"What’s the problem?" Osiris asked.

Cyrus stopped so suddenly that Osiris also stopped breathing for one short moment.

The corridor was cold, and the snow wind outside kept pushing against the stone walls with low sounds, but Cyrus’s face looked colder than the winter around them. His red hair was slightly messy, his pink eyes were sharp and worried, and the hurried way he carried himself made even Osiris, who usually needed things explained three times and still came out with the wrong conclusion, understand that something serious had happened.

Cyrus looked at him and said, "Isabella may be giving birth soon."

Osiris froze.

Then his fiery eyes widened.

Then his mouth opened.

Then nothing came out.

For one very rare moment, Osiris looked as if someone had taken all the nonsense out of his head and left him with nothing but panic.

"What?" he finally said.

Cyrus tried to step past him. "Move."

Osiris grabbed his arm at once. "What do you mean giving birth? Now? Right now? Are the babies coming out? How many? Are they coming out as snakes? Do they need fire? Do we need to dig a hole? Why are you leaving her?"

Cyrus looked at the hand on his arm.

Then he looked at Osiris.

His expression became so dangerous that Osiris immediately let go.

"I am not leaving her," Cyrus said through his teeth. "I am preparing what she needs."

Osiris nodded quickly, but the nod was so fast and useless that it did not make him look calmer at all. "Yes. Yes. Prepare. We should prepare. What do we prepare? Fire? Meat? Water? Do babies eat immediately? Do they bite? What if they come out flying? Should I stand outside and catch them?"

Cyrus closed his eyes for one breath.

He truly did not have time for this.

Isabella was inside, uncomfortable and afraid even if she was pretending not to be. The pressure in her body had already changed, and the demonic blood around the babies was stirring too much. He needed warm water, clean furs, soft cloth, bitter roots, calming herbs, strength broth, and experienced women. He needed to keep his hands steady. He needed to think.

Instead, he had Osiris standing in front of him asking whether the babies might fly out.

Cyrus opened his eyes. "Go find women who have helped with births."

Osiris nodded at once and turned around.

Then Cyrus suddenly remembered who he was speaking to.

"Wait."

Osiris stopped so sharply that one foot almost slipped on the cold stone floor. "What?"

Cyrus stared at him.

The more he looked, the less trust he felt.

This was Osiris.

If he sent him out to find experienced birth women, there was a very real chance Osiris would return with a random female who once watched a goat give birth and considered herself qualified. Or worse, he might run through the village screaming that Isabella’s babies were escaping, and then the entire place would collapse into noise before anything even happened.

So Cyrus changed the order at once.

"Go tell Kian," Cyrus said. "Tell him to find women who have helped with births before. Elderly women. Calm women. Women who know what they are doing. Do not choose them yourself."

Osiris looked offended even through the panic. "Why can’t I choose them?"

"Because I need Isabella alive."

Osiris stared.

Then the meaning hit him, and he looked even more offended. "Are you saying I would choose badly?"

"Yes."

"You did not even hesitate."

"I do not have time to hesitate."

Osiris looked like he wanted to argue, but then he remembered Isabella, and the panic came back faster than his temper.

He turned around again, then turned back. "Where is Kian?"

Cyrus’s patience almost cracked in half.

"How would I know? Find him."

Osiris took two steps, stopped again, and looked back with a very serious face. "What exactly should I say?"

Cyrus’s jaw tightened.

He stepped closer, and for a moment his shadow fell over Osiris in the narrow corridor. "You will say, Isabella may be giving birth soon, and she wants experienced women with her. If you forget that sentence, if you scream nonsense, if you frighten the whole palace before we are ready, I will punch you into that wall."

Osiris looked at the wall.

Then he looked at Cyrus.

Then he nodded very seriously. "Isabella may be giving birth soon. She wants experienced women. Do not scream nonsense. Do not frighten the palace. Do not get punched into the wall."

"Good."

Osiris repeated it under his breath like a child memorizing a lesson. "Isabella may be giving birth soon. Experienced women. Kian. No screaming."

Then his eyes widened again. "Wait, should I tell him quickly or calmly?"

Cyrus’s eye twitched.

"Quickly and calmly."

Osiris stared at him as if that was the most unreasonable order he had ever heard.

Cyrus took one step forward.

Osiris immediately ran.

To be fair, he ran very fast.

His fiery blond hair flashed through the corridor, and his footsteps struck against the stone floor in sharp uneven beats as he muttered the sentence over and over again. "Kian. Experienced women. Isabella giving birth soon. Do not scream. Do not scream. Do not scream."

A guard at the corner turned his head, but Osiris was already gone.

Cyrus did not waste another breath on him.

He turned and went straight to the kitchen.

The palace kitchen was one of the warmest places in the stone building. Fire pits burned low but steady, clay pots sat near the heat, and hanging herbs moved lightly whenever the door covering shifted. There were wooden shelves lined with bowls, stone knives, dried roots, wrapped leaves, clean animal-skin bags, and baskets of winter fruit Isabella had insisted should be kept properly instead of being thrown somewhere like everything else in the old village days.

The room smelled of smoke, broth, dried meat, bitter medicine, and the faint sweet scent of stored fruit.

Cyrus entered like a man already counting every breath.