Thoren
“The queen is hemorrhaging.”
The words erased everything else.
Our daughter’s cries continued somewhere to my left, but I did not turn toward them. A midwife had her. She was breathing. She was alive.
Nevara was bleeding beneath my hands.
“What do you need?” I demanded.
“Room.”
The physician moved between Nevara’s legs while the second midwife pressed hard against her abdomen.
Nevara screamed.
“What are you doing?”
“Her uterus is not contracting properly. It has to tighten to stop the bleeding.”
Blood soaked through another cloth.
Then another.
The physician’s hands moved quickly. “Medication.”
The midwife reached for the tray.
Nevara sagged against me.
“Stay awake.”
“I am awake.”
Her voice barely carried.
“No. Look at me.”
Her eyes opened, unfocused.
The physic
