Chapter 21 - 21

they happened to consider legitimate. Depending on the florilegium's

edition, Cetus was born in ten different countries. Sometimes he was a

king, other times a priest; some letters even claimed he'd worked with

Orion himself.

In the florilegia Helena received, Cetus was very taken by an ancient

Khemish cult, which claimed that human resonance was the alchemisa-

tion of mankind. That alchemists were an ascendant form.

"Sounds like something alchemists would believe about themselves,"

Kaine said in the late evening while she was telling him about it. He

was much more interested in Helena's lungs than in ancient cults.

Helena tried not to wince as the bandages came off. "Do the Undy-

ing have a religion?"

"The High Necromancer is our deity," Kaine said, tracing his reso-

nance carefully along her ribs where several had cracked. "Our lives are

in servitude to his infinite power."

"If he's that powerful, why doesn't he come out and win the war?"

He glanced up for a moment. "He's a god. You'll notice that making

humans die for them is the gods' primary mode of operation. You'd

think Sol could personally smite a few necromancers if he hates them

so passionately, but somehow, it's always the Holdfasts coordinating

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those efforts. Makes one wonder if he really cares."

Ever since she told him about Orion and why the Holdfasts had

become Principates, he seemed to think that if he just criticised the

Eternal Flame enough, she'd give up on the Resistance.

Her sigh made her lungs rattle, and Kaine seemed to completely

forget the conversation for several minutes.

"Since Holdfast started showing up in combat, Morrough has stayed

far away from the front lines," he said at last.

"But if he's so afraid of Luc, why didn't he kill him when he was

captured?"

Kaine shook his head. "I don't think he wants him dead. The orders

have always been to take him alive. I used to think it was because Mor-

rough feared usurpation from whoever made the killing blow, but now,

after that capture, I think it's something else. Holdfast has been at the

front lines for six years. Do you really think that if Morrough wanted

him dead, he couldn't have found a way to kill him by now?"

It was four weeks after the bombing before Helena could get up

without feeling like she'd shatter. Her resonance had feebly returned,

and the bandages were off, but the wiring remained because her ster-

num was still worryingly delicate. Before lacing on a chest brace, she sat

with a mirror, looking at the scar that ran down between her breasts.

It was far from pretty.

She'd always admired the way Lila wore her scars, her jokes about

naming them; it was only now that she began to realise how difficult it

was to be proud of them.

The visual evidence of the injury would never go away. In a moment

of intimacy it would be all there was to see. Staring at it in the cold light

of day, she couldn't help but think that someday Kaine might not want

someone who had the war so overtly carved into them. Surely he'd want

to be able to forget sometimes.

Now, with her, it would be impossible.

He was sorting the vials of medicine on the table, but she could feel

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him observing her from the corner of his eye.

"It'll fade," she said quickly.

Her face was burning. She dropped the mirror, putting her hand

over the scar to hide it. It took the span of her entire hand.

"Once I'm better, I'll treat it every day so—it'll fade more," she said.

She could feel a divot in the bone where it had refused to regenerate.

She could attach titanium plating there to reinforce the bone, but given

her repertoire, it might interfere with her work. Part of the reason tita-

nium was so medically useful for alchemists was because the resonance

for it was rare.

Her jaw trembled. "It won't look like this forever."

He set a vial down. His silver eyes were intent, his attention like a

beam of light through a magnifying glass, suddenly focused solely upon

her. He stepped over and gently but firmly pulled her hand away.

She knew he'd seen the scar more than she had, and in far worse

stages than this, but she hated having him look at it.

"Do you see my scars that way?" he finally said. "When you look at

me, are they all you see?"

She flinched. "No."

"Well." He met her eyes. "I don't see you that way, either. You're

mine." He let go of her wrist and lifted his hand, the fingertips tracing

the scarring until it was covered by his palm, warm against her bare

skin, then sliding up to curve around her neck. "You are. It doesn't mat-

ter what happens to you, you will still be mine."

Helena saw only bits of the house. Spirefell. They took walks through

the dim hallways as she tried to adapt to the way her chest ached when

she moved. Breathing deeply made it feel like her sternum would snap.

The house was an old, heavy style long since abandoned in the city. Ev-

erywhere was detailed in dark wrought iron, even the floors run through

with it. There was a melancholy beauty to it.

In the foyer, an intricate mosaic of the ouroboros dragon was inlaid

in the marble floor. Meticulously rendered in both grandeur and sav-

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agery. She studied it from the landing above.

The Ferrons must have been so proud when the house was built.

They must have thought they'd defeated god.

That night, she pulled Kaine into the bed. He'd slept in the chair

beside her every night, her hand in his, ignoring her arguments that

surely there were other beds in his house.

Now he finally gave in to her.

She curled against him, having missed the warmth and comfort of

his body.

A few more days and she would go back. She'd convalesced there

longer than she'd meant to, but the trip back would be hard, and she be

no use at Headquarters if she wasn't recovered.

Everything would be different. The bombing had decimated the Re-

sistance, wiped out their supplies. Everything they'd gained in the last

year, gone, and now Morrough knew there was a spy. The Undying were

looking for Kaine, trying to lure him out, but that would not stop Ilva

or Crowther from coercing him into doing whatever they deemed nec-

essary.

She had to go back.

She held him, her heart beating so hard it made her whole chest

throb.

She pulled him closer, tilting her head back, and kissed him. His

hand rose up to caress her cheek, but he began to draw back. She knew

he was going to say she was still recovering. She was so sick of her con-

valescence. Of having so little time and never getting to spend it in the

ways she wanted.

"It'll be fine if we're careful," she said, not letting go. "Please. I want

you before I go."

He was careful. Slow and gentle. He touched her as though she were

glass.

He pushed into her and she caught his face in her hands, pulling

him close so that their noses and foreheads brushed, her fingers trem-

bling.

I love you.

It was right at the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated, biting the

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words back.

There was a part of her that felt she might doom them if she said it.

If there were important things left unspoken, tomorrow would come.

She kissed him instead.

I love you. She told him in the way she held him close; in the way

her mouth met his; in how her hands trailed across his skin, mapping

him, memorising every detail of what it was to be with him, his scars

under her fingers.

I love you.

I love you.

She told him in the way she let go of herself and held on to him

instead. With every beat of her heart. I love you. I will always love you. I

will always take care of you.

It was dusk when she left. She stepped outside for the first time.

Spirefell was a sprawling house which curved in, connecting with the

other buildings to form a large courtyard with an overgrown garden in

the centre.

Amaris was there, waiting restlessly. Her wings fanned out and flut-

tering.

Kaine lifted Helena carefully, the chest brace absorbing the pressure

of her weight. As he swung up behind her, she looked towards the

house. In the summer gloaming, it looked almost like an immense

slumbering dragon itself, curling inwards, the spires like spines. It was

covered in vining roses which crept all the way up the front, nearly cov-

ering it.

Davies and an old male servant, possibly a butler, stood at the top of

the wide flight of stone steps, watching.

When Amaris launched herself into the air, it was like being punched

in the ribs. Helena doubled over, gasping from pain, and she felt Kaine

tense and nearly turn Amaris back.

She gripped his leg. "I'm all right."

They were airborne for longer than Helena had ever been before.

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Amaris flew towards the mountains, trying to beat the moonrise. It

was close enough to the Abeyance that Lumithia was a crescent, not too

bright as she rose. They landed on the top of a building dangerously

close to Headquarters. When Helena looked south, she saw why.

A wall had been erected, marking off Resistance territory. It was

more than halfway up the island. Beyond she could see the gash bisect-

ing the city where the bomb had gone off, the buildings fallen. The

centre of the island was cratered.

"We lost that much?"

"No, but you don't have the forces to hold more," Kaine said grimly,

swinging down and helping her carefully off Amaris's back.

She was nauseated with pain, fighting hard to breathe as she squeezed

Kaine's hand, but she couldn't bring herself to say goodbye. She had a

growing fear of anything final. She could feel it all coming to an end.

"Be careful," was all she said.

"Helena, please—" His voice broke, stopping her in her tracks.

She turned back, and he gripped her shoulder.

She knew what he wanted to ask her, could see it in his eyes. Run

away and don't come back.

But he knew she wouldn't. He swallowed, not meeting her eyes.

"Don't get hurt again," he said instead. "Don't—"

She rose up on her toes and cut him off with a kiss.

