Hours glided by, overlapping each other like so many waves pushed from the sea. Gradually, the sun marched toward the opposite horizon . . . stretching Kershov’s imposing shadow over the long rustling grass and over the black cliffs, pouring his silhouette across his kingdom. Every birth was different. Atakask might already be finished expelling her pups from her body, or she might still struggle with more children. Kershov had never personally known any female to die during childbirth; he knew it could happen, but the instances in his experience had been so rare he hardly gave thought to the possibility. Only at this moment—waiting for some sign from the strange foreign woman—did the alabaster Alpha allow himself to wonder how Atakask faired. What would he do if she did perish? Toss her body into the ocean? Pretend as if she’d never crossed Uyaraut’s border in the first place? If she did not immediately die, but instead suffered a prolonged birth . . . what then? Kahlan resided somewhere in Blossom Forest—Kershov was certain. But could he reach the excellent healer in time for Kah to help? Would the earthen wolfess—a creature Ker had harmed in ways he could not yet comprehend—even consent to give care? A grimace etched the previously stoic lines of the glacial gladiator’s face. He thumped the earth with his tail, agitated, and glanced back down toward the area he’d seen Atakask disappear into. This was not the time to be agonizing over these questions . . . and the fact that he only stumbled upon them now only further highlighted their importance. We need healers. If not now, then very soon.

At last—just as Kershov resolved to stalk down to Atakask’s room to check on her—he saw the silvered she-wolf emerge. A limp bundle swung lifelessly from her maw . . . the stillborn. So Ker hadn’t imagined that mournful cry, after all. He rearranged his mask into one of appropriate sympathy—which on him meant relaxed ears, vaguely creased brown, and a less intense onyx stare—and prepared to meet the new mother halfway. The defeated heaviness to her gate was unmistakable. Atakask trembled slightly from her previous exertion, but her agony over the loss of this child clearly wounded her more. Whatever grace that had allowed her to travel to her clandestine birthing den had deserted her. Gritting his teeth, Kershov saw the grey lady stumble—then fall harder—

“Lady Atakask—stay where you are!” The Ice King had no concern for the dead pup whatsoever; the poor thing could feel nothing. But Atakask was in very real danger. He tried to raise his voice again, but the churning water rocketing up the sheer rock below stole his voice into the wind. Ker growled in frustration, attempting to quicken his pace—but he was too late. Forlorn portals of deepest green flickered up toward him in surprise, stunned to see him there. Atakask’s whole frame lurched in her shock. Kershov could only watch in helpless frustration as the new mother toppled backward—crumpling upon a stony edge—dropping her dead pup. A heart-wrenching scream split from her lips. She stretched outward, muscles straining, grasping at empty air. At this rate, the damsel would fall to her death as well. And Kershov would not allow that.

He reached her just as she slumped bonelessly to the ground, her bodice appearing impossibly heavy by a weight only she could suffer. Defeated. Heartbroken. Numb. Ker doubted she even registered his presence standing right next to her. With a quiet sigh, the ivory Alpha leaned over to gently nuzzle the woman’s shoulder—nudging her the way he might try to wake someone sleeping. “There is nothing to be done,” he murmured calmly. Coldly. An ice pack on a bruise, meant to soothe pain without the comfort of warmth. “That child is as inanimate as the rock you’re laying on. He did not feel pain. He knew nothing. But I can smell other pups on you who need their mother still.”