“What…what do you mean?” Honoria panted, struggling to sit up. “Esme, what’s wrong? What’s wrong with my baby?”

“I don’t… It’s the…” Esme lost her words.

A sharp rap at the door preceded its opening. A middle-aged woman wearing a scarf and a faded purple hat stepped inside briskly, a small medical bag at her side.

“Mrs. Parsons.” Esme hurried to the newcomer and clasped her hand. “Oh, thank goodness they’ve managed to find you. We’re having a devil of a time.”

The midwife, Mina presumed. She edged toward the door. “It seems you’ve matters well in hand—”

Mrs. Parsons surveyed the room with a cool-eyed glance. “Hot water,” she demanded. “And I’ll need some clean cloths and laudanum. Here, let me have a look at the situation.”

With that, Mina found herself in charge of fetching the required items with Esme. Anything to leave the room.

When she returned, Mrs. Parsons had just finished her exam and was washing her hands. “The baby is in the breech position,” she said quietly to the pair of them. “I’ve tried to turn it, but quite honestly, I’ve always felt Mrs. Rachinger is proportionately inadequate, which is why I originally sent her to the obstetrician. We had hoped that the child would not be overlarge but… I could be wrong, we shall see as the labor progresses—if it progresses—but…”

“Cephalopelvic disproportion?” Mina asked. It was quite common, especially among malnourished women or simply those of narrow proportion.

“So the obstetrician believes.” There was no doubt on Mrs. Parsons’s face, however.

“I have seen this once before,” Mina said. “The queen’s son was born not breathing because it was decided that she was more important than the child.” That moment, when the baby had been delivered, Alexa had seen him and given a groggy cry. “My little boy…” she’d whispered in a voice that broke Mina’s heart before they took him away. She’d screamed then and struggled. Mina had forced herself to pin the queen down so that the doctors could stop her bleeding.

“If the child were in the correct position I might attempt a forceps delivery. However, there’s little option at this stage. The obstetrician must be sent for. The only way to save either child or mother is to deliver by cesarean,” Mrs. Parsons said. “A choice must be made.”

Esme’s lips parted on a soft cry. “No,” she whispered. “No. It will devastate her. Can we not save both?”

“It’s a risky procedure, Mrs. Doolan,” Mrs. Parsons replied bluntly.

“And there’s no way to fetch the obstetrician now,” Esme whispered. “He’s located in Clerkenwell.”

Mina gestured Mrs. Parsons to the side. “Have you attended any cesareans with an obstetrician?”

“Several. I help Dr. Phillips on occasion. He suffers from shaking palsy and sometimes his hands aren’t as steady as he’d like.”

“So you’ve performed a cesarean?”

“Twice. But you cannot possibly think I could perform such an operation! I know what I’m doing, but the risks are too high. She could suffer from internal bleeding or even hemorrhage to death, and I’m not a surgeon.”

Time to take a gamble. “What if you could perform the operation? You would know where to make the incisions, if nothing else. And what if I could guarantee that I could stop any bleeding?”

“How?”

“My craving virus levels are moderate,” Mina continued. “But a blue blood’s blood can heal almost any wound.”

“Infecting her with the craving in the process.”

“Yes, but Honoria will live and so will the baby. Blade’s a blue blood—I have little doubt he’d rather see his wife live, no matter the change—”

“She won’t catch the virus.” Esme suddenly spoke up, interrupting them. Honoria was gasping through another contraction and Dolly knelt at her feet by the birthing stool, rubbing her hand. “She’s been vaccinated against the craving.”

Of course. One of those vaccinations Barrons had been particularly keen on championing. There was little doubt he’d have seen his family inoculated.

Honoria broke off, panting. “Might not…stop the bleeding,” she whispered. “I’m not entirely…certain what the vaccination would do…if your blood mingled with mine. If it affects the healing…”

Though they’d been speaking quietly, evidently the room had heard the plan. Four sets of eyes stared at her.

“Then we test it,” Mina said grimly. “Does anyone have a scalpel or a blade?”

* * *

“They’re fallin’ back!” Blade bellowed.

Dozens of men lifted their arms and roared, the sound spreading along the entire wall. Leo scraped a hand over his face, trying to remove some of the soot and grime.

So far Morioch’s attempts to breach the rookery had been driven back. “He’s not throwing everything he’s got at you yet,” Leo murmured, examining the orderly ranks of automatons.

Blade’s smile never slipped as he waved his fist along with the men. “I know.” Their eyes met and Blade lowered his arm. “Testin’ us for weaknesses.”

“He’ll find them.” He himself had, upon inspection of the wall. Built from whatever people could get their hands on over fifty years ago, the wall had certain places he’d hit if he were trying to destroy it.

“As to that, I’ve got plans.” Blade pointed at the fires burning in other parts of the city. “They can’t afford to send all their forces at us. That’ll ’old ’em a bit, enough mebbe to finish Morioch off.”

Leo considered the golden blazes highlighting the night. Three of them, by the look of it. “Or they’ll send the Trojan cavalry out in force and crush the mobs there, then hit you with the spitfires. They don’t need me alive, just dead. All they’ve got to do is burn us to the ground.”

“Aye.” Blade’s gaze darkened. “But they need me alive, to execute me in public so they can prove I’m dead, once and for all.”

Killing a legend. “Perhaps.” Leo eyed the fires again, noting where they were. “No sign of Will yet?”