Stroud paled, eyes darting towards the door, as if measuring the dis-
tance. "The High Necromancer says that she's the one who bombed the
West Port Lab. We'd won. It was our victory day, and she—she killed
Bennet! His years of work. My work. All our experiments. She de-
stroyed all of it."
There was a long pause, and Ferron's eyes turned to slits.
"I appreciate you have a fanatical devotion to his memory, but psy-
chologically torturing a prisoner does very little when she has no mem-
ory that it even happened. Neither your program nor your rank grant
you personal revenge on my prisoner."
He let go of Helena, turning on Stroud, pulling off his gloves. "You
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Alchemised • 267
appear to have forgotten that I do not suffer fools tampering with her. I
have gone to considerable expense and effort to maintain her environ-
ment, regardless of how inflated your sense of importance is over being
outside of the lab when it exploded. The only reason you hold any rank
whatsoever is because those more suited to the task are all dead. If any-
thing, you should be grateful to her. You'd be no one now if anyone else
had survived."
Stroud went white, nostrils flaring. "I worked at Bennet's side. My
repopulation program is—"
"A farce. A convenient cover for the High Necromancer to achieve
his ends and sate the endless appetites of his loyalists," Ferron sneered
at her. "The only reason you survived was because you were a glorified
lab assistant, sent off to retrieve new subjects. Without Shiseo, you'd
have nothing to show for your time running Central. You think it isn't
noticeable how little you've produced since his departure? It's no won-
der you were so eager to launch your repopulation program."
Ferron had that same scathing, unrelenting intensity that he'd lev-
elled upon Aurelia. "After you threatened to commandeer my assigna-
tion, I investigated your little project. You boast so freely to the papers,
I was curious to see what remarkable data you must have to show for it.
I was something of an academic myself once. Do you mind telling me
about your controls? Or the statistics and historical data? No matter
where I look, I can only find anecdotes in unsubstantiated newspaper
articles."
"Things—are st-still in early stages—" Stroud stammered, her face
now a stark combination of white with red-stained cheeks. "I am a le-
gitimate— "
"Your 'program' is a spectacle." Ferron's voice grew low and taunting.
"Your lab assistants are better qualified than you are. Vivimancy is the
only unique skill you possess, and I am far more competent in that field
than you."
Ferron gestured towards the butler, standing near the door. "Show
Stroud out, and don't ever let her inside this house again unless I'm
present to personally escort her."
Stroud huffed, muttering about speaking to the High Necromancer,
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268 • SenLinYu
but her hands trembled violently as she gathered her files. When the
door shut, Ferron turned back to Helena.
She could feel his stare without looking up.
He reached towards her, and she went stiff. He didn't touch her face;
instead, his fingers slid along the nape of her neck, finding the dip of her
skull.
She looked up then, but there was no emotion on his face. He could
have been marble.
"I don't trust you to be conscious right now," he said.
She felt his resonance, delicate as the prick of a needle.
Heaviness swept through like a black tidal wave, dragging her down.
"No . . ." she choked out, not sure what she was protesting. Every-
thing.
But the world slipped from her grasp. She was dimly aware of her
legs being lifted onto the bed, the duvet pulled over her.
"I'm so sorry."
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CHAPTER 21
It was a struggle to wake again. The room was dim and heavy,
Helena's vision sluggish and disoriented. It felt as if she had been un-
conscious for a long time. Her mouth was parched.
Turning her head, she spotted Ferron standing with the lady's maid.
He was speaking quickly to her in a low voice, as though explaining
something complicated.
Her eyes drifted shut, head swimming.
When they opened again, Ferron was looking at her, and the necro-
thrall was across the room.
Now that she wasn't panicking anymore, Helena thought she was
going to be sick from the sight of him. She squeezed her eyes shut, curl-
ing into a defensive ball as he walked over.
"You are not allowed to hurt yourself or do anything that might
cause an abortion or miscarriage," he said. "You'll be monitored full-
time now, just in case your newfound desperation drives you to previ-
ously unknown heights of creativity."
The words were caustic, but he sounded more tired than anything
else.
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270 • SenLinYu
Helena said nothing, waiting for him to leave.
She curled protectively around her stomach. She knew there was
little more than nothing there, but eventually there would be, and she
could do nothing to stop it.
When she wouldn't get up for several days, Ferron returned.
"You cannot lie in bed moping for nine months," he said when she
refused to acknowledge him. "You need to eat and go outside."
She ignored him.
"I have something for you," Ferron finally said.
Something heavy pressed onto the duvet. She glanced over.
There was a thick book beside her. The Maternal Condition: An In-
Depth Study on the Science and Physiology of Gestation.
She looked away. "Why?"
"Because you'll wear your brain smooth if you don't find answers to
all the things you want to know." He sounded resigned.
There was a pause, clearly, he'd hoped for some reaction.
"I'll expect you out of bed tomorrow," he said, and left.
When his footsteps had finally faded, Helena reached towards the
book and almost shoved it off the bed, then hesitated and pulled it
against her chest, holding it tightly.
The next day, she got out of bed and sat by the window where the
light was strongest. The book was brand new, with a leather spine that
creaked when she lifted the cover and pages that still smelled of ma-
chine oil and ink.
It was a medical textbook, not a housewife's guide that would have
avoided technical and medical terminology in favour of the more acces-
sible explanations of pregnancy.
She was several chapters in when he returned.
She clutched at her book reactively, but he simply studied her.
"When did you last go outside?" he asked.
She looked down. "I—went out— "
She didn't know how long the necrothralls retained information,
whether they could observe the passage of time. If she lied, would he
know?
"Last week," she said.
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Alchemised • 271
"No, you didn't. You haven't been outside in weeks."
She stared down at her book, not blinking until the words began to
blur. She didn't want to go outside. She didn't want to see the spring or
smell the scent of the world coming to life.
"Put your shoes on."
She stood, holding her book tightly against her chest. He sighed
with irritation.
"You cannot bring that; it weighs nearly five pounds."
Helena only held it tighter. Other than her shoes and gloves, it was
her only possession.
Ferron gripped his temples as though he had a migraine.
"No one is going to steal your book," he said as if he was trying very
hard to be patient. He gestured around. "Who even would? If they do,
I will buy you a new one. Leave it."
She placed it carefully on the table, fingers lingering on the cover a
moment longer before she went to retrieve her boots.
The courtyard was reborn by spring. There was grass, and little red
buds covered the trees. The vines on the house had bright-green leaves,
transforming their previously gruesome appearance.
It was beautiful, Helena couldn't deny it, but every detail felt tainted
and poisonous.