"Be careful," she whispered. "Don't die."

When Helena appeared at the gates in boy's clothes, struggling to

breathe, her reception was one of far more suspicion than joy. She was

placed in a holding cell for an hour before Crowther appeared to have

her let out.

"You sure?" the guard said to him. "She's been listed among the dead

for almost a month."

"Yes, she was found by one of the splinter factions," Crowther said.

"I knew they'd send her back eventually. Let her out."

Helena didn't know if the splinter factions of Resistance fighters

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existed at all, or if they were an invention to cover up all Crowther's il-

licit activities. A great deal of Kaine's intelligence and activities were

attributed to these alleged groups.

Crowther looked as if he had not slept in weeks. His face was hag-

gard, his eyes bloodshot, and he appeared mostly angry about having to

go out of his way to get Helena released.

Helena wanted to know what had happened while she'd been gone,

but before the door of the holding cell was unlocked, he was already

walking away.

"Go to the hospital. The matron's on shift. I'll deal with you tomor-

row," he said over his shoulder.

Matron Pace wept at the sight of her. "You're alive! I should have

gone. When I heard they sent you—I— "

"I'm glad you didn't," Helena said. She was exhausted from the flight

and journey back. There was a grinding pain in her chest. She pressed

her hand gingerly against her sternum, trying to relieve the pressure.

Pace ushered her into a space enclosed by curtains. "How did you

survive?"

Helena stuck with the vagaries of Crowther's excuse. "I don't really

remember. We were in the hospital and there was another explosion.

When I woke, I'm not sure where I was. I'd had an operation, and I was

mostly left to recover."

"Let me see."

If she were Pace, she'd be the same, so she allowed her clothes to be

removed and the chest brace carefully unfastened to reveal the scarring

down her chest.

"Oh." Pace's hand trembled, but then she inspected it more carefully.

"This is . . . good work."

She'd clearly expected some kind of back-alley surgery utilising

twine and kitchen knives. "Whoever their surgeon is, we should try to

bring them in."

"I never saw who it was," Helena said. "I'm getting better, but my

resonance is still unstable."

Pace attempted a smile, but it was more grimace. "Fortunately, chela-

tor is one of the few things we still have in sufficient supply."

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"How bad are things?" Helena asked.

Pace did not stop moving as she continued to examine Helena and

began prepping her arm for an intravenous drip. "I only hear things

secondhand."

"How bad are people saying it is?"

Pace shook her head. "Of our remaining combatants, more than a

third are still showing some of signs of the nullium poisoning. The

wind's shifted, so we're spared most of the dust now, but even the parts

of the island that are still intact are dangerous. At least until there's

rain."

"I heard that Althorne died."

"And Ilva."

"What?" Helena stared at Pace in shock.

"A little more than a week ago. Her heart failed from the stress. Luc

is inconsolable. You should go see Lila tomorrow. She was devastated

when she learned you were listed among the dead."

No mention of Luc's reaction to Helena's presumed death. Her

throat tightened.

"How is she?"

"Progressing. Everything is quite healthy."

The bombing had damaged the island's structural foundation and

flood infrastructure, and it was impossible to repair due to the risk of

nullium exposure. The Resistance had also lost almost all their prisoners

because the building had collapsed, including Crowther's, whom he'd

moved to keep from Ivy's grasp. They were all presumed dead, but it was

impossible to verify much of anything within the blast zone.

Even the smuggled aid received from Novis was now difficult to

obtain, and the scale of injuries too great to let patients evacuate to

Novis. Their monarchical neighbour was beginning to signal a dwin-

dling enthusiasm for both providing resources and absorbing Paladia's

injured.

The war had gone from teetering in the balance to a Resistance free

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fall. Without Althorne or Ilva, the Council was reduced to three: Ma-

tias and Crowther, who had almost entirely opposing views, and Luc,

who distrusted both of them.

Crowther had always operated from the shadows, allowing Ilva to

take the lead with his tacit support. Now he was alone, seeming to

shrink and writhe under the glaring scrutiny of Luc, like a spider with-

out its web, fumbling about on overlong legs.

There was a part of Helena that wanted to leave him to his fate, but

she knew that the more powerless Crowther felt, the greater his danger

to Kaine.

She sat, watching him move around his office, pausing at various

maps and diagrams now riddled with black slashes of ink.

"How much communication have you been in—with Ferron?" she

asked, exhausted from the journey from hospital to Tower.

"None, except that you were alive and would be returned once you

were out of danger. Why?"

Helena drew a labouring breath. "I think I've discovered something.

Ever since Wagner—I was studying the array, thinking about the differ-

ent kinds of resonance energy to understand the process Morrough

uses."

A wary look entered Crowther's eyes.

"You know, normally arrays are elemental or celestial, five or eight

axis points. But Luc's pyromancy uses seven, and Wagner drew nine for

the ritual. Kaine confirmed it was nine, so I was trying to think differ-

ently about the energy. When I'd try to envision how it would work, I

kept thinking about a feeling I have in the hospital sometimes—"

"Marino, get to the point."

"When a patient dies, there's an inverted form of the energy that

Morrough utilises to make the Undying. The vitality changes, and

there's this moment as it dissipates when I feel it."

"And . . ."

"Before the bombing, I figured out a way to channel it and trap it

inside obsidian. It didn't seem to do anything, but when I was at the

field hospital, I cut one of the necrothralls with it, and it collapsed—as

if the reanimation had been severed."

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Crowther looked over sharply. "Are you sure?"

She shifted and grimaced as pain fractalled like lightning through

her chest. "Well, I was injured, but I'm pretty sure. I've replayed it again

and again. We should test it." She swallowed hard. "I have a few more

pieces, and once my resonance is stable again, I can make more."

"Bring them, I'll see who I can pass the idea off to." He waved her

away in dismissal.

Helena didn't move. It wasn't that she'd expected to be credited; she

just had no intention of letting Crowther casually exploit her anymore.

"You must be very busy now," she said.

"Indeed. I am."

"I'll help you, but I want something in return."

Crowther's eyebrows rose. "And what is that, pray tell?"

"I want to know and approve every order you're giving Kaine."

Crowther's bloodshot eyes flashed dangerously.

Helena didn't blink. "I'm offering you a deal. What you do is illicit,

and you have no allies on the Council to cover it up anymore. You need

someone. I'm offering to be your shadow. I'll provide you with what you

need, same way you did for Ilva. But Kaine is my condition."

His expression grew scathing. "You're overestimating your value,

Marino."

Helena's mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I'm not though, am I? You

said it yourself: I am an exceptional asset. Why else would you and Ilva

spend so much time manipulating me? Always been so quick to take

advantage of what I can do while treating it like it's of no use to anyone.

By all means, replace me if you can."

Crowther's fingers curled into a fist, eyes narrowing, but he said

nothing.

Her heart rammed against the damaged bone. "You have overuti-

lised Kaine. If I were a lower-calibre healer, you would have killed him

a dozen times over in the last several months. I have told you this, but

you ignored it because you know I'll do whatever it takes to save him."

Her face contorted with anger. "But the fact that he will do anything

you ask doesn't mean you can keep demanding it. I have done the un-

conscionable for the Eternal Flame, and I have let him suffer for it be-

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cause what other choice do we have? But now everything we achieved,

that he paid for, is gone. We have nothing to show for it. I won't let you

keep forcing him to pay the price while you stall for time."

Crowther was silent for a moment. "A trade, then? Is that what you're

proposing? Yourself— your cooperation—in exchange for Ferron's

safety?"

Helen gave a tight nod. If Kaine had any idea what she'd come back

to do, he probably would have ripped out his own talisman before let-

ting her return. Clearly she was learning; she was not so easy to read

anymore.

There was a pause, then Crowther laughed.

"What an odd turn of events." He stood, still chuckling. "Very well.

Follow my orders, and he will stay alive. I'm not Ilva; I have no interest

in seeing Ferron prematurely dead for the sake of vengeance. Why be-

grudge a weapon its uses? Even if that weapon is an abomination."

He walked around his desk, a ghastly smile on his face. "You know, I

had a nearly identical version of this conversation with Ferron earlier

this year."

Helena refused to react, meeting his eyes.

"So long as you make yourself useful to me, I'll let you approve Fer-

ron's assignations. But if you ever disobey me, or cross me, I will—"

"Yes, I know what you'll do," Helena said.

