Page 27 of Ashborne Forged

Those little bags made my palms sweat.

“We’ll fly after high moon,” I said. “We need to be well away before the dawn shift change.”

She nodded. “Was Gil kind?”

“More than kind, he thought of some things I didn’t. Some things we need to talk about,” I said, not quite meeting her eyes.

She put the book aside. I felt her gaze on my face as I crawled onto the bed to sit next to her, shoulder to shoulder, because even though I didn’t mind asking a woman about her cycle—my mother had been determined I wouldn’t grow up squeamish—the rest of this conversation felt fragile.

When I was seated next to her, I opened my palm and showed her the bags.

She peered at them, frowning, and reached for them slowly. “What’s inside?”

“Herbs,” I said quietly, then made myself meet her eyes. “Depending how long it’s been since you last bled, you should be taking one of these. To prevent pregnancy.”

Her hand froze, hovering over mine. Her head snapped up and she locked eyes with me. “I didn’t know… herbs?”

I nodded. “A healer who works with the Furyknights provides these to any of the women who work at the Keep, or who socialize with the men. If they want them.”

Her throat bobbed and that cold scream sounded in my head again.

“Grace, we have to be careful. I’m a Furyknight. You’ll be one soon. I couldn’t imagine if you fell in training or hurt yourself and then we found out—”

“No, no,” she said quietly, her hand moving again to pick up the nearest bag. “I’m just shocked.”

“Don’t be. It’s something I’ve been aware of for a long time. And something we’ll have to think about for the rest of our lives.”

She looked up at me again. “Children?”

“Pregnancy, yes. Do you know how many days ago you started your last bleed?”

She blinked and her cheeks pinked. “I, uh, yes. It was, um… eight days ago?”

“Then, it’s good to start the herbs now, because you’ll soon be able to get pregnant.”

Her eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

“My mother made certain I wouldn’t be ignorant. She wanted me to know how to make grandchildren for her. And how not to,” I said flatly.

Grace flinched. “Oh.”

“Ignore her,” I said. “I do.” I smiled, and she smiled back at me, but hers faltered. I took her hand. “I know this is a lot. But we need to make this decision now. And I think this is for the best—with your training and my responsibilities, this isn’t the time to risk a family.”

She nodded, but her eyes dropped again.

“Grace?” I asked her quietly.

“I agree with you,” she said, then bit her lip. “I just never imagined—I didn’t know it was possible to prevent pregnancy. I thought we put it in God’s hands and left it at that.”

God isn’t the only one interested in babies. Dear Lord, the implications were terrifying. I swallowed back angry words about the horrors of what unwanted children endured, and the decisions parents in poverty made to ease their problems, and made myself breathe. She wasn’t considering the state of the world. She was talking about us. Our babies.

That stole my breath. “Grace—”

“Do you want children? Ever?” she asked.

I sat back.

I had to be honest. But I feared her response. “I don’t know,” I said, then watched her.