Ferron said nothing, but he walked with her around the courtyard a
few times and then back to her room.
As he turned to leave, she forced herself to speak.
"Ferron." Her voice wavered.
He was already in the hall, but he paused and turned slowly back.
His expression was closed, eyes guarded.
"Ferron," she said again, voice barely more than a whisper. Her jaw
trembled uncontrollably, and she gripped the poster of the bed, trying
to steady herself. "I— I will never ask anything of you—"
His expression went flat and cold, and something inside her broke
but she kept speaking.
"You can do anything you want to me. I'll never ask for any mercy
from you, but please—don't do this . . ."
He stood, impassive.
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272 • SenLinYu
"It— this baby—it'll be half yours. Don't let them—" she said in a
broken voice. "I'll do anything you want—I'll—I'll—"
She didn't have anything to offer. Her heart was racing too fast, and
her voice cut off when she couldn't breathe. She clawed at her chest,
trying to force her lungs to inhale.
Ferron's eyes flickered, and he stepped to the room, shutting the
door. He walked over and took her by the shoulders, practically holding
her up as she fought to breathe.
"No one is going to hurt your baby," he said, meeting her eyes.
She gave a small gasp of relief. It was what she so desperately wanted
him to say.
She dropped her head, her hair falling and concealing her face.
"Really?" She let her desperation fill her voice.
"Nothing will happen to it. You have my word. Calm down."
What an empty promise. There was no point in begging. He had
every reason to lie to her, to say whatever was necessary to lull her into
compliance, to keep of her calm and docile with reassurances that meant
nothing.
She jerked free, backing away.
"You'll say anything, won't you?" she said, her voice shaking. "I guess
you have to, whatever it takes to 'maintain my environment.'"
She wrapped her arms around herself and sank to the floor.
"Stay away from me," she said. "I'll only exercise and eat if I don't
have to see you."
She went outside alone the next day, intent on poisoning herself
with everything and anything she could find. Spring was a good time
for it. With a garden so overgrown, there was a chance of white helle-
bore being somewhere in the overgrowth. She crawled through the
beds, ignoring the pain in her hands and arms, searching everywhere,
but there was nothing abortive or poisonous.
Even the crocuses and snowbells that she was certain she'd seen were
gone, the soil loose in their wake. She raked through it with her fingers,
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Alchemised • 273
but there wasn't a single bulb left behind.
She went out, searching every day, desperate to find some overlooked
sprout as she began to develop headaches and nausea. What was briefly
a grinding pain in the back of her skull seemed to expand by the hour.
It worsened week by week until she couldn't read, her vision swimming
in an aura of pain.
The heavy winter drapes were kept closed, blotting out all light. She
ate less and less. When she couldn't eat or drink or get out of bed for
two days, Ferron reappeared.
"You said you'd eat," he said.
She scoffed, and her head throbbed so painfully it was as though
someone had driven a metal rod into her skull. Her vision turned blood
red. She moaned, hardly able to breathe until it passed.
"If I could even think of anything that sounded edible, I doubt I
could keep it down," she said in a strained voice. "Sickness isn't unusual
in early pregnancy. It'll pass. Statistical probability indicates I'm un-
likely to die from it."
She felt the air shift as Ferron stiffened, as if her words had startled
him.
"My mother nearly did," he said.
She felt as if there was something she was meant realise at the com-
ment, but her head hurt too much to wonder.
Ferron didn't leave. He was still standing beside her bed when she
fell into exhausted sleep.
He brought Stroud a few days later.
"I can't imagine that the Toll of the animancy is already manifest-
ing," she was saying loudly as she entered the room, "It generally that
doesn't develop until the final months. However, she was a healer. Per-
haps she has less vitality left than we'd realised."
She stopped beside Helena, not really looking at her at all. She
flipped the duvet back and shoved Helena's nightgown up to her stom-
ach without warning.
Helena flinched, and Ferron looked away.
"Now, it's still early, but I think—" Stroud rummaged in her bag and
pulled out a resonance screen.
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274 • SenLinYu
Stroud held the screen up in her left hand while her right rested on
Helena's lower abdomen. Stroud's resonance sank through her skin, and
the gas within the glass morphed into a series of nebulous shapes. In the
negative space, there was something small, pulsing so rapidly it seemed
to flutter.
Helena stared, stricken.
"There." Stroud sounded pleased. "Your heir—" She caught herself.
"Well, progeny, I suppose we should say."
Ferron's face had gone ashen.
Stroud pulled her hand away. "It all appears normal, nothing irregu-
lar that I can detect. Have you checked her brain recently?"
Ferron shook his head.
Stroud clicked her tongue but nodded. "Given the seizures she's had,
it's probably for the best not to disrupt things at such a fragile juncture."
She rested her hand on Helena's head, sending out the barest wave of
resonance. Helena shuddered from the pain. "If she really is an ani-
mancer, I suspect the headaches are self-inflicted, so there's not really
anything to be done about it. In fact, it might prompt the recovery of
her memories."
Ferron's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Stroud pulled the covers back over Helena. "If the High Necroman-
cer is correct, she's keeping the memories hidden by internalising her
resonance. Which means that she's probably been putting most of her
energy into maintaining it. It might explain her lethargy, since it's un-
likely that it's being done efficiently. Now she's pregnant. She doesn't
have the strength to sustain both, especially if this embryo is an ani-
mancer. The High Necromancer says that his power was so great, he'd
claimed every drop of his mother's life while still in the womb and was
birthed from her corpse upon the funeral pyre. We'll have to be sure to
maintain Marino. Perhaps if we're lucky, we'll end up with both a baby
and the memories before she succumbs to the Toll."
"You didn't think to mention this until now?" Ferron's words were
fine and sharp as a razor.
Stroud gave a tight shrug. "It's not as though I have much data to
theorise on." She shot him a snide look. "You should ask your father. He
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Alchemised • 275
is our resident expert, you know."
Something unreadable flashed across Ferron's face. "I wouldn't rely
on his cooperation in this case."
"Well, I can have an intravenous drip put in, but that's as much as I
can do."
Stroud left, but Ferron stayed behind.
Helena closed her eyes. Now she understood: She was expected to
die, and they'd all known. She only hoped it would happen too early for
the pregnancy to be viable.
That fluttering negative space in the resonance screen danced in her
mind's eye.
Her chest tightened, heart pounding as if she were running.
The mattress shifted, and cool fingers touched her cheek, brushing
back her hair and resting against her forehead.
A few days later, a doctor visited, and an intravenous drip was in-
serted into her left arm. Her days became ruled by the unending drip of
saline and drugs inside the glass vial.