It took a week before Helena's resonance was stable again. During

that time, she functioned as a test subject for Shiseo as they developed

a tablet form for the chelators, to reduce the overcrowding and demand

on saline.

In that same week, a weapons specialists gave an obsidian spear to an

ambitious young man hoping to join Luc's unit. Even before he re-

turned, the rumours reached Headquarters about a miraculously effec-

tive weapon.

The weapons specialist was evasive about his methods, although he

was obliged to admit that Crowther was the one who'd given him the

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766 • SenLinYu

obsidian.

Everyone leapt to the conclusion that the properties of the obsidian

came from pyromancy; that the obsidian must be infused with holy,

cleansing fire.

The new weapon secured Crowther's place and influence not only on

the Council but over the Eternal Flame. Once Helena was finally re-

covered enough to resume work, she was told that because of her inju-

ries that she would no longer work in the casualty ward but be assigned

the less rigorous task of palliative care and last rites.

She wore a heavy black habit with myriad hidden pockets filled with

obsidian glass and tended to the patients that couldn't be saved. She'd

thought she'd seen the worst of the hospital, but she realised now that

she was used to seeing those with some chance of survival.

Now she sat with men whose bodies seemed turned inside out,

hearts exposed, faces lopped off, sometimes so little of them left that it

seemed impossible that they were alive. They'd hold on to her, often

mistaking her for someone else as she tended them like a carrion bird.

As unprecedented a breakthrough as the obsidian was, it was impos-

sible to keep up with the demand, especially in the hands of soldiers

trained with steel. Though its edges were sharper than razors, the glass

shattered easily, making the weapons unreliable.

The obsidian was effective not only on necrothralls but liches as well.

When one soldier managed a blow through the chest, the lich died, all

his necrothralls collapsing with him.

The talisman was brought back, and Helena examined it. There was

no sense of energy. She compared it with others. When it was cut in

half, powder as fine as dust poured out.

Kaine summoned her that night. Her ring burned twice, and she

practically ran out of Headquarters. She stood on the rooftop, hand

pressed against her chest, numbing the grinding pain as she waited.

"What happened today?" he asked as Amaris landed heavily on the

roof. He didn't dismount, which meant the conversation would be short.

She could feel every second they'd been separated, the weight of it.

"What do you mean?"

"We've all been recalled from combat. Effective immediately. The

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thralls and Aspirants will continue to fight, but the Undying have all

been withdrawn from the front lines."

"Someone killed a lich with the obsidian," Helena said. "Do you

think maybe he—the lich— died? That Morrough can't bring him back

anymore?"

Kaine was silent for a few moments.

"Seems you've found a weapon to kill us," he finally said.

She couldn't read the emotion in his voice. All the exhilaration

drained from her.

She'd spent so much time afraid of Kaine's immortality, knowing

that his discovery or apprehension would be without means of escape;

he could be tortured forever, without even the hope of death. Now it

was very likely that he could die.

She had made this possible. She had not saved him; she had created

a new way to lose him instead.

"Be careful," she said.

He was studying her. "Did they let you recover before they set you

back to work?"

She managed a smile. "Yes. Moved me out of the casualty ward. My

duties are less rigorous now."

He nodded. "Well, that's something."

There was a pause. She had so much she wanted to say, to tell him,

but she knew he was already lingering too long.

"If the obsidian does what we think, the Eternal Flame will be a real

threat to Morrough now. He's sure to respond accordingly," he finally

said. "You should prepare for that."

She nodded wordlessly, and he relaxed on the reins, Amaris imme-

diately moving to spring, the wind rushing around her wings.

"Don't die."

She must have said it too quietly, because he didn't answer.

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CHAPTER 61

Julius 1787

When Helena had no rites to perform, Crowther still

kept her busy.

Having proven her usefulness with Mandl, he saw no reason not to

continue utilising her to increase his influence and control in the Coun-

cil. She refused to use her vivimancy for torture, experimenting with her

animancy instead, trying to perfect the methods for extracting informa-

tion. She could not afford to fail.

The Helena of two years ago would not recognise the person she was

becoming.

Every line she'd once believed herself incapable of crossing, she

passed over without hesitation now.

Sometimes, she pushed too far, until it felt as though she were crawl-

ing beneath a prisoner's skin, their consciousness and her own briefly

occupying the same mind-space. They'd grow sick with fevers after-

wards, as if suffering from some kind of poisoning, but it was effective,

so she overlooked the side effects, believing them manageable until

Crowther told her that two of her "subjects" had died.

She had never caused a death before. Not like that. She became very

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careful, even though Crowther considered it a waste of time and mercy.

She found that brief, repeated sessions were safer than long ones, the

fevers milder, as if tolerance could be developed. And once that hap-

pened, it was even easier for her to extract what she wanted.

"I think I might be able to heal Titus Bayard," she said late one night

to Shiseo.

The Eternal Flame had selected a new general for the Council.

They'd lost so many in the bombing, the line of succession had been

convoluted. Hutchens had a good record, but he was too awed by Luc.

Shiseo paused, looking up from an obsidian knife he was making.

Helena drew a deep breath. "When General Bayard was injured, I

didn't understand what needed to be done—I didn't realise that an in-

jury like his wasn't the same as other wounds. I had an idea earlier this

year, but when I tried to test it, Titus reacted badly. Still." She looked

down. "With my work lately, I realised the trick is working in incre-

ments and building a tolerance. Once I do that, I think it could work."

Shiseo tilted his head. "How?"

She wet her lips. "There are paths the mind follows, thoughts and

memories. When I healed Titus, I didn't know, and I trapped him. It

might be too late, but if I could get in, maybe I could make a way back

out for him." She swallowed awkwardly. "I do something like that to

myself sometimes. Use my resonance to alter how I think, where my

mind goes."

Shiseo considered for a minute. "It sounds complicated."

She looked down. "I think I'm going to try at least."

Crowther showed callous interest. "If you wish. If you kill Bayard, it

will spare us a mouth to feed."

She swallowed hard. "I'm trying to be helpful."

His lip curled. "When I want something, Marino, I'll tell you."

They'd just received word that Kaine had been dispatched to Hevgoss

on a diplomatic mission without warning. He hadn't even had time to

tell her, he'd just sent an encoded message on one of the radio channels,

and then he was gone. No goodbye.

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The only thing going well was Lila's pregnancy. Lila was bored but

healthy, healthier than Helena had seen her in years. The pregnancy

showed no risk of miscarriage.

"Are you all right?" Lila asked. Helena had her hand on Lila's stom-

ach, her eyes closed, trying to separate Lila's louder heartbeat from the

baby's in an attempt to tell if it felt healthy.

Foetal heartbeats were much faster, but it was confusing to sense two

people simultaneously.

Helena opened her eyes, dry and burning from exhaustion.

"I'm fine," she said, though she felt as if she were bleeding to death

inside. She'd seen so little of Kaine, and now he was gone and she didn't

know when he'd return. Her days were spent waiting for people to die,

no longer even trying to save them.

Lila looked sceptical. "You don't look fine. You don't look like you

sleep at all. Pace said you were badly injured. Are you recovered? You

know better than anyone how important full recovery is."

Helena shook her head. "It's not that. My shifts are longer now but

they're not hard. I need to go, I have—more work."

Lila spoke as she started to stand. "You don't say it, but you think I'm

selfish, don't you?"

Helena sighed, staring down at her hands. "You've been through a

lot; I don't blame you for wanting something. I just don't understand

why you want this right now. You should at least go to Novis where

you'll be safe." She shrugged. "Maybe having the Principate's heir would

be enough to convince them to send some medical supplies."

Lila had thus far refused to "come out of quarantine," and was still

pretending to be contagious with bog cough.

"I want to wait a little longer," Lila said. "Just to be sure."

Rhea and Titus were waiting in one of the private rooms. Helena

had written to Rhea, telling her that there was a possible treatment op-

portunity that she wanted to discuss.

"What would it entail exactly?" Rhea asked, gripping Titus by the

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arm to keep him from wandering.

"It would be a series of procedures," Helena said, rubbing her hands

against her black habit, trying to get her palms dry. "It's similar to what

I tried earlier this year, but I know how to control the reaction now. If

we worked slowly, with short procedures, followed by recovery periods,

I think Titus will adapt to the process. And then I can attempt to heal

him without causing the reaction he had last time."

