Chapter 8: The Corridor

Cora's POV

The Crown healer had a small mask and a machine that hummed.

By four in the morning my daughter was breathing again.

I sat on the edge of the cot and held her hand.

The color had come back into her lips.

Her braids had come half undone, and she looked about six.

"There she is," the healer said, and checked a dial. "Another ten minutes, and she can sleep."

"Why did it fail?" I asked. "The inhaler said eleven doses."

The healer looked at Hazel, and Hazel looked at the blanket.

"Hazel?" I said.

"I was using it at night," she whispered.

"When I woke up and it felt tight. Just a puff or two. I didn't want to wake you, because you were so tired."

"Baby."

"I kept count. I lost count. I'm sorry."

"Don't you ever apologize for breathing."

My voice cracked on the last word, and I turned my face away.

The healer made a note on her chart.

"It's common after a big fright," she said. "The body remembers."

She glanced at me, kind and tired. "She's been frightened for a while, I think."

"Yes," I said. "She has."

The healer took the machine and left us alone.

Hazel fell asleep within minutes, still holding on to my little finger.

I stayed where I was and didn't move.

The door stood open a hand's width.

Torin was sitting on a bench in the corridor outside, with his elbows on his knees.

He wore a coat over his pajama pants, and he hadn't come in.

He had run through the frost with my child in his arms.

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