She studies me briefly, nods, and leaves.
Kiss still does not take to milk easily, though she has learned to tolerate it well enough. She quiets for longer, her crying dulling into something manageable. She still prefers blood, particularly Colsar’s, but she learns to manage.
"She is still looking for blood," Saurin says.
I know that. Kiss pulls away again, her small body pulling tight in my arms.
"She will not have it," I say.
Saurin steps closer. "Then she needs something else."
"She is learning."
"She is struggling."
I guide Kiss back. This time she latches, drinks, stops, then drinks again. Uneven but working.
"She will not starve," Saurin says.
"I did not say she would."
"You were thinking it."
Kiss quiets slightly, not content but calmer.
"She can survive on this," Saurin continues. "It will not be what she prefers but it will be enough."
I look down at her, at the way she adjusts and adapts, and something in my chest loosens before I can stop it.
"And you," Saurin adds, "cannot do this alone."
"I am managing."
"For now." She lets that sit. "You feed them. You hold them. You recover. And you wait."
My grip tightens slightly. "I am not waiting."
"You are," she says. "For him."
Silence.
"We bring in help," she says after a moment. "A wet nurse. For when you are not available to feed her.”
"I am available."
"You were not," she replies calmly. "Just now, when you were with the healer.” She sighs. “Someone who can provide milk when you cannot would be useful.”
Kiss shifts again, still adjusting. I do not argue, because she is right. "Fine," I say.
Cambra is brought in that afternoon. Composed and quiet and certain in the way she holds herself.
"This is Cambra," Saurin says. "She will assist. She will travel with us when we leave."
I nod once.
"My queen," Cambra says.
Kiss stirs in my arms. I hesitate, then pass her over without delay. Cambra adjusts her hold and guides her. Kiss resists, then quiets. Not fully, but enough.
