“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 immediately moving to spring, the wind rushing around her wings.
“Don’t die.”
She must have said it too quietly, because he didn’t answer.
CHAPTER 61
Julius 1787
WHEN HELENA HAD NO RITES TO PERFORM, Crowther still kept her busy.
Since she’d proven her usefulness with Mandl, he saw no reason not to continue utilising her to increase his influence and control in the Council. She refused to use her vivimancy for torture, experimenting with her animancy instead, trying to perfect the methods for extracting information. 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 crawling beneath a prisoner’s skin, their consciousness and her own briefly occupying the same mind-space. They’d grow sick with fevers afterwards, 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 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 happened, 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 injury 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 increments 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.
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 stomach, 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 opportunity that she wanted to discuss.
“What would it entail exactly?” Rhea asked, gripping Titus by the 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.”