The morning sickness seemed to fade, but the headaches didn't; if
anything, they grew worse. Helena could barely move. She was poked
and prodded by countless doctors, but none offered useful advice.
When they'd gone, Ferron would sit on the edge of the bed and
smooth her hair. Sometimes he would take her hand, his fingers moving
absently against hers. The first time he did it, she thought he was play-
ing with her fingers; then she realised he was massaging them.
He always started at her palms, careful not to bend her wrists or
bump the manacles, working slowly to her fingertips, knuckle by
knuckle. It made them spasm less, so she let him, but she told herself
she didn't like it.
She grew thin, until the manacles were loose enough that she could
see the tubes where they penetrated her wrists, and the necrothrall maid
who most frequently watched her grew fretful to the point that Helena
began to doubt that the woman was a necrothrall at all.
She'd hover over Helena, wordlessly offering mint and ginger ti-
sanes, clear broths, and bits of toast, giving her sponge baths, and care-
fully combing and plaiting Helena's hair into a loose braid so it wouldn't
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276 • SenLinYu
mat. She seemed strangely experienced in nursing for a lady's maid.
Ferron began to hover, too. He had to leave to hunt and perform
whatever duties Morrough still gave him, but he was often in her room.
Sometimes he'd come in, completely filthy, verifying that she was still
alive before even cleaning up.
He didn't speak or meet her eyes, but he was there constantly. Sitting
sometimes for hours with her hand in his as if it could keep her from
slipping away.
Stroud visited again when Helena was barely conscious. She heard
comments about not expecting it to take such a toll already, blaming the
transmutation in Helena's brain, and complaining that it was far too
early for viability.
Atreus was mentioned again.
Helena dreamed that her room was filled with moonlight, except
instead of coming through the windows, the light came from Ferron.
His eyes had that eerie silver glow as he sat next to her, her hand in his
once more, but this time her palm was pressed against his chest so that
she could feel his heartbeat.
She couldn't help but think something was supposed to happen, but
nothing did. The dead sensation in her wrists was like a pit.
She felt like an hourglass, the final grains of sand finally running
down. It was almost over. She could feel herself slipping away.
The room flipped as she was dragged up and crushed tight.
"Stay . . . please . . . stay."
The light grew and the strangest sensation came over her, a glow
inside her chest, familiar even though she was certain she'd never expe-
rienced anything like it before. The constant feeling of strain inside her
chest, like a thread pulled to the verge of snapping, slowly faded away.
She closed her eyes, drawing a struggling breath, and the dream dis-
solved into nothingness.
Helena woke with a start, panic gripping her. She pushed herself up
in bed, swaying as the room swam around her. She braced herself, rip-
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Alchemised • 277
ping the needle from her arm, and tumbled from the bed.
There something important she needed to do—
Her legs nearly gave out when they hit the floor. She stumbled,
catching herself, A shock of pain lanced through her arms, but she ig-
nored it.
She was supposed to be doing something.
What was it, though?
She couldn't remember.
She was waiting. She needed to be ready for . . .
The knowledge danced just beyond reach, but she could feel it.
Don't break.
She'd promised . . .
What? What had she promised? Think, Helena.
She had to remember now. She pressed her hands against her tem-
ples.
There were red spots dancing in her vision. Pain ballooning until it
was larger than she was.
Ferron appeared in front of her. "What's—"
She stared at him wildly. "I'm waiting— I promised I'd wait—"
Pain sheared through her brain, and the world split in two.
When her vision cleared. Ferron was still there, but his eyes had
turned a flat grey, his hair darkened by shadows as he lunged towards
her.
She fell back instinctively, fingers scrabbling, trying to find—
He vanished.
The room splintered.
Ilva Holdfast was sitting in front of her, her expression tense. "We're
losing the war."
Before Helena could answer, Ilva was gone. Helena was falling.
No . . . She wasn't falling.
Ferron had her by the throat, and he was slamming her onto the
floor. His eyes narrowed into slits.
Cold water filled her mouth.
Everything was dark, ice-cold. She was surrounded by water. She
could see Luc. He was clawing at his own throat, fingers leaving gouges
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278 • SenLinYu
in his skin.
Lila, with her hair cropped short, curled up against the wall crying.
"I made a mistake."
"Surely I deserve something in return, to warm my cold heart."
A hard kiss where she was pinned against a wall.
" You seem pleased, to have successfully whored yourself."
Matron Pace standing, looking over her shoulder. "Lila Bayard is not
the only person that the Eternal Flame would suffer greatly for losing. I do
hope you know that."
"You're mine. You swore yourself to me." The words were growled in her
ear.
Jan Crowther, alive, his eyes narrowed and furious. "If you succeed,
you're more likely to destroy the Eternal Flame than to save it."
Helena herself crying. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did this to you."
Everything was falling in fragments around her as Ferron reap-
peared, his face white with rage, his eyes glowing that bright unearthly
silver.
"I have warned you. If something happens to you, I will personally raze
the Eternal Flame. That isn't a threat. It is a promise. Consider your survival
as much a necessity to the Resistance as Holdfast's. If you die, I will kill every
single one of them."
It was like falling. The past broke free, surging through her mind and
swallowing her.
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CHAPTER 22
Four Years Prior
Solstice Eve, 1785 pd
On the upper plateau of the East Island, not far from the
Alchemy Institute, stood one of the few freestanding houses on the
Paladian islands.
Solis Splendour, the Bayard family's grand old house, was one of the
few to survive the city's stratospheric architectural climb. As most of the
city gave way to vast, interconnected towers, climbing ever higher, the
Bayards had kept their original home on its original land. The city and
the more newly monied loomed high overhead, but Solis Splendour
had never tried to rise, content to flourish in the shadow of the Al-
chemy Institute and Tower.
The Bayards were such fixtures at the Institute that Helena some-
times forgot how near their family seat was, and how wealthy they were.
Even in a war, barely maintained, Solis Splendour was beautiful and
startling in size, even as a convalescent home. Its many spacious rooms
were now filled with rows of beds for those too injured to return to
combat, so that Headquarters would not overflow with the wounded.
Rhea Bayard had been offering such care even before her husband be-
came one of the permanent residents.
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282 • SenLinYu
Helena stood at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door,
trying to summon the will to knock. The air was so cold that her nose
had gone numb, and her fingertips ached through her kid gloves. The
first day of winter, but it had already been bitterly cold for months.
The hibernal solstice was supposed to be all about looking ahead to
brighter days, but after five years of war, it was difficult to believe that
things would ever get better no matter how much the days lengthened
or warmed.