Rhea squeezed Titus's hand, leaning towards Helena, her eyes bright.

"So you've done this before?" Her voice trembled with eagerness.

Helena cleared her throat, wanting to temper expectations. "Not this

exactly. But a related procedure. It's not without risk, though. Are you

familiar with mithridatism?"

Rhea shook her head.

Helena drew a deep breath. "It's a method of developing immunity

to poison through low dosage. The process of going deep enough to heal

Titus will have—similarities, he'll have a sort of immune response to

my resonance, in the form of brain fevers. We'll have to monitor them,

keep them under control. If they're too high, we'll have to take longer

breaks. The goal will be building up his tolerance for my resonance in

the delicate parts of the brain."

That was all mostly true, with only a few details omitted.

Rhea nodded. "Yes— yes— whatever you— "

The door opened before she could finish speaking and Luc entered,

followed by Sebastian.

"Rhea, what are you doing?" Luc asked, his voice breathless.

Rhea looked startled by the intrusion. "Helena's found a way to heal

Titus."

Luc looked at Helena, his eyes hard, bright, and feverish. "You can't

be serious."

Helena started to answer, but it wasn't a question and it wasn't di-

rected at her. He'd turned back to Rhea.

"You're going to trust her after what she did to Soren?"

Helena flinched, her mind nearly pitching itself into that clawing

wound inside her. She swallowed hard. "Luc, Soren died. I'm sorry I

couldn't save him, but this procedure for Titus could work. Think of

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how valuable it would be to get him back."

Luc looked back at her again, a look of disgust in his eyes. "That's

what this is about to you? Value?" He looked at Titus, who'd grown rest-

less from the tension in the room. "You look at what you did to him, and

see a wasted military asset?"

"What? No. That's not what I meant."

He stared at her again, his eyes blistering as sunburn. "You lay as a

finger on him, and I'll—"

"She won't," Rhea said, breaking in. "Thank you, Helena—Healer

Marino, I appreciate the offer, but I think we'll pass."

Luc gave a sharp nod and then turned on his heel, walking out with-

out a backwards glance. Sebastian wavered, looking at Rhea and Titus,

his expression conflicted before he turned, following Luc. When they

were gone, Rhea's face crumbled, and she gave an audible gasp before

pressing her face in her hands.

Helena could find no words. She sat numb with shock as Rhea stood,

not looking at Helena as she led Titus out.

Once she was alone, Helena pulled her gloves on and headed for the

Alchemy Tower. When the lift opened, she was surprised when Sebas-

tian stepped out alone, a weary expression on his face. He paused, rest-

ing a hand on her shoulder. "It was good of you to try."

Helena couldn't quite bring herself to look at him. She stared at his

chest, at the suncrest on his armour.

"Why is he doing this?" she asked. "Everyone understands. Even if

they think it was wrong, they understand. He won't even try."

Sebastian sighed. "You know why."

She wasn't sure that she did, but she nodded and stepped into the

lift. There were three guards stationed outside Luc's door, and they

shook their heads when she approached.

She went to her own room and climbed out the window, walking

carefully up and around the low slope. Luc's hair gleamed golden in the

setting sun. He was sitting hunched on his heels, twirling something in

his fingers. He brought it up to his mouth, flames sparking in his fin-

gertips as he inhaled.

His whole body seemed to come loose, and he sagged in on himself.

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Watching, she was reminded up how soft his face used to be, the

brightness of it. Now the war had chewed him down to the bone. He sat

there, out of armour, so shrivelled he reminded her of an insect exoskel-

eton, like the shed dragonfly nymphs that clung to the water reeds. He

was hollowed out.

Smoke curled from his lips as he slowly exhaled.

He was smoking opium.

She stared in horror at how casually he did so. As though it were an

old habit.

He pulled the pipe from his mouth, catching sight of her. His ex-

pression hardened, growing more alert. "Go away."

"No," she said, and came closer.

He spun the pipe in his fingers again, his jaw rippling with anger. If

he hit her again, she'd probably fall from the Tower and die.

She stood only a few steps away. "I couldn't save him. Even if I'd

killed myself trying, it wouldn't have been enough. What is it you wish

I'd done instead?"

Rather than answer, he shook like an autumn leaf on the verge of

falling loose. He seemed to be trying to speak, but at the same time his

hand was bringing the pipe back to his lips, fingers sparking a feeble

flame. He inhaled so long that when he stopped, the pipe nearly tum-

bled from his fingers.

She feared he'd fall, and knelt to catch him, but he looked up, meet-

ing her eyes, and he—he didn't look angry anymore, he just looked ex-

hausted.

"What happened to us, Hel?"

She stared at him, and her pathetic, starved heart leapt for a moment

before she realised the obvious. This wasn't Luc; this was the opium

talking.

"A war." She looked away from him to the ruined city before them.

A view which had once been so beautiful.

"You used to believe in me," he said, his voice faraway. "What did I

do that made you stop?"

"I still believe in you, Luc," she said, "But we have to win this war.

We can't make choices because we want a certain story to tell later.

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There's too much at stake."

"No," he said. "This is how we win. This is how we've always won. My

father, and grandfather, all the Principates going all the way back to

Orion. They won by trusting that good would triumph over evil, and I

will do the same."

She looked at him in despair.

His index finger flicked against his thumb, ignition rings sparking,

and again fire filled his palm, running along his fingers.

He cradled the flames like a kitten before his fingers closed around

it, leaving only a tongue as he tucked the opium pipe between his lips

and brought the flame close to the bowl again.

Her hand clenched into a fist, fighting a wince as she listened to him

inhaling.

"What if it's not that simple, though," she said. "Everyone who wins

says they were good, but they're the ones who tell the story. They get to

choose how we all remember it. What if it's never that simple."

He shook his head. "Orion became sun-blessed because he refused

to break his faith."

Helena exhaled, burying her face in her hands.

She heard his rings spark, and the pipe hissed as the opium vapo-

rised.

"Luc— please, let me help you." She tried to reach towards him.

He flinched away, rage suddenly flashing across his face. "Don't—

touch me."

He was teetering dangerously close to that immense fall, as if the

Abyss still called to him. She didn't know how to draw him back any-

more, what to say that he'd still hear.

"Do you remember what I promised you, Luc, that night you came

out here?" she asked, her voice pleading.

He gave no response. His gaze had settled back into a dim stupor,

the sunset limning his gaunt features as though gilding him.

"I promised I'd do anything for you." She curled her fingers into a

fist. "Maybe you didn't realise how far I was willing to go."

"Don't say that," he said, suddenly alert again, "Don't make it all my

fault. I thought you could heal him."

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She closed her eyes. "Sometimes people die. You can't save everyone.

Neither of us can. Please let me try to heal Titus."

"I can't." He stood, stumbled down onto the balcony of his room, and

disappeared.

It had been over two weeks with no word when Helena's ring finally

burned again.

She ran out of Headquarters without a backwards glance.

When she reached the rooftop and saw Kaine already there, stand-

ing beside Amaris, her knees nearly gave out. He was in uniform, clean

and polished, wearing a row of medals as if he'd just come from a cere-

mony.

"You're back." It was all she could manage to say, already reaching

out for him when he was still steps away.

He pulled her into his arms. "Have you been all right?"

She managed a nod but then her head dropped against his chest, and

she was so tired, her eyes closed, listening to his heart, legs threatening

to give out. He'd come back. She couldn't ask for more than that, but it

had felt so long. As if every minute of his absence had cut into her.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked.

Everything.

"Nothing," she said. "I think I forgot to breathe after you left."

He wrapped his arms around her shoulder again, but he was tense,

his attention elsewhere. Dread seeped through her like blood in water.

She lifted her head. "What is it?"

He wasn't looking at her; he was staring towards the blazing light of

the Alchemy Tower. "I'm sure you realised: My trip was a diplomatic

mission. We went to establish a formal alliance with Hevgoss, proprie-

tary alchemical research in exchange for their mercenary forces."

"We guessed it was that."

"The new Hevgotian ambassador is—partial to my company. Keep-

ing him entertained is my primary responsibility for the moment. Does

Crowther have any outstanding orders?"

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She shook her head. "No. We've been waiting to see what happened.

He'll want a report, but that's all for now."

His eyes narrowed. "There's nothing?" There was a tension in his

voice.

"Not yet. You just got back."

