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“My uncle hates sweets,” Akane said matter of fact. “Unless he’s completely lost his mind, he’d never eat something like this.”
A small smile crept over Naia’s face as she pinched off a piece of the pastry.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A scone.” Akane kicked her slippers off and climbed into the bed beside Naia.
Naia took a bite. A warm, soft blueberry burst across her tongue. Combined with the subtle sweetness of the dough and the pinch of vanilla, it was exquisite, lifting Naia’s spirit.
“Is it good?” Akane asked.
“Excellent.” Naia offered some to her.
She declined with a shake of her head.
Naia took another bite, wishing Akane had snuck two, maybe three, of the pastries in.
Noticing movement, she glanced sideways at the little girl.
Between them, Akane held out a potion bottle Naia instantly recognized. One she had kept safe in her pocket like her life depended on it. Until it had gotten smashed by the explosion. Avi had advised her to ingest the potion several times throughout the day, and she hadn’t taken a single dose in twelve hours.
“Aw, this is why you snuck this in here.” Naia placed the scone on her lap, wiped her fingers clean of crumbs, and took hold of the bottle.
“Uncle Ronin asked me to come in here and watch you take it with my own eyes.” She melodramatically emphasized Ronin’s serious expression.
They both giggled.
It was obvious he was avoiding her, but he still thought of her while doing so.
“Here, hold this, please.” Naia handed the last few bites of her scone to Akane, reserving them to ward off the awful taste of the potion.
Naia could sense the girl staring at her marked hand and hoped she did not ask questions. After finding out about it, Naia made it a point to avoid looking directly at the curse mark herself. She’d considered wearing Theon’s glove to keep from catching glimpses of it. She couldn’t breathe when she thought about it.
Thankfully, Akane kept quiet.
Naia uncorked the bottle, grimaced, and took a sip.
The flavor hit the back of her throat, and her stomach heaved.
Naia shot off the bed, the bottle slipping from her fingers and landing on the corner of the nightstand, as she hurriedly made her way into the bathroom. She flipped the toilet seat open and plunged her head into the bowl, unloading the contents of her stomach.
Akane pulled Naia’s long hair behind her shoulders and rubbed circles on the small of her back.
Naia sat there, her head hanging in the toilet bowl with the coolness of the ceramic against her forehead. Not once in her life had she ever been physically ill.
Naia’s taste buds revolted, and she spat, trying to rid her mouth of the foul combination of scone, stomach acid, and potion. The muscles in her abdomen throbbed from the exertion. She struggled to shake off the grogginess in her mind. Her body ached, and all she wanted was to sink into the floor and drift off to sleep.
“I’m no doctor,” Akane said, “but even I know you haven’t been pregnant for very long.”
“Eavesdropping on conversations, are we?” It was Naia’s attempt to lighten the mood.
Akane rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”
Naia wiped the liquid dripping from her nose with toilet paper. “If you are insinuating that I should not be showing such harsh symptoms, then I believe you are correct.”
Naia crawled up, her knees biting into the tile floor. For the first time in her life, she felt fragile, like holding a glass in her hand knowing, if it were to fall, it would shatter entirely.
Akane gripped Naia’s fingers to help pull her up. It did absolutely nothing to actually assist Naia, but she appreciated Akane’s kindness.