When Helena was too cold to keep loitering outside, she ascended
the steps and rapped hesitantly.
The door immediately swung open, revealing Sebastian Bayard, Lila
and Soren's uncle. He was a tall man, with an agile build, and pale skin
and hair that almost blended into each other. The only colour to him
was his soft blue eyes that always seemed to be searching for something
that wasn't there.
He'd been Principate Apollo's paladin primary, among other things,
and now, in reserve, he always had a sort of tragic alertness about him,
like a dog waiting for its master to return.
"Helena," Sebastian said, inviting her in, "we're glad you made it. I
know Rhea hoped you would."
Helena's stomach twisted into a hard knot as she stepped into the
warm interior of the house, discarding her coat but leaving on her
gloves.
Several children scampered by, quiet and wan-faced but with shining
eyes. Some were so young, they'd never known a day outside the war.
They were all accustomed to staying out from underfoot and minding
themselves, but solstice was still magical for them.
The front rooms were still functional, and they were full of people,
some with wheeled chairs, crutches, or bandages, and others in good
health, if not spirits. The mood of the party failed to match the cosy
light and warmth, or the cheerful music emanating from the gramo-
phone; the voices and conversation were all low and sombre.
"There she is." Lila's voice suddenly broke through the hum as she
rose from the far side of the sitting room. Her pale hair was braided as
always into a crown around her head, which made her seem even taller
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Alchemised • 283
than she was. Groups parted as Lila crossed the room, hopping agilely
on her gleaming prosthetic leg to avoid chairs and legs and tables.
It was uncharacteristically showy, but Helena knew that Lila was
desperate to prove that she was more than sufficiently recovered from
her injury and ready to return to combat.
The decision would be made by the Council in three days. There
would be a full hearing, and as healer and one of the alchemists involved
in developing the titanium base of the prosthetic, Helena would be
among those consulted about whether Lila was competent to resume
her duties as paladin primary.
Lila's ice-blue eyes scanned Helena's face in an instant. "You look
nearly frozen. Come over here, Luc's got a fire, he'll make it warm for
you."
They reached the group that Lila had broken away from, all mem-
bers of the same battalion. They were gathered around the fireplace, and
in the centre sat Luc, their god-touched Principate, slouched like a
schoolboy and teasing the flames with his fingertips. With the flick of
his fingers, the flames took shapes and danced across the logs like acro-
bats, their light gilding him.
Luc was smaller in both build and height than almost all of them,
barring a few of the girls. Even Lila's twin brother, Soren, who was re-
garded as small for a paladin, had a good several inches on Luc.
People said it was something about pyromancers, they just tended to
be slight, but the sneering few pointed out that the Principate being
expected to marry someone shorter than him might also have some-
thing to do with their generationally dwindling stature.
Helena knew almost nothing about Luc's mother, much less how tall
or short she'd been. She'd died of a wasting sickness when he was too
young to remember her.
"Make some space for Helena," Lila said, nudging her forward. "Hel,
I'll get you some mulled wine, that'll get you warm."
Lila disappeared again.
"I don't think I've ever seen Lila so helpful," said one of the boys, a
wry smirk on his face.
Helena wasn't sure of his name. He was newer. A defence specialist.
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284 • SenLinYu
His predecessor had been killed during the same battle against Black-
thorne that cost Lila her leg.
"Shut up, Alister," Luc and Soren, who was sitting just behind Luc,
said simultaneously.
Fire flashed in Luc's eyes, while Soren seemed to lengthen like an
ominous shadow. Everyone glared at Alister.
Alister shifted and forced a smile. "It was a joke. I think we'd all be
acting just like her if we needed a hearing to resume combat. I just don't
know why she's worried. She could have lost an arm, too, and she'd still
fight better than most of us."
Soren relaxed, rolling his eyes, but Luc stared stonily at the fire.
Penny Fabien had shifted her legs to the side and, meeting Helena's
eyes, patted a spot next to Luc, but Helena hesitated.
Sit there and in a matter of days, Ilva Holdfast would call Helena in
"just for a chat," and during the conversation she'd make a series of re-
marks about how tenuous things presently were. About the need to
make sacrifices, and how sometimes caring about someone meant stay-
ing away from them. She would talk about loyalty, how the members of
the Eternal Flame had followed the Holdfasts for generations. The
Principate was held to certain standards, and it would be devastating to
the cause if their faith in Luc was shaken; if he seemed to prioritise oth-
ers more than them.
Helena shook her head, mumbling something about finding Lila as
she backed away.
The next room was quieter, filled with more severely wounded con-
valescents. They paid no attention to her.
Sitting among them was former General Titus Bayard.
Although he'd never been a paladin himself, he was taller and broader
than his brother, with a wide forehead filled with furrows and creases.
He'd served as military commander for the Eternal Flame for most of
Luc's life, training and approving new members, including his own
children, choosing their positions and combat designations.
Now, with that same intense care and concentration, he very slowly
wound a ball of yarn in his huge hands.
"Hello, Titus," Helena said in a low, even voice, kneeling beside him.
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Alchemised • 285
"It's Healer Marino, do you remember me?"
He gave no indication of hearing her. He only ever minded Rhea.
"Do you mind if I look at your brain? Won't hurt a bit, just a little
touch."
He gave a noncommittal grunt. She slipped a glove off and reached
out, fingers trailing along the wide scar that started at his temple and
disappeared into his hair. Her resonance unspooled from her fingertips
like tendrils of energy cast in a net, examining the tissue and bone and
into the brain, looking desperately for any signs of change.
Everything was the same.
There was almost nothing wrong with Titus physically. Even his
brain showed little sign of anything being wrong with it except inactiv-
ity. All the carefully, perfectly regenerated tissue Helena had spent shift
after shift reconstructing had saved his life but trapped him inside his
own mind. She didn't know how to get him out. If he was even still in
there.
"You're very strong," she said conversationally as she smoothed his
hair to conceal the scar again.
His concentration on the ball of yarn broke off briefly so he could
give her a grimacing smile. Their eyes met, and she felt the same pang
in her chest again, an overwhelming desire to tell him, I'm sorry. I was
trying to save you. I didn't mean to do this to you.
"Helena."
Her stomach clenched in dread as she turned to face Rhea Bayard.
Titus's wife was a tall woman with raven-like features, all long and
sharp, and deep-set green eyes that Soren had inherited. According to
the stories, she'd been an alchemist at the Institute, and a good one, but
she'd retired to marry and have children.
"You came in so quietly, I didn't realise you were here. Have you al-
ready seen Titus?" Rhea was smiling, but it was strained.