Rather than look relieved, his eyes got that strained look that ap-

peared when he was sure she was injured and he just didn't know; he

drew back, looking her over. "What happened?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head. "Nothing."

He didn't believe her, she could tell. Panic was creeping across his

features like a tidal wave. She wished she'd come up with some errand

for him; he was clearly certain that something must have happened to

her for him to be given any reprieve. She sighed and caught his hand.

"After Althorne and Ilva died, I told Crowther that you were being

overutilised, and I made him agree not to put so much on you."

He scoffed "And he just agreed to that?"

"No. I made a deal with him. Because of the obsidian and the Coun-

cil being less stable, he's vulnerable, he needs someone, and I told him

that could be me, but only if I got to approve your orders from now on."

Instead of looking relieved, he snatched his hand away from her.

"You did what?" He spat the question. "You thought that would help

me? That is the last thing I want."

A stab of exhausted, furious hurt cut through her. "Why? Is protec-

tion exclusively your right? Am I supposed to sit around while you win

the war for me? Is that how you see this?" She gestured furiously be-

tween them.

"That was the deal," he snapped.

"Well, I didn't agree to that. Besides, I'm not doing anything danger-

ous. I'm not even allowed to go outside anymore."

He stared at her, enraged.

"Kaine—don't be like this."

He didn't budge. The space between them was ice-cold, as though all

their ghosts surrounded them. They were both drenched in the dead.

The war was an abyss that took everything and was never satisfied.

There was always more required. Another life. An additional measure of

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blood. Be better. Smarter. More ruthless. Quicker. More cunning. Ac-

cept a second portion of pain.

It was never enough.

Helena had nothing left to sacrifice. Everything remaining would

cost too much to lose. Yet she was expected to be docile and cooperative,

a comforting possession, and she was not.

She swallowed bitterly. "What did you expect me to do?"

"I don't want you in this fucking war." The rage in his voice was raw.

"All I do is worry about what will happen to you if I fail to meet all re-

quirements. If you get captured, you have no idea what they'll—"

"I do know," she snapped, cutting him off. "What do you think I do

with all my time? I heal the people the Undying don't manage to kill.

Everyone—everyone from the lab near the East Port, I treated them—

watched them die. They all died. I am so aware of the risks, I think

sometimes that I will go mad from knowing them. Why do you think I

fight so hard?"

Her voice splintered. She turned away, despair clawing through her.

She'd told herself that it would all be better once he was back. That she'd

breathe again.

But all she felt was renewed terror, the feeling that everything was

crumbling, and she couldn't stop it until she was left living every second

bracing herself, unable to enjoy even the moments they had.

"I'll tell Crowther you're back." Her voice was empty. "And let you

know what he wants."

She wanted to vanish. She was so tired of everything, of begging him

not to get caught, not to die, to come back to her. Of trying to convince

herself that a promise meant anything in a war like this.

"Be careful," she said.

He caught her by the arm. "Wait. Don't go."

She shook her head. "Kaine—I'm so tired—I don't want to fight."

"We won't." He was looking at her more closely now. "Come with

me. You're worked to death. They can spare you for a night. We won't

fight."

She managed to nod. The flight was a dull haze; she barely felt the

wind. She was half asleep when Amaris landed. Kaine carried her inside

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778 • SenLinYu

and laid her on the bed. She felt him pulling off her shoes, and then he

sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand resting between her shoulders.

He was safe. He had come back.

She roused the instant his hand withdrew.

He paused. "I need to eat and wash up."

She caught his hand, gripping it so tight her nails bit against his

skin. "I was afraid you'd die. You said you couldn't leave without special

arrangements, and you were gone so suddenly, I thought—you might

not come back." Her voice was thick. "You're always in danger, and I can

never ask you to stop."

He ran this thumb across her knuckles. "You know I would if I could.

I'd run with you and never look back."

"I know—" Her voice broke. "Don't die, Kaine. You can't leave me

behind."

He sank back down beside her, and didn't leave until she stopped

crying and fell asleep.

When the bed dipped, she woke to find him on the far side of the

mattress. His hair was damp and hung over his eyes. She shifted across

the bed and into his arms, burying herself there, letting her eyes close as

she traced her fingers across his skin. She would know him blind.

He caught her hand and rolled her under him.

He studied her, that ever-present grief visible in his eyes, until she

lifted her head and kissed him.

His hand slid up to wrap around her throat, and his thumb nestled

under her jaw. A gradual, deepening kiss. She laced her fingers through

his silver- white hair.

She never thought she could know a person with such slow intimacy.

She knew exactly how he would press his lips against the pulse-point of

her throat, the way his body shifted when she was beneath him. The

grip of his hands on her hips, his teeth grazing her inner thighs, and the

heat of his tongue.

"Mine. You're mine," he said as he kissed her.

"Always."

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CHAPTER 62

Augustus 1787

News of the Undying's alliance with Hevgoss was of no

surprise.

Letters were dispatched to the surrounding countries, urging them

to object, to pressure Hevgoss into withdrawing, but there was little

response. Even Novis was slow to reply and tepid in their condemna-

tion.

"Let's focus on the bright side: This alliance with Hevgoss is a clear

sign that our obsidian offensive is having an effect," General Hutchens

said with casual assurance to the assembled members of the Eternal

Flame.

On paper, Hutchens had an excellent record—he'd been in com-

mand of the ports and only given them up after the bombing because

the Resistance couldn't maintain control of them without leaving Head-

quarters vulnerable. Not only had Hutchens managed to extensively

sabotage the ports prior to retreating, but he'd done it with almost no

casualties. He was a good choice, but he was also a true believer in Luc

and Sol and the Eternal Flame, and his confidence in their eventual

victory was implicit.

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Details like supplies and the humdrum labour of war tended to fall

beneath his consideration. Sol would provide.

Crowther could not and did not trust him, and it was creating an

ever-widening gap between the true circumstances of the war and how

Hutchens and the rest of the Council understood them.

"What we need to do is increase our obsidian supply and hit them

hard before the Hevgotian mercenaries arrive."

Helena wanted to throw up at the mere thought of producing more

obsidian. Even if she could, only so many people died in circumstances

in which she could be present.

"We lost more than half of our forces and territory the last time we

were about to perform a similar offensive." With all the upheaval in the

Council, Crowther was forced to speak for himself, and even when his

comments were pertinent, he lacked the charisma to make anyone agree

with him. "While I am optimistic about the effect of our obsidian, there

is a risk that Hevgotian mercenaries means more nullium usage.

Hevgoss has few alchemists; the battalions arriving will be from the

prisons."

Hutchens shook his head. "I doubt we'll see more nullium. I don't

think they can afford to blow up any more territory. The dust affected

the West Island, too."

"We'll plan better this time," Luc said. He had a certain tone that he

used in meetings now. It was deeper, more authoritative. In the past he'd

speak tentatively unless riled. "Regardless of what happened in the past,

we can't afford to lose more. The Undying have never wanted living

soldiers before. This change in tactics is an undeniable sign that we're

doing something right. Ask anyone who's been in combat lately—

they've pulled all the Undying out, living and lich alike, it's all necro-

thralls and Aspirants. The obsidian's changed everything. Negotiating

for an alliance is an admission they can't win on their own. I'm with

Hutchens, I say we hit them hard. The Undying are trying to go to

ground; we'll dig them out."

"Even if it were possible to win so decisively, there's still the risk of

Hevgoss trying to sweep in and collect the spoils of war regardless of

which side emerges victor," Crowther said. "This may be the time to

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negotiate with Novis. Reticent as they've been in recent months, I doubt

the queen is pleased by the threat of Hevgoss obtaining Paladia's re-

sources. With the right incentives, she may renew her support. Perhaps

a high- profile diplomatic visit as a show of respect—"

"I'm not leaving Paladia," Luc said, cutting Crowther off with a look

of overt disdain. "You think it would inspire confidence in our troops if

they see me leave on a diplomatic mission amid rumours about rein-

forcements coming from Hevgoss?"

Crowther's eyebrows pinched together. "You would be the most ef-

fective negotiator. Your appearance in the Novis court would be a greater

compliment than any other resources or representatives we could afford

to send. Any proxy would—"

"It's out of the question. If you want to send someone to Novis, by

all means. But I'm not leaving Paladia." There was furious vehemence in

Luc's voice.

Helena had known that Crowther intended to make such a proposal.

