Chapter 47 THE BABYS QUIET INFLUENCE
First Person POV- Sorceress
Athalia rested her head against her pillows, her breathing steadier. She closed her eyes, letting the rare sense of ease wash over her.
She whispered, “Thank you, Selene.”
I bowed once more. Then I turned away, as my cloak brushed softly against the floor, and I walked toward the door.
Only I knew the truth.
The next morning, she lay still, staring at the pale ceiling above her bed. The room was dim, lit only by a single candle that burned low beside the window. Her breath felt shallow and each inhale seemed to take effort.
She placed a hand over her stomach.
“Easy,” she whispered. “Please.”
The child responded not with pain, but with a subtle pressure, as if it were listening. Athalia had learned to recognize these moments. The child did not always hurt her. Sometimes it only reminded her of its presence, of its need.
She turned her head slightly and saw me seated in the chair near the wall. I had not been there when Athalia fell asleep, yet she was not surprised to see me.
“You’re awake,” I said calmly.
Athalia nodded. “It’s early.”
“You were restless,” I replied. “I felt it.”
Athalia did not ask how. She no longer questioned my awareness. Since i had become her personal physician, strange things had become almost ordinary.
“I feel weak again,” Athalia admitted quietly. “Not like before, but enough to notice.”
I rose and walked to the bedside. I checked Athalia’s pulse with gentle fingers, with my expression composed.
“The child is growing,” I said. “Its needs are increasing.”
Athalia closed her eyes briefly. “And mine are being forgotten?.”
I said nothing at first. I reached into the small pouch i always carried and withdrew a vial filled with clear liquid.
“Drink,” I said.
Athalia obeyed. The liquid tasted faintly of herbs and something metallic, though not unpleasant. Within moments, a mild warmth spread through her chest, easing the tightness in her limbs.
She exhaled. “That helps.”
“It will,” I said. “Even though only for a time.”
Athalia opened her eyes. “How long can this continue?”
I met her gaze steadily. “Long enough.”
Athalia searched my face. “You haven't told me everything about this child. Is he unwell?.”
I smiled faintly. “It shouldn't trouble you, your majesty.”
Athalia did not argue. She was too tired to explain what pact she had made to get the child, but she understood it and wasn't ready to share the secret with any other person.
One day, she felt a sudden wave of emotion that was not her own. It came without warning like a sharp sense of irritation, and almost anger. She stood from her chair suddenly, startled by its strength.
I had been standing nearby, but looked at her closely.
“Did you feel that?” I asked.
Athalia nodded slowly. “Yes. But it wasn’t mine. How did you...”
"I'm not just a physician, remember?" I said placing a hand gently on Athalia’s arm. “The child is becoming aware.”
“Aware of what?”
“Of you and the world around you.”
Athalia swallowed. “That isn’t normal. Is it?.”
I did not deny it. “No. It isn’t.”
That night, Athalia dreamed she was standing in a wide, empty hall. Voices echoed from the walls, though she could not see who spoke. When she woke, her heart raced, and her pillow was damp with sweat.
“The child listens,” I said when Athalia told me. “It listens more than it should.”
“Can you stop it?” Athalia asked.
I paused. “I can calm it.”
Athalia nodded.
Each evening, I performed my quiet rituals.
They were never dramatic with no chants filling the room, no smoke or bright lights. I would sit beside Athalia, place a small glass globe on the bedside table, and rest one hand on Athalia’s stomach.
I would speak softly words Athalia could not understand, but a rhythm that soothed both mother and child.
Slowly, the tension would ease and the baby’s movements softened. Athalia’s breathing steadied.
One night, Athalia reached out and caught my wrist in rage.
“Why doesn't it listen to me when i beg it to calm down? Why does it have to respond to you?” she asked.
I met her gaze. “I don't know. But i believe it recognizes my power.”
Athalia’s fingers tightened slightly. “From where? Are you a witch?”
I gently freed her wrist. “Far from it, your majesty.”
Athalia did not press further. She sensed there were answers she was yet to discover.
Meanwhile, Queen Elizabeth visited often.
She came quietly, without ceremony, usually in the late afternoon when Athalia was resting. At first, her visits were filled with concern. She studied Athalia closely, noticing her pale skin, her thin wrists, and the shadows beneath her eyes.
“You must rest more,” Elizabeth insisted during one visit. “You are carrying the heir but you look so weak. Are you really taking all medications?.”
Athalia smiled politely. “I am being cared for.”
Elizabeth frowned. “By whom?”
“By my personal physician,” Athalia replied. “Selene.”
Elizabeth turned toward me. I was standing near the window.
“You are new,” she said carefully.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I replied, bowing her head. “I was summoned when the Queen fell ill.”
Elizabeth studied me. “And are you capable?”
I met her gaze calmly. “I am.”
Athalia watched the exchange closely. Elizabeth was sharp and noticed details others missed.
“What have you observed so far about her health?” Elizabeth asked.
I answered carefully. “The Queen’s condition is delicate but stable. The child is strong. With proper care, both will endure.”
Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “That is good to hear.”
Over time, Elizabeth’s worry eased. Each visit, she found Athalia calmer than before, and more composed. Though she still looked pale, she no longer seemed on the edge of collapse.
“I am glad you are here,” Elizabeth said to me one afternoon as Athalia slept. “She needs steady hands.”
I inclined her head. “I will remain one, your majesty.”
Elizabeth nodded. “See that you do.”
Athalia, listening with half-closed eyes, felt a strange mixture of relief and unease.
One evening, after Elizabeth had left, Athalia called me to sit beside her.
“Do you think she suspects anything?” Athalia asked.
I considered this. “She suspects weakness. Nothing more i presume.”
“And Adrian?”
“He worries,” I said. “But he trusts you.”
Athalia’s gaze drifted to the window. “Trust is fragile.”
“Then you must guard it carefully, your majesty.”
Athalia was silent for a long moment. “What will happen when the child is born?”
Selene looked at her steadily. “I do not know.”
“That is not an answer.”
“But it is the only honest one.”
Athalia sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I should have walked away from all of this.”
My voice softened. “Walked away from what, your majesty?”
“Nevermind,” Athalia agreed.
But despite Selene’s help, the strain did not disappear. The more it grew, the more it needed something much more.