Helena knew when she received the invitation that this was why she
was invited. Rhea lived in the desperate hope that eventually Helena
would find a way to heal Titus. She used to bring him to the hospital
constantly, even after everyone else had given up, convinced that with
time and new science, someone with Helena's abilities could restore
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286 • SenLinYu
him.
Helena had been afraid that Rhea would blame her for failing to
heal Titus, but her enduring conviction that Helena would find a cure
felt worse at times.
"Yes, just now," Helena said, even though she knew that wasn't what
Rhea was really asking. "You take such good care of him."
Rhea's smile faded when Helena added nothing else. She looked
down, twisting her fingers.
"Good. Good. Yes. That's good to hear." Rhea cleared her throat as
she stepped over to a shelf and took a package down, holding it out. "I'm
glad you came. You missed the earliest festivities, but this one's for you."
Helena stared at the outstretched gift, her face growing hot. "Oh, but
I didn't—I didn't realise there'd be—presents. I didn't bring—"
"You keep my children alive, and we'll call it even."
Helena sat down and pulled off the paper string, opening it. Inside
the package lay a knit green pullover, intricately made with raised pat-
terns reminiscent of alchemy symbols. "Oh. This is beautiful. This is too
much; I can't take something like this."
Rhea seemed pleased by how stunned Helena was. "I wasn't sure
about your colours, or your elements aside from titanium, but Lila men-
tioned you like the barrens, so I thought the green would suit."
"This must have taken so much time."
Rhea sighed. "Knitting keeps my hands busy. My parents are from
the lowlands in Novis; lots of sheep there. My mother always sends me
skeins along with her letters trying to convince me to bring Titus to live
with them." She pressed her lips together. "He would like the sheep. But
the twins are here. Besides, there's not much chance of a cure for Titus
if we go."
Helena ran her fingers along the patterns nervously. "I'll try to do
some more research, see if I can find anything new."
"Thank you— " Rhea began but then broke off. "Titus, no! We don't
do that."
Helena watched as Rhea hurried over and tried to pry someone's
crutch from Titus's hands.
"Helena, can you find Sebastian?" Rhea said, her voice forcefully
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Alchemised • 287
cheery as she half-wrestled with her husband, who, while usually gentle,
was twice her size and sometimes threw tantrums.
Helena hurried from room to room, looking for Sebastian. He was
in the little entry at the front door, avoiding everyone under the pre-
tence of acting as a welcoming committee.
Helena barely opened her mouth before he seemed to know. "Titus?"
He was gone in an instant. Helena stood, clutching the knit pullover
in her hands. Her opportunity to exit was clear before her. No one
would notice if she slipped away.
"You're already going?"
She looked around guiltily and found Luc standing behind her, two
mugs of mulled wine in his hands.
"I have another shift soon," she said, grateful that it wasn't a lie. Luc
had always teased her for being a terrible liar. Her face, he'd once said,
was disastrously honest.
His eyebrows knit together. "They have you back-to-back like that
today?"
"Not usually, but everyone wanted the solstice off," she said. "And
they know it's not really a tradition in the south, so they just assume I
don't have any plans, and—they're right. I don't really have people like
they do."
His eyebrows rose. "Am I not people anymore?"
She managed a smile. "Of course you are, but you're busy. Everyone
wants you."
He dropped down on the slender bench by the door and held out
one of the mugs. "Stay. You haven't even been here ten minutes."
She glanced towards the other rooms to see if anyone had noticed,
knowing they undoubtedly had because Luc would always be immedi-
ately missed. If Soren and Lila weren't shadowing him, that was only
because they already knew where he was and were giving him space he'd
asked for.
She could hear Lila in the next room, her voice raised dramatically,
telling the story of Orion and the great battle against the Necromancer
during the first Necromancy War. The children were scampering in
from all corners to listen.
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288 • SenLinYu
Lila had a mysterious allure when it came to children; she could be
in armour and covered in blood, and toddlers would still want her to
pick them up. And she would, and a minute later she'd be playing peek-
aboo with her helmet visor.
Soren was standing near the doorway, wearing a look of grave inter-
est in a story he'd heard a hundred thousand times. Helena caught the
corner of his eye for an instant before he pretended not to notice her or
Luc.
This interception was carefully coordinated.
"I miss you," Luc said as she took the mug, resigning herself to Ilva's
impending lecture. Luc nudged her with his elbow as she sat beside
him. "Every time I look for you, you're busy or slipping off somewhere."
She gripped the mug tighter. "Well, my job starts when yours ends.
That's probably why," she said. "But I'm always here when you need me."
She sipped the wine. It was warm but also sour and barely spiced; the
shortages were eating into all the supplies.
"Same goes for you. Just because you're a healer doesn't mean you
don't get breaks. If you're getting called in for too many shifts, tell me.
I'll get it fixed."
She shook her head. "Don't worry, Ilva always looks after me."
After all, Ilva considered Helena a vital asset. The Eternal Flame
only had one healer, and while they couldn't afford to lose her, they also
couldn't afford not to use her. They couldn't take any more losses.
"That's good. It's nice knowing there's one person I never have to
worry about," he said, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, exhaustion
visible in his face.
Lila's voice's rose, deep and dramatic. "The dead surrounded them on
all sides. Orion and his faithful paladins stood back-to-back. Darkness
all around, the only light the fire in Orion's hands . . ."
Luc sighed. "You're going to clear Lila, aren't you?"
Helena peered into her mug. "She's ready. There's no reason not to,
and she's the best at what she does, which is keeping you alive."
There came a series of gasps from the children in the next room as
Lila described the paladins battling horde after horde of necrothralls
while Orion fought the Necromancer alone.
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Alchemised • 289
"What if the reason is that I don't want her cleared?" Luc said, his
voice barely audible.
Helena looked over. Now he was the one avoiding her eyes, his jaw
jutted stubbornly forward.
"You know," he said, "when she took the vows, I thought, at least if
she was always there to protect me, it meant I'd be there to protect her,
too." He rubbed the ignition ring on his thumb against the rim of the
mug. "But I'm not—not always. She acts like that's the job, getting
chopped into bits in front of me. She's already saved my life more times
than I can count, and that's supposed to be fine"—his eyebrows knit
together—"because I'll win the war, so it'll all even out in the end. Just
like Orion. Except I don't know how to do that. And she just keeps get-
ting hit and I'm supposed to keep letting her."
He swallowed hard.
There were too many people, too many lives, balancing on his shoul-
ders. Everyone was always watching, waiting for him to intuitively
manifest a miracle like the one Lila was presently describing in vivid
detail to gasps and cheers.