He'd even weighed the possibility of revealing Lila's pregnancy, trying

to coerce Luc into taking the trip under the pretence of escorting her

and his "heir" to safety. However, Lila was still adamant about conceal-

ing the pregnancy. To reveal it in the context of her fleeing to Novis

would be a dangerous gamble.

In the end, it was Matias who went, along with a box of gold that

Luc transmuted. It wasn't what anyone wanted, but as Helena watched

Matias ceremonially depart, an old knot in her chest unravelled at see-

ing him gone.

He was a barely across the border before the Resistance was readying

for battle.

It was suicide. They didn't have the combatants or nearly enough

resources for it. Scavenging groups went into the ruins, trying to recover

what weapons and armour they could. They were strictly banned from

bringing back any of the dead. Those who'd died in the fallout zone had

to be left until a means of safe ceremonial disposal was possible.

Anyone who wanted to fight could fight, alchemist or not, adult or

not, man or not. There was no time to train anyone. They didn't even

have weapons for them. There were boys and girls practising with sticks,

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trying to make themselves slingshots. No armour because there was

none in their sizes.

The sight made Helena sick.

They were battle fodder. They'd be slaughtered in minutes.

But they would do that rather than allow necromancy. This doomed

assault was relying on a miracle, on the conviction that by risking every-

thing, they would be rewarded. Glory and blessings and eternity to

those who believed.

Just as Sol had blessed Orion.

But there was no Ilva now to create a miracle.

"I want to build a bomb," she said, entering Crowther's office in the

middle of the night and finding him sitting there, wide awake. He was

always awake. His already narrow face had grown skeletal. He looked

eighty, but she knew he was not even fifty.

"I didn't know that explosives were anywhere within your field of

expertise," he said with dry contempt.

She sat without invitation. Crowther sighed.

Helena had once thought that Kaine had tested the outermost limits

of her capacity for internal conflict, but Crowther was a new realm en-

tirely. She had never hated and needed someone so intensely.

He was the only means by which she could do anything meaningful,

the only member of the Eternal Flame who listened to her at all. Yet he

held her obedience at Kaine's throat like a knife.

The hunt for spies within the Undying had intensified. All their

other informants had disappeared without a trace. The risk of using

Kaine or the information he sent was too great.

"I used to help Luc with his pyromancy fundamentals. I'm familiar

with the technical processes of incendiary function. The rules apply

with or without resonance," she said.

One of Crowther's eyebrows rose, and the fingers on his left hand

fluttered, ignition rings brushing against each other.

"I've been thinking about it for a while . . ." Her throat was aching

from nervousness. "We'll use the obsidian in the same way the Undying

used the nullium bomb. We could use nullium, too."

"Wouldn't an explosion melt the obsidian?"

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"No. Shiseo has some experience with pyrotechnics; they're used in

Eastern celebrations. Between the two of us, there's a decent amount of

technical knowledge. If we build it right, we can harness the explosive

force but limit the heat. It won't be anything near the scale of their

bombing, but we don't need it to be."

"You are remarkably confident for someone with nothing but a basic

alchemy certification."

Helena's jaw tensed, but she pressed on. "We have a lot of scrap ob-

sidian. Knapping an edge with obsidian leaves a lot of discarded shards

and pieces that are either too thin or too small for use. Those are all I'll

need, so it won't interfere with production."

She pulled out a folded stack of papers. "We'll need these compo-

nents forged in the Athanor Furnace."

He glanced at the designs. "I can't make any promises. But . . ." He

sighed. "I suppose it might be of use."

Helena was both desperate and terrified of what was to come. If

the attack were a success, if the bomb could do enough to weaken Mor-

rough, could Luc kill him?

If he did, what would happen to Kaine?

When she slept, she had endless nightmares of digging through

Morrough's corpse in the darkness with her bare hands, arms coated in

his blood, ripping out his bones, trying desperately to find the piece that

held Kaine's life. In her dreams, Luc always approached, like a rising

sun.

She would plead for time, try to explain herself, but Luc never heard.

Every time she burned, too.

In the cold light of day, she knew it wouldn't be like that. She would

be in Headquarters, in the hospital. She wouldn't know anything until

it was too late.

Every day she wondered if she was working to her own doom and

Kaine's destruction.

After how poorly he'd reacted to Helena's mere involvement in the

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war effort, she didn't tell him about the bomb. It wasn't difficult to hide

it; he was so busy with the ambassador, they scarcely had any time to

more than exchange urgent information.

It was only when she and Shiseo completed all the components that

she went to the roof and called for him. She had to wait a long time.

When Kaine arrived, he was dressed in formal attire, sharp and pol-

ished.

"I can't stay," he said. "What is it?"

"We have a new weapon," she said quickly. "Is there a time or place

where a lot of the Undying will be in proximity? Somewhere you won't

be. It could be planted up to two days in advance."

His expression hardened. "A bomb?"

She gave a tense nod.

"Obsidian?"

"And nullium, so you need to be well clear."

He nodded and looked at her pointedly. "I hope they're not building

it at Headquarters."

She shook her head. "No. It's off-site."

He exhaled. "Well, the Resistance is taking this final assault seriously

at least. The Hevgotian force will cross the western border within the

week, but several militocrats and officials will arrive in a day. There's to

be a welcome banquet for them the following evening. Most of the

Undying will be in attendance; even Morrough may be there briefly."

She nodded. That would work. "Can you place it without suspicion?

And then get away?"

His eyes softened. "No one pays attention to necrothralls the way

they should. They assume anyone using them must be on their side. If I

rip out the reanimation, I can take over someone else's and use them to

make a delivery. It won't be easily traced back to me."

"And you won't be there? When it goes off." She was afraid that he

was evading the question.

Standing there, the two of them looked worlds apart. He was clean

and pristine, in a tailored uniform, wearing a row of intricate medals,

while she stood ragged, in male-sized standard-issue clothes washed to

threads.

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"How far away do I need to be?"

"Far enough not to breathe it in. There will be micro-shards in the

air. We don't know what effect they'll have. You should be far away."

"I'll run an errand around that time. The ambassador enjoys making

himself inconvenient. I'm sure I can convince him to want something

unreasonable and distant."

She nodded. "Make it a long errand. I'll bring it tomorrow evening."

"No." His voice cracked like a whip, and all the softness vanished.

"Crowther's not using you to transport a bomb."

She shook her head. "It won't be activated until the components are

joined, and there's a countdown. I'm not going to get blown up carrying

it," she said. "You can't put it together on your own if you don't know

how to join the pieces."

"I don't care. Tell Crowther to figure out another way." He'd turned

bloodlessly pale, that inhuman gleaming rising beneath his skin.

"But if I don't come," she said, ready to resort to anything if he'd just

cooperate, "that means I won't see you again until—until after."

He didn't waver. "Then I'll see you after. Send someone else."

Her breath caught in her lungs. "Kaine . . ."

He glared at her. "I found you after a bombing. I had to watch them

cut you open, trying to get the shrapnel out. You nearly died so many

times on the operating table, I lost count. If you'd been an inch closer to

the blast, that shrapnel would have gone through your heart. You want

me to set a bomb, I will do it, but you will not touch it. Do you under-

stand?"

She swallowed bitterly, grateful that she hadn't told him any details

that might have revealed her involvement. "Fine. If that's what you

want."

She turned to go. There was so much she needed to do. Take inven-

tory, finish the bomb, help prep the hospital. She'd been assigned back

to the casualty ward.

Kaine pulled her back. "Come back here in a few hours."

She shook her head. "Now's hardly the time."

He didn't seem to remember that he was the one who couldn't linger.

He wouldn't let go. She wished that all of this had begun sooner; there

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was so much time they'd missed.

"All right," she said finally said, giving in. "But you have to go now."

He let go slowly. "I'll call for you."

After reporting to Crowther, she headed to the off-site lab where she

and Shiseo used their resonance in tandem to assemble the final com-

ponents. They'd built the bomb to be as compact as possible, but it was

still nearly the size of a child. It would need to be placed in the centre

of a room.

Bombs themselves were not a new alchemical development, but

they'd been banned for almost a hundred years after it was decided they

were uncivilised. Although banning them had done nothing to stop

their development, Hevgoss was famously partial to such technology,

viewing it as an equaliser against alchemists.

