with strange symbols. Protected. Ancient.

She raised her hand and knocked once.

Then twice more.

A breath.

The door swung open.

Inside stood a man cloaked in gray, eyes shadowed. His skin was pale, his mouth curved in something between curiosity and disappointment.

“You’re not him.”

“No,” October said. “I’m his wife. And I need you to save my daughter.”

He blinked once. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“She has a fever. She’s not breathing right. She won’t make it through the night.”

The healer stepped forward at last, studying the child. His fingers hovered near her face.

“She’s cursed,” he said simply.

October’s breath caught. “No.”

“Not in the way you think,” he clarified. “The fever isn’t natural. It was given to her.”

“Given…?”

He walked away, motioning for her to follow. “Bring her in. Quickly.”

The chamber beyond looked nothing like the dungeons she expected. It was warm. Lush with strange plants. Pools of still water. Runes carved into the walls.

She laid Elara down on a cot made of woven grass and silk.

“Don’t touch her while I work,” the healer said. “If you interfere, she’ll die. Do you understand?”

October’s hands fisted at her sides. She said nothing.

He moved fast, faster than she expected—grinding herbs, whispering spells, drawing patterns across Elara’s chest in something dark and shimmering.

The air crackled.

October’s heart pounded with every second.

“She was poisoned,” he murmured. “A needle, perhaps. A servant. A cup of tea.”

“Who would—”

“Someone who wanted you distracted. Someone who knew you wouldn’t leave the palace while she burned.”

Her knees buckled. She caught herself on the wall.

The siege.

“She was bait,” October whispered. “They used her.”

The healer didn’t look up. “They knew your husband would never let his empress abandon the stronghold. But a mother?”

She covered her mouth.

The truth was a blade.

The room filled with light—cold, white, unnatural. Elara arched suddenly, her mouth parting in a sharp cry.

October moved without thinking, dropping to her knees, reaching—

“Don’t,” the healer snapped.

Elara gasped—and then the light vanished.

The child fell still.

And began to breathe.

Slow. Steady.

Calmer.

October crawled forward, sobbing before she knew it. She gathered her daughter into her arms, feeling her weight, her warmth, her heartbeat.

Alive.

“She’ll sleep for days,” the healer said behind her. “But she’ll wake.”

October nodded, unable to speak.

Then his voice changed.

“But I want something in return.”

She turned, the fire in her eyes returning. “What?”

“Your silence. About me. About this. And one day, when I call, you’ll answer.”

“I owe you nothing,” she hissed.

He smiled. “You owe me everything.”

\---

She emerged from the tower at dawn, Elara swaddled close to her breast, sleeping soundly. The world outside had shifted—quieter. The fighting was over. The invaders had pulled back, for now. Perhaps they thought the empress had fled.

Perhaps that was enough.

Scheuer met her at the base of the stairs, eyes wide.

“She’s okay,” October said, her voice hoarse. “She’s safe.”

Scheuer nodded slowly. “You did it.”

October held her child close. Elara stirred, rooting gently. She adjusted her gown, letting her nurse. Relief washed through her like a wave when the baby latched.

“She’s strong,” Scheuer said, voice soft.

“She gets it from me.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Then Scheuer asked the question she’d been holding back.

“What did he say?”

October didn’t answer right away. She stared at the horizon, where smoke curled from the walls, where soldiers moved like ants along the battlements.

“He said someone poisoned her. To get to me.”

Scheuer’s breath caught.

“And I think…” October swallowed hard. “I think Baldwin already knew.”

\---

She found him in the war chamber that night, arms covered in soot, cloak torn.

His eyes met hers—and softened instantly when he saw Elara, alive and warm in her mother’s arms.

“You went to him,” Baldwin said.

October nodded.

“She’s safe.”

Another nod.

“I told you never to seek him.”

“I told you I’d do anything for her.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Baldwin closed the distance, touched Elara’s small foot. “She’s breathing better.”

“She nursed.”

His shoulders shook. Just once.

October touched his face. “Why didn’t you tell me someone tried to kill her?”

He didn’t deny it.

“I needed proof,” he whispered. “And I couldn’t protect both of you at once. I gambled that they’d move fast.”

“You gambled with her life.”

“I gambled with mine. They needed me distracted. They thought if they touched her, I’d lose control. They weren’t wrong.”

She stared at him, raw and stripped bare.

“You should have told me,” she said.

“I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“I already do,” she whispered. “And I love you anyway.”

He looked up, startled.

Elara cooed gently between them, small fingers curling.

“She’s safe,” October said again, softer now.

“For now.”

“No,” she said. “From now on.”