Lila nudged her with her elbow and stood. “Even if the trainees are just because of Matias meddling, I’m glad you’re getting more time off. I think you’ve needed that—some space from it all.”
HELENA SPENT DAYS REPLAYING THE conversation. She bitterly missed having people to talk to, who cared about what she said.
She’d had trainees?
She remembered Stroud mentioning there being other healers like Elain Boyle, but Helena had assumed they’d come from somewhere else.
She couldn’t imagine Falcon Matias approving the addition of more healers.
Ilva Holdfast had worked very hard to make Helena’s vivimancy palatable to the Resistance. She’d declared that it was the gods’ will that the Eternal Flame had a vivimancer in their ranks, and that Helena had been born, found, and brought to Paladia destined to become a healer, so that if Luc was struck down in battle, vivimancy might save him; a resonance of corruption purified by Sol’s will.
Helena had needed to leave the city and go into the mountains to train with an ascetic monk. Matias had been a Shrike at the time, living in a hut near the Holdfast estate, acting as a spiritual advisor for the family.
He’d disliked healers on principle and hated Helena the moment he laid eyes on her.
Nothing about her fell in line with what he regarded as appropriate for a healer. He’d been more an obstacle than a teacher, but Helena was stubborn, and familiar enough with medicine to manage her own training. She was determined to become a healer, whether he wanted it or not.
When Ilva began demanding that Helena be sent back to the city because Luc had gone to the front lines, Matias tried to resist, denying Helena’s suitability until Ilva practically bribed him with the offer that Luc would make him Falcon, a religious rank high enough to join the Council, and even then he agreed only on the condition that if Helena was to be the Eternal Flame’s healer, then she would heal all who served Sol’s sacred cause.
The Principate, after all, was not above others, but first among equals.
What would make Matias approve trainees?
Helena couldn’t help but think wistfully about Lila.
When Helena came back as a healer, it had been inadvisable for her to seem too close to Luc. A childhood friendship was all very well, but someone like Helena couldn’t appear to have undue influence over a figure like the Principate.
Paladia’s survival depended on the Resistance’s unwavering faith in Luc. If his judgement was questioned, all Paladia would suffer the consequences. Certain sacrifices had to be made.
Lila as Luc’s paladin primary had been the closest to Luc that Helena was allowed to be after that. Lila had been primary …
Helena blinked.
There’d been a paladin secondary. Soren. Lila’s twin brother. Where was Soren?
Helena’s head throbbed.
Why would she forget Soren? He—
A face briefly flickered in her memory. Helena’s mind swerved violently, as if recoiling. No. She tried to focus.
Soren. Remember Soren. What happened to him?
Her skin crawled, a painful ghastly ache rose through her body, her lungs seized as if there were water inside them, and her vision turned a violent red.
When her head cleared, her temples were throbbing.
What had she been thinking about?
Something about—Lila?
CHAPTER 13
IT WAS THE MISPLACED GLEAM OF SILVER that caught Helena’s attention as she was passing along the outer edge of the main foyer. On the far side of the room, she spotted a door left ajar—a door which she knew was always kept locked.
She pretended not to notice, making her way there slowly. All too aware of the eyes everywhere.
The dining room was well lit and in the process of being arranged for a dinner party. Dishes and chests of cutlery had all been laid out for selection.
Helena only gave herself a moment to draw a steadying breath before slipping through the door.
She knew better than to lock it, knowing that would draw in every necrothrall like a lure.
Instead, she walked calmly, exploring as she always did, heading towards the large display cabinet filled with intricate silver candlesticks and epergnes, not letting herself look too closely at the silverware chests on display.
When she was hidden behind a large floral arrangement, her right hand shot out, snatching up a beautifully sharp-edged table knife with one smooth motion. Her hand dropped again, hiding the knife amid her skirts as she kept walking.
Her heart began pounding violently in her chest.
All these months, and she’d finally managed to get her hands on a weapon.
One of the maids was close behind her. Helena knew better than to attack a necrothrall unless she was sure she could sever the head completely. Better to smuggle the knife back to her room.
Then what? Her temples pulsed.
Should she kill herself? A month before, the answer would have been obvious, but the possibility of rescue tugged at her. Luc’s insistent voice haunting her, begging her to live.
Perhaps she only needed to wait a little longer.
No. No more waiting.
She squeezed the knife, feeling the weight of it tucked in her palm until her wrist nearly spasmed.
If she went into her bathroom and lodged herself between the door and sink, she would have enough time to slash her wrists and throat before anyone reached her.
She’d just need a minute, enough time to lose as much blood as possible before there was any intervention, which wouldn’t be too hard because Paladia, for all its scientific medical advancement, was superstitiously terrified of blood transfusion or anything else involving the bodies or fluids of others. They thought it would contaminate their resonance.
A vivimancer could force blood regeneration, but with enough blood loss, the energy and materials for new blood would take their own lethal toll. Stroud might be knowledgeable enough to avoid it, but someone like Ferron wouldn’t be.
If she severed her carotid arteries, even if he did manage to keep her alive, her brain wouldn’t be usable.
The room threatened to sway, but she steeled herself. She kept moving idly, pausing to pretend she was studying the silver dishes displayed. They were beautiful, intricate pieces made with elegant, organic lines, a stark contrast with the heavy ironwork.
The butler entered the room, gesturing towards the door.
Helena turned and headed out, careful to keep the knife from sight, moving only a little quicker than usual as the front door opened and Ferron walked in, followed by Atreus, whose mood had turned Crowther’s thin face sour.
Ferron paused, his eerie eyes instantly alighting on Helena, his gaze flicking to the open dining room doors.
“I didn’t realise you let your prisoner have free rein in the house,” Atreus said, looking at her with distaste.
Ferron raised a silencing hand, his focus on Helena, a predatory intensity illuminating his eyes.
Her instincts screamed for her to flee, but she didn’t want to find out how fast he could set the house on her; the cage of iron bars in that foyer could easily chase her down.
Best to avoid suspicion.
She forced herself to stop and face them, burying her hand in her skirts.
Ferron drifted towards her. His gaze seemed to be cataloguing her, as if there was a checklist he was reviewing. He idly pulled his gloves off, pocketing them.
She took an involuntary step back, the pattern of the knife hilt biting into her palm.