With the right manipulation of the air and flames, Luc held fire-

bombs in his fingertips. A great deal of his homework had involved

arrays and technical studies, drilling all the various ways in which fire

could be manipulated and weaponised. Helena had utilised much of it.

The trick had been designing something that would cause a power-

ful explosion without melting their obsidian.

Shiseo had taught her a technique for a combination alloy fusion

utilising dual array transmutation. It was complicated and dangerous.

Even with all the arrays stabilising their resonance, Helena burned sev-

eral fingertips nearly to the bone.

"Are you all right?" Shiseo asked as she sat trying to quickly regener-

ate the tissue.

Her fingertips hurt so much, it was hard to even feel her resonance,

but years of practice made it natural to soothe the damaged nerve end-

ings and regenerate it. Later she'd fix the dermal layer so that it wouldn't

be obvious to the eye.

"It's nothing," she finally managed to say, blinking hard and staring

at her hands, at the lines that ran across her fingers and palm. Out of

habit, she pressed her fingers against her sternum, feeling the faint dip

in the bone. The scar had faded some, but the ache where the bone had

split lingered. "Is it done?"

He set the two pieces on the worktable, and she eyed them wearily.

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He looked at her. "We'll finish this tomorrow. Your hands need to

recover, and you need rest."

She gave him a faint smile. "I will tonight."

She stayed preoccupied until late into the night, rechecking the

medical inventory. Her epinephrine injections were nearly out, but there

was no record of who'd taken them. Helena left a brusque note. If Elain

was going to run everything, she could at least enforce the rules.

She was rolling a mountain of sterilised bandages into spools when

her ring burned.

Amaris barely landed, Kaine swept her off the roof and they were

airborne. The instant they were inside, he had her pinned against the

wall, his lips ravenous against hers.

She gripped him tightly. Her fingertips were still numb, but she

hardly noticed.

His hands slid up until her face was cradled in his hands. His fore-

head pressed against hers, breath mingling a moment before he kissed

her again, drawing her farther inside. Their every step hurried. They

were always running out of time.

Someday, she promised herself, someday I am going to love him in a

moment that isn't stolen.

"Are you all right?" he asked once they were inside where it was lit

enough that he could look at her.

He reached out, and she knew that if he touched her, he'd use his

resonance and realise her hands had been recently injured, so she caught

his hand in hers, curling his fingers closed and clasping it against her

chest.

"Yes," she nodded, "Now I'm all right."

He stared at her, and she knew she looked tired, thin, and so sallow

from being always indoors with little natural light. The bombing had

broken most of the windows, and even the few that survived were

boarded up and sealed in case the wind brought the nullium towards

Headquarters again.

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"I should have called you sooner." His thumb traced along her cheek-

bone.

She shook her head. "It wouldn't have been worth the risk. It's dan-

gerous for you to fly so near like that. Someone could shoot you with

obsidian." A tremor ran through her just saying it aloud. "We shouldn't

be doing this. It's stupid to take this risk."

She was suddenly struggling to breathe. He pulled his hand free and

then held her head in both his hands, as if trying to quiet her mind for

her.

"We're safe here," he said.

For now. For this moment.

But not really. Not ever.

Still she nodded, trying to believe it, not wanting to poison what

little time they had left. She rose up on her toes, kissing him, pulling his

arms around her.

Don't let this be the last time.

She didn't close her eyes. She kept them open and watching him,

trying to notice every detail. She wanted to commit everything to

memory, the way he felt under her hands and against her skin, as if suf-

ficient detail could make this secret thing real enough to endure; as if

she could write it into the universe so deeply that even a war could not

erase it.

Afterwards, he gathered her against his chest, chin resting against

the top of her head as his fingers drew patterns across her skin.

I'm going to take care of you. I'm always going to take care of you.

He didn't say it audibly, but she could hear it in the shifting of the

air, the way his jaw moved when he mouthed the words.

She'd hoped to sleep, to experience one last hour of peace, but she

was too afraid. When she sat up, Kaine's quicksilver eyes were instantly

guarded. She didn't say anything for a moment, holding his hand in

hers, studying his face, this aspect of him that was hers alone.

She entwined their fingers, trying to find the right words.

"Kaine," she finally said, "there's a chance—we're hoping that this

attack will be the end of the war. We don't—we aren't sure how much

longer we're going to last, if it isn't."

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His hand twitched.

"If it isn't—" Her chest jerked, and she gave a tight, half-sobbed

laugh. "—well, we'll just keep fighting then. But if it is . . . I—I don't

know what will happen to you. I'm sorry. I tried to find a way"—she

looked down—"I couldn't figure out— "

"It's fine," he said.

She shook her head. "Maybe if Morrough's killed, your soul just goes

back to you. We don't know that it won't. There's a chance. Or maybe the

Stone would be enough to—"

She was grasping, and they both knew it.

"It could," she said insistently, squeezing his hand. "So, if that hap-

pens, if you're all right when it's over, you have to run. All right? Get

away as fast as you can. Don't let yourself be captured."

His eyes narrowed. "Where will you be?"

Helena looked down, playing with the ring on his hand. It had been

so long since she'd seen hers.

"You know me, I'll be in the hospital. There will be a lot of injuries

so I wouldn't be ready right away—so you just go, and I'll catch up."

He scoffed. "If I've survive, I'm not going anywhere without you."

She pressed her fingers to his lips, hushing him. "No. You can't risk

getting caught."

He pushed her fingers away from his mouth, but she wouldn't let

him interrupt. She had thought about this in circles, and there was little

chance that Crowther would let her slip away without paying for her

necromancy. If she was lucky, she'd just be expelled from the Eternal

Flame. It would be the quickest and quietest resolution, but even that

might take weeks or months.

"Go south, towards the sea. When I can, I'll come, I'll look for you,

and it'll be just like we said—we'll disappear."

His eyes narrowed into slits. "And how long do you expect I'd be

waiting?"

Helena's eyes dropped. "I don't know. It might be—a little while."

"Why?"

"Because—there will be a lot of things that will happen once it's

over. But I'm sure once it is, they'll rather I just disappear, so then I'll

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790 • SenLinYu

come look for you, all right? I think it would be good that way. For you.

You might realise you want other things once you have real choices—"

His fingers curled around the back of her neck, pulling her close

until their faces were nearly touching.

"You're mine," he said almost against her lips. "Mine. You swore it.

Your Resistance sold you to me. I'm not going anywhere without you.

And anyone touches you, immortal or not, I will kill them."

He didn't wait for a reply; he kissed her as though his lips were a

brand against hers.

Shiseo was the only other choice for delivering the bomb. He and

Helena coated the very exterior of it with a fine layer of mo'lian'shi

which Shiseo had extracted from nullium dust. After that, it was coated

in Helena's mirroring elixir. Shiseo had tinkered with the composition

and made it workable on larger surfaces.

Once it was all assembled, it would be difficult to notice, and the

exterior inertia would make it invisible to anyone searching by reso-

nance.

As they finished, Helena slipped her ring off, studying it. The mir-

roring was rubbing off. If she were arrested, she'd be searched, and any

metal removed. That would include Kaine's ring.

"Would mo'lian'shi interfere with an entanglement?" she asked.

Shiseo studied the half- visible ring. "If you left a small part exposed,

you could probably still use it." He eyed her knowingly. "That would

keep it hidden if someone searched you using resonance unless they

were very thorough."

That was all she needed to know. Muttering an apology to Kaine for

the burn he was about to get, she coated all but one section. Once it

cooled, she dipped her ring into the mirroring elixir, refreshing the con-

cealment, watching it vanish.

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While Shiseo was delivering the bomb, Helena went to check on

Lila. If the hospital ended up inundated, it would be a while before

she'd come again.

The bump between Lila's hips had grown undeniable, but Lila was

almost manic with regret, questioning her decision for the first time.

Her nails were all bitten to the quick. "I can't believe that the final battle

is happening now," she said, watching the combatants as they milled

below. "I should be out there."

"It's not as if you knew," Helena said, tiredly. It was too late for Lila

to change her mind now.

"Do you think this'll be it?" Lila asked. "Are our chances good?"

"As good as they can be," Helena said.

Win or lose, all she felt was dread, but it had to end now. It could not

go on.

"He's awake," Lila said, holding out her hand for Helena's. "Come

feel. Right here."

Lila caught Helena's hand and pressed it against her stomach, just

above her hip bone. There was pause, then, without using resonance,

Helena felt a strange flutter against her palm.

