Chapter 222: To the Colder Heat
Her grip tightened—then twisted—until something gave way with a violent snap. A sharp crack echoed off the stone walls, cutting clean through the hum of the spirit energy, the runes flaring in response.
"GAHHHHH—NOT AGAIN!" Gavric howled, his voice bouncing up into the rafters, a deep, warbled screech that sounded entirely unbecoming of a warlord. His knees buckled as his hand went limp in hers, the bones inside crushed, his knuckles bending the wrong way.
"Ow, ow, ow, OW!" he bellowed, flailing with his free arm as if the pain might fly off him, his face contorting in something between agony and disbelief. The sweat-streaked strands of his blond hair fell into his eyes. He tried blinking them away. Failed. The blood from the boar carcass smeared across Seraphine’s palm as their hands locked, the red streak cutting across her knuckles and staining her wedding ring.
"I warned you what would happen if you came in smiling again!" she snapped between ragged breaths, her back arching as another contraction struck. The green glow radiating from her skin pulsed violently, casting bright flashes across the runes etched into the wooden beams above. The warding magic flared once—then dimmed—absorbing the outburst like a dam holding just barely.
The scent in the room shifted again—sweat, lavender, blood, iron—twisting together into something pungent and alive. The air thickened. The stone floor beneath the birthing bed began to hum.
At that moment, the door creaked open again.
A short woman darted inside, arms full of fresh linens, her face twisted in frustration. Her voice sliced through the tension with surgical precision.
"You damn brute! We just cleaned this room!" she snapped, her steps clipped and urgent, a sapphire gem in her wrist pulsing a soft blue as she moved. The spirit energy around her shimmered like static heat, flickering each time her boot hit the tile.
She stopped just short of the spreading blood trail, eyeing the crushed boar head with open disgust.