Luc's sense of failure ran through him like a fault line, waiting to
rupture. Every death and every scar that Lila and Soren bore adding to
it.
He spoke again. "Everyone keeps saying, We're almost there, and It has
to get worse before it gets better, and It's a crucible, and I just have to prove
true . . . but what if I can't? What if that's why things are like this?"
He looked at her, his face stricken, guilt written across it, all the
doubt he was not supposed to feel. The Principate was supposed to be
unwavering, faith manifest, Sol's divinity come to earth.
Everyone went out ready to die for him at any moment, so how
could he betray their faith by doubting himself.
"Holy white flames rose everywhere, consuming every necrothrall,"
Lila's voice boomed grandly.
Sitting there beside Helena, Luc was an orphan with centuries of
legacy resting on his shoulders, and no more idea of how to single-
handedly win a war than anyone else.
Helena shook her head. "Luc, I don't believe in you because anyone
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290 • SenLinYu
ever said I should. I'm here because there's no one braver or kinder than
you. You're all the good things that anyone ever hopes to be. We're not
here because you tricked us." She touched his wrist with her gloved
fingers just for a moment. "The reason we believe in you is because if
you're not good enough, then no one is."
He shook his head. "Orion was. All my forefathers were. Nothing
like this ever happened to any of them. A necromancer showed up, and
they stopped them, simple as that, but I've tried everything, and I
can't— "
"Their wars were easier than this one," Helena said forcefully. "None
of them were anything like this, except maybe Orion's, but even then, it
was simpler, because, like Lila just said, he could fill the valley with fire
that reached the mountaintops and burn down everything. Even if you
could do that, there's a city with thousands and thousands of people
around you. Orion only fought one necromancer in his whole life.
There's no reason to think any of them could fight this war better. You're
doing your best, and if the gods don't see that, they're blind—"
"Don't say things like that," he said, cutting her off. "That's not help-
ing."
Her mouth snapped shut, and she didn't know what else to say, noth-
ing ever seemed to be right.
"Where the Necromancer had stood, there was nothing but ashes,"
Lila said in a climactic voice.
"What was the Necromancer's name?" came a small piping voice.
"No one knows," Lila said with an air of mystery. "Anyone who knew,
he'd killed. Where was I? Oh yes, even now, Orion's whole body was
arrayed in holy sunfire, and using his pyromancy, he took that fire and
lit a brazier."
"I thought you said everything was burned up in the great waves of
fire except the paladins and Orion," the little voice interrupted again.
There was a mixture of laughter and shushing.
"Well, as it happened, this iron brazier was not burned away in the
great waves of fire," Lila said in a mock-solemn voice. "And so Orion
placed the holy fire into it, and before his paladins and the dawning sun,
he swore a solemn oath that so long as he and his descendants drew
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Alchemised • 291
breath, the fire would not go out, and the flames would be carried to
destroy the rot of necromancy wherever it festered, and—"
"I thought there was a stone," came the piping once more, apparently
revolting against the shushing. "When my dad tells the story, his version
has a stone in it."
"Well, this version doesn't have a stone," Lila said quickly, trying to
finish the story. "Anyway—"
"I like it better when it has the stone," contributed another small
voice.
Helena set the mug down, glancing at Luc, who was clearly dis-
tracted by Lila's squabbling over his family history with a pack of chil-
dren.
"Luc, I have to go now," she said. "Don't lose hope, though. We're
always here for you. The days will get brighter."
He gave a wan smile and a listless nod. "I know."
The nearly moonless sky loomed overhead as she stepped outside,
bright with winter stars. She let out a harsh breath which rose like a fog,
blotting them out.
She turned her eyes to the Alchemy Tower ahead, still and always
illuminated by Orion Holdfast's Eternal Flame.
Luc was the only Holdfast left now to keep that promise and sustain
the fire, but after five years, the war had become a battle of attrition. No
amount of healing, or fire, or paladins was enough to win against the
ever-growing army of necrothralls.
She stared at the beacon of light, heart clenching at the thought that
it might go out, that Luc would be the last because no one could save
him from his destiny.
She looked down at her hands, curling her fingers inside the gloves
and slowly opening them, drawing a deep breath.
"You promised you'd do anything for him."
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CHAPTER 23
Februa 1786
Helena's jaw was taut, her teeth grinding together as her
fingers twisted through the air, pulling, tugging at the feeble connection
threatening to melt away from her.
Her right hand was cramping, sharp pain shooting along the tendon
to her elbow, but if she broke the connection, let her hand rest for an
instant, her patient would die.
"Come on," she said under her breath as her fingers spun through
the air, refusing to give up. "Where is it?"
As if she'd needed to just verbalise her desperation, she found it, in-
ternal bleeding where the pressure was pooling.
"Got you. Got you," Helena said with a little gasp of relief, her fin-
gers moving faster now, manipulating the tissue, repairing the artery,
drawing the blood away so that she could focus on the task before her:
a rib cage which had been split apart.
She'd been transmuting regenerative lung tissue with one hand and
maintaining the heartbeat with the other when she'd realised there was
something else wrong, and now, finally, her resonance was not scream-
ing at her that death was imminent.
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Alchemised • 293
She gave herself a moment to flex her right hand once before guid-
ing the shattered bones back over the new lungs, knitting together the
places where they'd broken, regenerating what was missing. She pushed
the mangled skin back, repairing it as best she could. Finally, she rested
both hands on the healed chest, drawing it up, making it rise for breath,
letting out her own sigh.
There would still be weeks of recovery ahead, at least a month of
convalescence at Solis Splendour. The lung tissue was new and delicate,
the repaired bones fragile, but he would live to fight another day.
She let herself look at the face, now that she knew he wouldn't die,
checking the intravenous drip before she gestured for the medics to
take over again.
He was young. She knew so many of the faces, but she'd never seen
his before. A new recruit, or maybe newly of age. No, he couldn't be of
age. He looked barely fourteen.
She had no time to wonder. She had to wash her hands, douse them
in antiseptic, and move to the next bed with a ribbon designating the
need for intercession.
Don't look at the face, she reminded herself as the medics and nurses
scattered to make space for her.
She didn't know anymore how long she'd been on shift. A day or
two? It was hard to say.
It had been mostly battle injuries at first, cuts and gouges, stab
wounds, broken bones. Then it became burns, charred-off limbs,
scorched lungs, skin a charcoal crisp that cracked to ooze blood.
The hospital smelled like roast meat, blood, the stench of gut wounds,
and the lavender oil they used to disinfect.
Helena used to like the smell of lavender.
Her last patient, she lost. The organs failed more quickly than Hel-
ena could regenerate them. She was so tired that her hands trembled
uncontrollably with every twist of her resonance. She wasn't fast enough.
