but it would have to be.
“Clean water,” I told Essir and he immediately went into action, bringing me a basin of it.
“Maeva?” Addie asked again, fear in her voice.
I mixed the adiri quickly in the water, though I was guessing how much to dilute it. Then I dropped clean cloths inside the basin—cloths I would need to pack into Addie’s womb—and Essir brought it over to the furs, setting it down.
I didn’t have much time.
“You’re bleeding, Addie,” I told her quietly, a strange calmness coming over me. “I’m going to try to stop it.”
“And will you be able to?” Jurin asked, tone pinched and tight, over his daughter’s cries.
My mokkira had always taught me to never to give false hope as a healer. Because the will of Kakkari was always an unknown.
But right then, I felt knowing spread within me. I felt the goddess’s presence. I felt her will.
My eyes went to Kiran. His expression was darkened with worry, his shoulders tense, but he stayed out of my way. He trusted me. He had faith in me. Even from the beginning.
“I will,” I told Jurin, nodding at the darukkar. My eyes went to Addie, gaze bright and glassy. “I know this will work. It will be painful. But I just need you to trust me. Lysi?”
“I do,” she whispered.
I nodded.
Then I went to work.
Just as dawn broke over Dakkar, I stumbled from the voliki.
Dragging in lungfuls of icy, stinging air, I let it replenish me. I’d left my furs inside. All I was wearing were my trews and my bloodied tunic. Red blood. Just like mine. Not black like a Dakkari’s.
My skin felt overheated but the cold season cooled it quickly and rapidly.
Tilting my head back towards the sky, which was just lightening with streaks of blue and purple, I whispered, “Kakkari, kakkira vor. Kakkira vor.”
I was so exhausted that my eyelids were threatening to droop, though I was not as exhausted as Addie. The new mother was inside, sleeping soundly after a seemingly never-ending night. In her arms was her daughter. And Addie herself was in the arms of her mate, who was watching over both of them as they rested.
The adiri…it had worked. I had stopped the bleeding. It had likely saved Addie’s life.
And right then I knew that the stories of the first hybrid female were true. I wondered about her. I wondered what had happened to her.
A sense of peace descended over my shoulders, as if Kakkari heard me and my thanks.
And right then, under that icy sunrise in the dawn of a new day over Dakkar, I had a pure flash of clarity.
My lips parted.
And I realized that—in that moment—I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I was exactly where Kakkari had always meant for me to be…where I’d always needed to be.
Destiny, I knew.
I found immense comfort in that. I found immense purpose in that. I found a sense of place and belonging in that realization.
“Seffi,” came Kiran’s quiet, steady voice.
When I turned, I saw him approaching me, coming from the front of the encampment. In his hands was a large tray of food, covered in thick hide to keep it warm.
My chest squeezed at the sight and I tilted my face up to him when he stepped close.
“I brought you food,” he murmured. “You should eat, to regain your strength. You must be starving.”
“That’s not your duty, Vorakkar,” I teased softly.
His expression softened.
“Of course it is,” he said. “It is my duty to take care of you. However I can.”
My breath hitched.
He set the tray down on the ground and came closer, as if he couldn’t stop himself from touching me. Even though my tunic was covered in blood, he dragged me into his arms. He’d been a quiet presence during the labor and in the aftermath, when my hands and arms were soaked in blood that wasn’t my own. For a moment, I’d feared I wouldn’t be able to save Addie.
“You were incredible, seffi,” he murmured in my ear, embracing me hard. It was exactly what I needed.
His praise made my throat tighten, made tears well in my eyes.
And because I could tell no one else, I told him.
“I thought I would fail, Kiran,” I admitted. “I thought I would watch her die. I thought I would have to look into Jurin’s eyes and tell him that I couldn’t save her, that their child would never know her.”
That had been my worst fear. Even remembering that moment made agony burst