Finally she could stand it no more. She could no longer look at Tanin or feel his warm body beside her. Everything about him reminded her of that night, of her terror and shame. Silently, she rose from her bed and, without waking Tanin, left her tent. The camp sprawled around her across the hills: tents, campfires, tethered cattle. Above spread a field of stars. She breathed the cool air, took one step away from her tent, then doubled over as pain stabbed through her belly.

She gasped, arms wrapped around herself. Something inside her twitched, kicked, tugged. She grimaced, sweat flooded her, and she placed a hand upon her belly. She felt the thing inside kick, waking up, bulging, waiting to emerge.

A nephil grows inside me.

The creature within her—Sharael's son—gave another kick, and Issari could hear it now, hear the tiny, chattering sounds like rustling cockroaches.

She stumbled down the hill.

I have to kill it. I have to kill my child.

Hugging herself, trying to ignore the movement inside her, she walked between the tents, crossing several hills until she reached the tent she sought. It was a simple tent, smaller than her own, its walls formed of animal hides. The creature inside her gave such a twist that she nearly fell. Jaw locked, she stepped inside.

Teean was still awake, seated upon a wooden stool, drawing letters into a wet clay tablet. She turned around to face Issari, the candlelight upon her face. She was perhaps fifty years old, her long dark hair streaked with white. Her eyes were deep and green and wise, and bronze bracelets chinked around her arms. An amulet of Irishin, the god of healing, hung around her neck—a serpent coiling around a staff.

"Teean," Issari whispered. "I'm ill."

The midwife rose to her feet and rushed toward her. "Sweet Issari! Come. Lie down. Let me see."

Issari stumbled forward and lay down upon Teean's bed. Twenty years ago, Teean—then a healer in Eteer—had delivered Issari from her mother's womb.

And today she will remove my child from my womb, she thought. And I will kill it.

Issari gasped and screamed as the pain drove through her, knives inside her belly.

The midwife touched Issari's forehead; her fingers came back wet with Issari's sweat.

"You're feverish," Teean said. "I'll prepare you a drink of healing herbs. I—"

"Teean," Issari whispered and clutched the midwife's hand. "In Eteer, I heard unwed women whisper. They spoke of midwives helping them, pulling out early babes from their wombs, tiny things no larger than an apricot's pit. They . . . they said you helped them." She squeezed Teean's hand. "Please. Help me now. Help me remove the child inside me."

Teean stared down, eyes wide and cheeks pale. For a long moment, the midwife said nothing, simply stared into Issari's eyes.

She understands.

Finally Teean nodded. "I still have my tools."