Her resonance rebounded on her, a pulse of energy like a gunshot
through her chest. Ghostly cold rushed through her and dissipated.
Gone.
Helena slumped, breathing unsteadily, wanting to scream. A minute
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294 • SenLinYu
more and she could have—
She pushed herself up, hands shaking as she stepped back, looking at
the face before she could stop herself.
The body was so badly burned, she couldn't tell if it had been a boy
or a girl. It was horrifyingly small. She looked around, eyes searching for
another ribbon, but finding none.
She walked stiffly towards the nearest wall, her knees giving out. Her
mouth was parched, and her hands shook as an orderly paused and
handed her a cup of water.
She was one of the young ones, with bright-blue eyes. New enough
to still be eager at her job.
Helena clutched the cup in her hands, staring dully across the casu-
alty ward, the rows of beds, and the piles of blood-soaked clothes and
bandages and sheets on the floor. She could feel that same blood on her
face and hair. Only her hands were mostly clean. The only thing she'd
washed in at least a day.
She pressed her hand against her chest, finding the sunstone amulet
under her filthy uniform. The fabric was so stiff with blood, it almost
cracked as she squeezed the amulet, trying to ground herself.
"You should have been on break hours ago."
She looked up to find Matron Pace standing beside her, mopping
her forehead with a mostly clean cloth, a chipped cup in her other hand.
The matron's apron was as blood-spattered as Helena's, and red-
stained wisps of greying hair clung to her flushed, swollen face.
"I didn't see you on break, either." Even Helena's voice shook with
exhaustion.
Pace had been in medicine longer than the Paladian Central Hospi-
tal had existed. Helena heard she'd been a midwife before the national
medical licensing laws came into effect. Women needed alchemy certi-
fication to qualify, and Pace wasn't an alchemist, so she'd become a
nurse.
Helena sat, the joints in her hands aching from the constant repeti-
tive flexing. Inside her chest, there was a feeling like a rope pulled taut.
She dreaded the thought of beginning to feel her feet again.
"Go rest," Matron Pace said.
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Alchemised • 295
Helena shook her head, her eyes fastened on the door where any new
casualties would be brought in. "I should stay in case of an emergency.
Is Maier still in the surgery?"
Maier was one of the most accomplished alchemical surgeons Pal-
adia had ever produced. He'd left a hospital in Novis to join the Resis-
tance and keep their hospital running after the Undying wiped out all
the field hospitals and clinics.
Maier was a genius surgeon and a hard worker, but also short-
tempered, and he did not like women. Unfortunate when the war hos-
pital was predominantly staffed and run by women. He kept to himself
and the few male assistants he'd brought with him, leaving the manage-
ment of the hospital and any dealings with medics, nurses, or orderlies
to Pace.
"Marino, there are plenty of accomplished medics here. You worked
longer than you should have, go rest."
Helena watched a sheeted gurney pass, already on its way to the
crematorium. "I don't want to sleep right now. I'll just dream of being in
here."
Pace sighed. "I don't know that I should tell you this, but there's a
meeting in session. The Council asked for a report from the hospital. If
you'd like to go."
Exhaustion had dulled Helena's mind to near incomprehension, but
the thought of giving a report in the war room left her numb.
She hated going into that room where everything was reduced to
figures and zones of interest. The dead were only numbers in that room.
"Do we have the numbers yet?" she asked.
"Just the preliminary ones." Pace picked up a file, holding it out.
The meeting was under way when Helena entered the War Room.
The Resistance Headquarters were based in what had once been the
Holdfast Institute of Alchemy and Science. The war room was previ-
ously the faculty boardroom; now it was an audience chamber. Span-
ning a wall was a tiered map of the full city-state, the two main islands,
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296 • SenLinYu
and the mainland abutting the mountains, the levels and water districts
all marked out.
Most was coloured black or red, a tide of blood closing in on the blue
area centred in the upper half of the East Island. There was a gleam of
gold in the sea of blue marking the Institute itself.
The Council of Five sat at a dais behind a long marble table. Two
chairs were empty. Falcon Matias sat on the far right, Steward Ilva
Holdfast beside him, a gaunt, grey-haired woman with a large sunstone
pin affixed over her heart.
The seat of honour, in the centre, sat empty. It had been weeks since
Helena had even glimpsed Luc. Was he still fighting?
The fourth seat was also empty, its occupant standing beside the
map, a long staff in his hand. As General Althorne touched parts of the
map with his staff, areas which had been black turned red, indicating
the active combat zones.
To the far left of the dais sat Jan Crowther, his eyes scanning the
room, watching the audience rather than Althorne.
Everyone else was seated in rows of chairs split in the centre to form
an aisle. Helena hung back. Those in attendance were all clean, and
Helena was covered in blood and other fluids.
"If we continue to push back in the upper trade district, we should
be able to press our advantage . . ." Althorne was saying, indicating a
series of buildings near the ports.
"Hold, Althorne." Ilva spoke up. "We finally have the hospital re-
port."
All eyes turned on Helena, eyebrows rising at the sight of her. She
should have cleaned up more before coming. It had felt so urgent when
she was on her way.
"Marino, you have the floor."
Helena swallowed and looked down at the file in her hands, chest
tight as she walked towards the centre of the room where there was a
large mosaic of the sun, rays spanning out around it. Speakers were sup-
posed to stand in the centre.
"These are only the initial estimates," she said, her voice hardly loud
enough to carry, but it carried anyway; the spot where she stood had
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Alchemised • 297
been designed to capture any sound and amplify it due to the oddly
stepped ceiling overhead.
"An estimate is fine," Ilva said.
Helena opened the file. The numbers felt so incomprehensible, they
threatened to stretch and distort as she read them out. Estimated casu-
alties, estimates on how many would be permanently removed from
combat, estimates on how many might recover enough to return to the
front. Every number but the last too large.
The report was met with a long silence.
Althorne cleared his throat. "Would you say those estimates are
likely to rise or drop in the final report?"
"Rise," she said in a dull voice. "The hospital resorted to triage care
per protocol and prioritised the patients most likely to survive, but pre-
liminary reports are usually conservative."
There were concerned murmurs.
"Thank you, Marino," Ilva said, a note of tension in her voice as she
nodded towards the map. "Althorne, you may resume."
"Wait," Helena said. Her heart was pounding as she forced herself to
look up from the numbers, staring at the empty seat where Luc was
supposed to be. Anything. Anything. Anything. "I submitted a proposal
to the Council a week ago, along with my report on the hospital inven-
tory, and several weeks before, too. I never received an answer."
