Vylas finished with his ingredients and slid them out of the way. He scooted closer to the magic circle and placed a hand on each side of it, palms down, touching the ground. He closed his eyes and relaxed.
Jularra’s breathing began to slow as she focused on what Vylas was doing. She watched as he worked to infuse the jar of her blood, mixed with various compounds, together with a magical essence. Within moments, the magic circle started to crackle. Like bacon in a frying pan, the etchings in the dirt seared the ground, and soon after, the area scarred by the circle began to glow like hot coals, bright red with hints of white. As Vylas started to speak, the magical carvings in the dirt grew brighter and hotter.
“Givers of life, creators of all mothers, please bless and imbue this humble potion. Let the signs of gestation remain, to allow her time to consider her future.”
Flames shot up around the circle as if a blacksmith had stoked a fire beneath the ground. Vylas flinched and instinctively held his arm up to his eyes. But soon after, the flame subsided, leaving nothing but Vylas’ original finger-drawn image in the ground. He reached quickly for the jar in the center and flicked it with his fingertips, then picked it up and handed it to Jularra.
“Drink,” he said.
Jularra hesitated, looking askance at the jar containing some of her own blood. But an eyeblink was all she allowed herself. She grabbed the jar and slung the fluid back before flinging the empty vessel to the ground. She instantly gagged.
Jularra panted, shivered, and stared ahead with a stunned expression. She licked her lips and heaved from the iron taste in her mouth. She reached to her side and scooped an upstream handful of water to rinse and spit.
Vylas sighed. “Come on,” he said. He pushed himself to his knees and then stood. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
Jularra looked around to figure out the best way to get up. She was cold, soaking wet from blood and water, and worn out. Fortunately, the pain had diminished from indescribable to bearable.
She bent sideways and pushed up on the ground. With one arm, she pulled up her trousers just enough so that she could walk without tripping. Her other clothes draped and clung around her. Vylas took hold of her other arm and slowly helped her over to the house.
“Want to get those clothes off?” He made sure she could steady herself, and then disappeared inside before quickly returning with a huge quilt. He wrapped it around her.
Though modesty wasn’t much of a concern for either of them at this point, he held the blanket around her as she wriggled out of her clothing. Once she was finished, Vylas clamped the blanket tightly around her shoulders and helped her the rest of the way inside.
They crept over to his favorite chair in front of the fire, and Vylas let her hang onto his arm while she sat down. As soon as the chair had her weight, he scurried around the house and grabbed any other spare blankets he could find. With his arms overflowing, he shuffled back to her and helped her wrap up even more, then he tapped her reassuringly on her blanket-smothered knee and sank to the floor to catch his breath. Together, they stared at the fire, retreating into the calming allure of the flames.
Ribbons of fear wrapped around Jularra’s mind like a maypole. Winding in tightly, the thoughts constricted her conscience and branded her brain with relentless facts. For hundreds of years, no queen has ever failed to deliver on her obligation. For a thousand years, no queen has not delivered a daughter in time. No queen, since the oath was made, has ever jeopardized her people. Until now.
Until now!
Jularra’s mind sought a path to hope. False or not, she tried to convince herself there was something to be done. Maybe Vylas’ potion will work. Maybe it will fool the Voidwarden. The ribbons of fear loosened, spinning out from the maypole of her mind.
And then reality took hold; the ribbons tightened and strangled hope. Even if it works and I fool the Voidwarden for a few months, it’s still too late to conceive again.
There was no hope. There was only the sliver of her pointless existence, which she had little control over.
“Next steps, Jularra,” Vylas uttered. “Next steps. Whatever they may be. No matter how futile. Focus on the next steps.”
He turned towards her as he spoke.
“We must think on the next steps,” he repeated. “Whether it’s notifying your people and your allies, or consulting on the specifics of the oath and agreement, we will consider what to do next, and proceed accordingly.
“There must be some precedent for this,” he continued. “Through the countless generations of your predecessors, there must have been occasions of women being barren, or other situations similar to yours. There must be.”
Jularra looked at Vylas, wishing she had something to add, but she was at a loss. She let her eyes unfocus and retreated back to the fire.
“Are you sure each queen offered a child in time?” he pressed her.
Jularra nodded. “I don’t know of any exceptions. Well,” she added after clearing her throat, “the bloodline has always been maintained. Either with an immediate daughter, niece, or other female descendant.”
“So, it hasn’t always been a daughter,” he clarified. Hope made his voice grow louder. “We must look closer at those exceptions!”
“It doesn’t matter, Vylas,” she snapped. “I have no living female relatives!”
“There must be something that can be done, Jularra—”
“There isn’t!”
“You must go and talk with it! There has to be a way—”
“I
