Lena's POV
By the time the deep winter cold set fully into Stormridge, I could no longer see my own feet when I looked down.
The healer, Sable, examined me every week now instead of every month, her careful, efficient hands moving with the particular focus of a woman entering the final stretch of a long and demanding project. The baby was strong. She told me this each time with the same brisk, unemotional certainty, and each time I let the relief move through me fully before I set it aside and returned to whatever else the day required.
I had stopped being able to sit at the war table comfortably for long stretches. Bastian had quietly arranged for a chair with better support to be brought into the room without announcing why, and I had noticed, and said nothing, because some kindnesses