There was a tense silence. She plunged on.
"I know— it is hard to consider, but I believe we should offer Resis-
tance members the choice of donating their bodies to the cause in the
event that they're killed in combat," she said. "Rather than burning the
bodies, we could—" She hesitated a moment, knowing she could never
take back what she was about to say. "— reanimate them and use them
as an infantry in order to protect our living combatants. This would be
done only with their written permission—"
"Absolutely not," Ilva said, cutting her off.
"That is treason!" came another voice.
Helena looked up and met the eyes of Falcon Matias, who glared
down at her, his face livid.
"You stand before us and propose a desecration of the natural cycle.
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298 • SenLinYu
This is the reason why vivimancers can never be trusted, not even for a
moment. They are corrupt from conception! This is why this country
faces war even now. One moment of leniency and their corrupted na-
tures will seek to spread their contamination." He turned to the Council
members seated beside him, inclining his head. "I am ashamed that
such apostasy could be uttered by my oblate. I beg the Council's for-
giveness. She will be taken in hand, placed in chains, and stripped of
all— "
"We are fighting a war against the dead and the Undying," Helena
said. She'd known they wouldn't listen, but surely by now they under-
stood the Eternal Flame couldn't possibly win if things continued as
they were. "It wouldn't be done to anyone who didn't consent while they
were still alive. Our soldiers are willing to die for the cause; why not at
least give them the choice to keep fighting and spare the living?"
"What do you know about fighting?"
The question came from behind her. She looked back, but there were
so many people glaring at her, she couldn't even guess at who'd spoken.
"Your proposal is a violation of everything the Eternal Flame has
stood for since the moment of its founding," Ilva said in a cold voice.
"You want us to consider the damnation of our soldiers' souls? You took
oaths, Marino. Did I misjudge you? Have your abilities made you forget
your humanity?"
"No!" Helena said, ragged with frustration. The file in her hands was
crumpling as she gripped it. "I am loyal to the cause. My vows are to
protect life and fight against necromancy no matter the cost. This would
be to that end. I would sacrifice my soul for the Eternal Flame. There
might be others who would as well. Can't we ask?"
Falcon Matias stood up. He was a tiny, bony man, and he looked
prepared to launch himself over the dais at Helena and strangle her.
"The Order of the Eternal Flame, created by Orion Holdfast himself,
was founded on Sol's principles of the natural cycle of life and death. It
was for Orion's bravery and willingness to sacrifice his life that he was
blessed by the heavens and made victorious. Any use of necromancy is
a violation of the cycle. Your thoughts and words are a stain upon the
Eternal Flame and history itself."
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Alchemised • 299
"Who are we saving right now?" Helena said, her voice rising. "How
many more can we lose before—"
There was the firm smack of a flat hand on the marble table, and the
ceiling overhead abruptly rearranged itself. Helena's words were swal-
lowed, leaving a deadly silence.
Jan Crowther lifted his hand away from the dais, his eyes narrowed
into slits as he studied her.
"Marino, your voice is no longer recognised by this body," Ilva said
after a moment, her voice cool and deliberate. "However, it is plain to
see that you are—hysterical. Given that you are clearly not sound of
mind, we will not have you disavowed for this." As she spoke, Ilva
looked sharply at Matias, who looked ready to protest. "In gratitude for
your years of service, I will have this outburst stricken from the records."
She closed her eyes briefly as if in prayer. "I'm only grateful that Princi-
pate Lucien was not here to witness this betrayal of faith. Tell Matron
Pace she will handle all future reports from the hospital. You are dis-
missed."
Without another glance in Helena's direction, Ilva turned towards
the map once more. One of her hands rested on Matias's arm to calm
him. "Moving on now. Althorne, you may continue."
Althorne's voice was a distant rumble in Helena's ears as she turned
and left the war room.
Standing in the corridor outside, Helena looked down at herself.
Except for the clean gloves she'd pulled on as she left the hospital,
she was covered in blood.
The file slipped from her fingers onto the floor, and she clamped her
hands over her mouth to keep from keening as her chest started to
heave.
A heavy hand landed on her shoulder. "Not here. Sweet fire, you're a
dunce."
She was guided, blindly, down the hallway into the adjoining corri-
dor before being let go. She sagged against the wall, sliding to the floor,
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300 • SenLinYu
head pressed against her knees as she violently sobbed until her head
felt hollow.
She looked up at Soren, who stood a foot away, leaning against the
wall, watching her with his deep-set eyes.
If he was here, it meant Luc must be back, too. He must have crashed
from exhaustion if they'd run the meeting without him.
Soren shook his head. "You should have cried before you went in for
your report, unless you were betting on Ilva forgiving you for reasons of
temporary insanity."
"Shut up," she said, shrinking smaller, her chest hitching.
"You could've at least washed up if you wanted to be taken seriously."
"Shut— up," she said again.
"You knew it wasn't going to work," he said, folding his arms. "You
had to have known. They're never, ever, ever in a million years going to
approve using necromancy on our soldiers. Or on anyone not our sol-
diers, before you get any other ideas."
She pulled her knees tight against her chest. "You have no idea what
it's like in the hospital."
"No, I don't," Soren said in a flat voice, "and neither does anyone else
in there, so I don't know why you thought screaming at them while
looking like that would change their minds."
She was too tired to argue.
"You know what your problem is?"
Helena said nothing. He'd tell her whether she wanted him to or
not. He'd always possessed all the sharp edges and wariness that Luc
lacked.
"You don't have faith in the gods."
"Yes, I do," she said quickly.
"No. You don't. You think you do because you think they probably
exist, but that's not faith. You don't trust them."
"Why would I? They haven't done anything to deserve being trusted,"
she said, her voice thick. "I've tried everything, Soren. I try to believe,
but it's never enough. Even if I did really believe—if my soul's the price
of saving you, of saving everyone"—she choked—"that's not a price.
That's a bargain."
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Alchemised • 301
He dropped into a squat in front of her so that their faces were al-
most level. "That doesn't matter, though. They'll never agree. No one
will. You're just hurting yourself."
She looked down. "Then we're going to lose," she said in a dull voice.
"And I'm going to be the one who puts you back together, over and over,
until I have to watch you die instead. And we still won't win."
Soren gave a heavy sigh. "I'm guessing no one told you, but this
battle was actually quite the victory for us."
She should have felt something at this news, but she was empty.
"Whether you win a battle or lose it, all I see is the cost."
"Just figured you'd want to know, because Luc thinks it's a sign that
things are finally taking a turn."
Helena felt as if her chest had caved in.
"Don't take that from him. Please."