Chapter 19 | Sickness and Scorn | Leah
That night, the smell of kelp blood broth made me gag.
I sat at the dining table with a bowl of dark red soup in front of me. The fishy-sweet smell of kelp blood rose with the steam, drilling into my nose like a sticky finger reaching down my throat and stirring around. Mom always put too much kelp blood in her soup—she said it was nutritious. But tonight's soup smelled especially strong, strong enough to make me want to throw up.
At first it was just mild discomfort, like something gently churning in my stomach. I tried taking deep breaths, but the kelp blood smell was too overpowering.
Then it hit.
A wave of violent nausea surged up from the pit of my stomach. I jerked upright, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound. I covered my mouth and rushed to the kitchen, my knee slamming into the table corner, but the pain was drowned out by the stronger nausea. I leaned over the sink as everything in my stomach came pouring out, the acidic liquid burning my throat.
"What's wrong?" Mom's voice came from behind me, carrying impatience and a hint of disgust.
"Nothing." I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my voice hoarse. "Probably ate something bad."
"Ate something bad?" Her footsteps approached, each one like she was stepping on my nerves. "You've been home all day. What could you have eaten?"
"I don't know."
She stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at me. Her gaze slid from my pale face down to my stomach, then stopped. Her eyes narrowed, like a wolf catching a scent. That look made my spine go rigid, my fingers unconsciously moving to protect my belly.
"You." Her voice changed, became sharp, became hungry. "Are you—"
"I'm not." I cut her off, but my voice was shaking like autumn leaves.
"Are you pregnant?"
The air froze. The kitchen faucet was still dripping, making rhythmic ticking sounds, like some kind of countdown.
I stood there with my back to her, fingers gripping the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles turned white.
"Say something." Her voice rose, like nails on a chalkboard.
"I don't know." I said, my voice thin as silk thread, like it might snap.
"Don't know?" Her footsteps rushed over. She grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. Her face was right up close, her eyes holding something terrifying.
Not anger. Greed. Naked, undisguised greed.
"If it's the Prince's baby," she said, her voice dropping, carrying something that made my skin crawl—calculation—"do you know what this means?"
"What?"
"It means our whole family can turn things around." Her fingers tightened, nails digging into my shoulder like nails into wood. "The Prince's child, even if the mother is Nullblood, has inheritance rights. We can move to the noble district, get a pension, send Gareth to a good school—"
"Mom." Gareth's voice came from the living room, carrying suppressed anger. "Stop it."
"You shut up." Mom didn't even turn around. "This is a major family matter. You don't understand."
I looked at her face. It had similar features to mine, but a completely foreign expression. She wasn't worried about me. She wasn't concerned about me. She was calculating. Calculating how much benefit my belly could be traded for. Calculating how much profit she could squeeze out of this child.
"I won't use this child." I said, my voice steadier than I'd expected.
Her expression changed. From greed to a cold smile. That cold smile reminded me of Valeria.
"You think you have a choice?" She said, looking at me like I was a naive child. "You think a Nullblood, a Prince, an unofficial relationship—what kind of happy ending can that have? The only way out is to use this child, to get what you deserve."
"I don't want anything."
"You want dignity." She said the word with a strange weight, a seriousness I'd never heard from her before. "You want them to respect you. But the reality is, without this child, you're nothing. With this child, you at least have leverage."
I shook off her hand and rushed out of the kitchen.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to the academy."
"What about money? Your brother's coat?"
I didn't answer. I grabbed my school bag, pushed open the door, and walked out into the Ashen Row night. The night wind poured down my collar, cold as ice, but it cleared my head.
Behind me, Mom's cursing continued, mixed with Gareth's lowered voice—it sounded like he was arguing with her. I didn't look back. I couldn't look back.
My steps were slow on the way back to the academy. The night wind poured down my collar, cold as ice, but it cleared my head. The stench of Ashen Row gradually faded, replaced by the scent of blood roses lingering around the academy grounds. That sweet fragrance used to comfort me, but now it only reminded me of my own sweetness.
The communicator was in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. Kael's number glowed in the darkness like a distant star. My finger hovered over the buttons, hesitating.
Should I tell him or not?
If I told him, what would he do? Take responsibility and then regret it? Or turn and walk away, like Lucian said, toss me aside like trash? Or worse—use this child as a political bargaining chip?
I shoved the communicator back in my pocket. It wasn't that I didn't want to tell him—I was afraid to. I was afraid of his reaction, afraid of his coldness, afraid that the light in those golden eyes—the light that had captivated me—would go out.
But I was also afraid of facing all this alone. Mom's scheming, the academy's rules, society's discrimination—these weren't things I could handle by myself.
The dorm building stood silent in the night, like a sleeping beast. I pushed open the main door, walked through the hallway, and came to my room. I pushed the door open to pitch darkness. Ivy was asleep, her breathing coming evenly from her bed.
I sat in the darkness, my fingers unconsciously resting on my lower belly. It was still flat there, but it held a strange warmth, like a small flame burning inside.
Kael's words echoed in my head: "You have talent. You just refuse to accept it."
Yes. I refused to accept it. Refused to be just a Nullblood, refused to be a tool to be used, refused to let my child grow up in a world full of scheming.
But I also needed him. Needed his strength, needed his wisdom, needed him by my side.
Outside, the moonlight shifted position, moving from the floor to the headboard, then disappearing beyond the horizon. I sat in the darkness, listening to my heartbeat, and to the not-yet-formed heartbeat in my belly. They gradually synchronized, like two drummers who'd been separated finally finding the same rhythm.