Betje’s expression did not change. “I take it that you do not wish to be?”
Hanna bobbed her head in agreement, her eyes on her hands in her lap to keep herself from crying. Carlijn made a sympathetic noise and leaned toward her ever-so-slightly so their shoulders touched.
“When did you last have your courses?”
“Eight weeks ago, I think. It could be more.”
After a series of questions about the nausea and dizziness she’d been experiencing, Betje said, “I’d like to examine you to be sure. Is that agreeable?”
Hannalinde nodded. The examination was quick and professional, conducted behind a screen while Carlijn waited onthe other side, humming tunelessly to fill the silence. Betje’s hands were warm and firm, and she explained each step before she did it, which was a kindness that made it more bearable.
When it was done, Betje folded the screen away and washed her hands in a basin. Her face had acquired a gravity that hadn’t been there before.
“You’re further along than you think. Closer to four months than two, by my estimation.”
The floor tilted. Hannalinde gripped the edge of the workbench to remain upright. Hannalinde could hear her own breathing, shallow and fast, and beneath it the thump of her pulse in her ears.Four months.The thing inside her had been growing that long.
“What can you do for her?” Carlijn asked.
Betje dried her hands on a clean cloth, taking her time with each finger. The silence stretched, and in it, Hannalinde heard the answer before it was spoken. “The herbs I would prescribe for this are effective in the first eight to ten weeks. Beyond that window, the risk to the mother climbs steeply. Bleeding that can’t be stopped, et cetera. I won’t prescribe something that’s more likely to kill you than help you. I’m sorry.”
The room narrowed to a pinprick.
“There must be a way.” Carlijn’s voice was stripped of its breezy confidence. “Another method.”
Betje sighed. “No surgeon in Solvantis will touch it. The guild forbids the procedure, and any who break that rule risk their license and their liberty. If you were willing to travel, the Fae have ways, but it’s a long and expensive journey.”
“What about someone in the Tower?” Carlijn pressed.
“The father is a gargoyle?” Betje’s brows raised, the first sign of anything other than professionalism. She quickly recovered. “The masons might help if his family is well-connected.”
Hannalinde’s lips pinched tight, and she shook her head, hot tears pattering to the floor.
Betje clucked sympathetically. “You poor thing. Well. I wouldn’t normally send a lady such as yourself in this direction, but there are women working in a certain profession who may have advice for you.”
Carlijn sucked in a scandalized breath. “Do you meanharlots?”
“You speak of them like goblins, but I assure you, they are as human as you are. Some were even ladies, once.” Betje grinned wryly. She plucked a quill from a stand on the workbench and wrote out a few words on a scrap of parchment, a name and address, before blowing on it to dry the ink and tucking it into Hannalinde’s fist.
“I’ll give you something for the sickness,” she added. “And a tonic for strength. You’re too thin, and you’ll need your reserves, whatever lies ahead.” She crossed to the shelves and began assembling a small collection of ingredients.
Carlijn draped an arm around Hannalinde, squeezing tight. “We’ll figure this out,” she whispered fiercely. “This isn’t the end.”
Hannalinde said nothing. Her hands were in her lap, the paper inside her fist the hope she had.
Betje returned with a wrapped parcel of remedies and pressed it into her hands. “Come back in two weeks. I want to check on you.” Her tone was warm but brooked no argument. “Eat even when you don’t want to. The sickness will ease very soon.”
Carlijn paid for the remedies, waving away Hannalinde’s weak protest.
“Thank you,” she said to them both.
Outside, the afternoon was fading. The children who sold candle stubs on the corners were doing brisk business as the fruit vendors packed their carts and the lamplighters began theirrounds. Dusk was coming soon. Hannalinde pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and linked her arm with Carlijn’s.
“What do you want to do?” her friend asked.
Hannalinde nearly laughed. What did she want to do? She wanted to go back in time. She wanted the gardens at Lamont House to be green again and her hands to be soft and her name to mean something good. She wanted to sleep through the night without fearing what might come through her window.
“I want this to be over.”