"Feel that?" Lila asked.

Helena nodded, letting her resonance sweep through Lila to the

baby, finding the heartbeat quick as the flutter of a bird's wings.

There were no more kicks.

"He probably went to sleep," Lila said. Helena still didn't know

where Lila got the conviction that the baby was a boy, but she'd named

him Apollo and referred to him as Pol. "You should feel him at night—I

think he does somersaults. Gets his feet all the way up to my ribs."

"I can't imagine where he gets his athletic troublemaking genes

from," Helena said in a dry voice, pulling her hand away.

"He'll have all the fun we missed," Lila said, letting her shirt fall over

her stomach. "You know, I think I'll be happy for him to be a peacetime

baby. I bet there will be a lot of babies in the next few years. They'll all

go to the Institute together like we did. D'you think you'll ever have

children?"

Helena shook her head without a word.

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792 • SenLinYu

"You might change your mind someday," Lila said coaxingly. "Just

have to find the right sort for you. You'd be a good mum."

"I'm a healer; we don't do things like that," Helena said.

"But you only became a healer because of the war. No one's going to

expect you to keep doing it once it's over."

For all of Lila's exceptionalism and understanding of the perilous

role she occupied, somehow she didn't seem to realise that most people

never had the chances she did, whether by birth or by ability. Lila was a

once- in- a- lifetime talent, with the beauty to match, and a name with

centuries of legacy behind it. The rules did not bend like that for anyone

else. Especially not Helena.

She changed the subject.

"I really think you should tell Luc. He should know before this bat-

tle starts. That way if things go wrong, the Eternal Flame will know the

importance of getting you to safety."

Lila was silent for a surprisingly long moment.

"He already knows," she finally said quietly, averting her eyes from

Helena's.

"What?"

"He broke in, through the window, when I was first placed in quar-

antine. He was so worried that I told him the truth. He said if people

knew, they'd make me leave. Send me to Novis. He needed me, so I kept

saying I wanted it to be a secret. He made me promise not to tell any-

one."

Helena was struck dumb for several moments. "He's known this

whole time? That you're pregnant, and I'm the one caring for you?"

If Luc knew and allowed this, why was he so opposed to her healing

Titus? It made no sense.

Lila flushed. "Sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I didn't want him upset.

He's still not doing very well."

"I need to go," Helena said, standing up unsteadily.

Lila tried to stop her, blocking the door. "No. You're angry, I can tell.

Please, let me explain."

Helena stared at her. Lila looked so much like her father, cast in a

feminine mould—the height, the pale hair and blue eyes, even a scar on

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one side of the head.

"I don't need an explanation from you," Helena said. "I need to talk

to him."

She searched everywhere for Luc. Everyone she asked gave a differ-

ent location: He was in a meeting, he was asleep, he was in the com-

mons, the mess. Everywhere she went, he was always a few minutes

ahead of her.

Finally, she tracked him down in the hospital, but he was in a private

room, under guard, no admittance.

Helena stood waiting, and finally Elain emerged carrying a tray with

several syringes and empty vials on it, and a tense furrow between her

eyes.

"I need to see Luc," Helena said.

Elain started at the sight of her. "He's resting."

Helena looked down at the tray, and Elain tried to turn it from her

view.

"Why are you giving him all that?" Helena asked, eyes flicking from

vial to vial. "These shouldn't be combined, and he's too young to need

half of them. And these— " She snatched up a syringe with her writing

on it. "—these are for dire emergencies only. If you overuse them, you're

going to give him heart failure. Who approved this?"

Elain's eyes flashed indignantly. "I'm his healer."

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CHAPTER 63

Augustus 1786

Time slowed to a crawl the next day as Headquarters were

emptied, the combatants dispatched. There was no time or opportunity

to speak to Luc before he was gone.

Helena and all the other healers and medical staff waited in a

prepped hospital ward, waiting for news, for injuries. The hands on the

clock indicated that the bomb should have gone off, but there was no

sound or shudder of an explosion.

No sign that anything had begun.

Of course, it was a smaller bomb, intended to be detonated inside an

enclosed area. She wasn't likely to feel it, and the fighting would mostly

be on the West Island.

Knowing that didn't make it easier to wait. After so many years, she

could feel it all coming to an end and dreaded almost every possible

outcome.

Perhaps it would end, and they would win and everything would be

all right, but Kaine would vanish in the aftermath, and she wouldn't

know if he was dead or alive, trapped under rubble, or fled somewhere

far away.

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She would just have to look for him until she knew.

Every tick of the clock made her flinch. The orderlies, medics, and

healers were talking among themselves, but Helena stood frozen, her

ribs clamping around her lungs.

You made a mistake. You built the bomb wrong. Kaine was caught while

planting it and he's being tortured, and you don't even know. Everyone is

going to die and it's all your fault.

Her fingertips and arms were beginning to prick, going numb.

The doors burst open. The room was so blurred, Helena couldn't

make out who it was, but she heard shouting: There'd been an explosion

on the West Island. The Resistance had attacked.

Helena stood swaying, trying to feel something, but she still felt

empty.

Heat flared around her finger. Just once.

She looked down at her hand, at the ring that was barely there, and

her knees gave out.

She dropped straight to the floor and burst into tears, pain splinter-

ing across her chest.

There were voices around her, but she couldn't follow them. All she

could do was try to breathe, but her lungs refused to open.

A warm hand wrapped around her elbow, pulling her to her feet.

"Let's sit a minute," Pace said as she wrapped an arm around Hele-

na's shoulders and escorted her to her little office in the storeroom.

"Elain can call when someone's brought in."

She pushed Helena down into a chair.

Helena let herself be herded along, sitting, eyes closed. She pressed

her fingers against her chest, feeling the scarring through her clothes,

easing her heart rate back down.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she found Pace watching

her.

"What's happening?" Pace asked.

Helena shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just tired."

Pace's features were all pinched together. "You know, they say there's

a point when the Toll becomes exponential."

Helena shrugged. "They say a lot of things about healers. I don't

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know that even half of them are true."

"Perhaps, but I doubt anyone has ever healed to the extent and mag-

nitude that you have. You have not been well for a long time. You think

I couldn't guess why you started supplementing your treatments with all

those tonics and injections? Your trainees barely know how to heal

without them, but you worked solo for years. For all you know, you

could be risking years of your life every time—"

"I don't think it's that . . ." She reached up absently for the chain, but

it was long gone.

Pace shook her head, worry etched into her broad face. "Is it the nul-

lium? We're seeing so many side effects from the bombing, and you had

some of the worst exposure of any of the survivors. That's not even con-

sidering your injury at the time."

Before Helena could shake her head, Pace continued. "We going in

blind on all this, without any idea of the potential long-term effects. I

suspect Luc's brain fevers are a symptom of residual nullium in the

brain."

Helena looked at her in confusion. "Luc has brain fevers?"

Pace sighed. "You saw what he was like just after the rescue."

Helena nodded. "I thought they'd stopped."

"He tries to keep them hidden, doesn't want to cause worry, but

sometimes they're so severe that he still grows delirious, claws at his

skin, won't let any men in the room, even Sebastian, screaming things

like Get him out. Elain has to sedate him until they pass or he'll injure

himself."

Helena felt as if she had been staring at a puzzle from the wrong

angle for months; now she could suddenly see it clearly.

"He says, Get him out?" Her voice seemed to come from far away.

"Usually."

Helena's head throbbed. "Can you—describe these fevers for me?"

Pace's eyebrows furrowed. "Well, I've only examined him a few times.

Elain manages now; he's more cooperative with her. She believes it's

caused by recurring brain inflammation. The symptoms are delirium,

with a rapid heartbeat. We thought it was related to his organ damage,

but they appear to be separate conditions."

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"What's the opium for?" Helena asked.

Pace sighed and looked away. "His fevers seem prompted by a condi-

tion of the nerves. Calming him keeps them from growing so severe.

We've tried everything, but inhaling the vapours is the only thing that

prevents them. If he becomes fully delirious, it can take days before he

recovers, and he requires extensive treatment to get back on his feet."

"That's just—masking the symptoms. That's not fixing anything. You

should have told me this was going on."

This couldn't be.

"Helena," Matron Pace said firmly, "he's been examined over and

over by myself and Maier and Elain. There's no cause. It's all in his