Alchemised

CHAPTER 17 #2

He approached her slowly and knelt, turning her face up towards his again, studying her eyes. “The pupils are different sizes,” he said. “I’ll call a specialist. See if there’s anything else to be done.”

She stared back at him. He looked haggard, his skin pallid grey, his eyes too bright in contrast, but maybe it only seemed that way because of how her vision blurred.

“Were you in the house when you—” She gestured at the wreckage of the room.

He glanced over. “No. Or I might have managed it more neatly. I’d reached the edge of the property.”

“How—?”

He gave a tired grimace. “The ability came compliments of Artemon Bennet, although he didn’t have any idea at the time of what he was doing. It was intended to be a punishment.”

Helena’s eyebrows furrowed. She had no idea what could be done to make a person’s resonance so powerful that they could control iron from a distance like that.

“How could anything—?”

“I don’t want to discuss it right now,” he said, cutting her off.

There was a pause. She still felt like she should say something.

“How did you know I’d be able to fix my eye?”

“You were a healer.”

“Yes, but …” Her voice faded. She was unable to explain why she felt dissatisfied with the answer.

“Where did you learn to heal?” she asked, thinking back not only on how easily he’d imitated her directions but also how he’d dealt with Aurelia, and repaired the nerve damage on his own.

“Well, you see, there was a war, and I was a general. Picked up a few things.”

A headache was developing in Helena’s temples from her imbalanced vision.

“Well, you—you have a natural talent for it. In another life, you could be a healer.”

“One of life’s great ironies,” he said, glancing towards the door, his jaw tight.

The maid had returned carrying a satchel, the kind that field medics wore, strapped over the shoulder and belted at the waist.

Ferron took it, rummaging through the pockets. She heard the rattle and clink of glass vials.

“Just atropine?” he asked, looking towards her with a vial in hand.

She shook her head. “Five drops of atropine diluted in a teaspoon of saline.”

There was more tinkling, unscrewing, pouring, and then he pocketed something and snapped the satchel shut. The maid immediately took it back.

Helena started pushing herself unsteadily to her feet.

“I should—lie down so it doesn’t run,” she said. Her balance felt off and her hands and arms shook, refusing to bear her weight. She sank back to the floor. Perhaps she’d just lie there.

A hand closed around her elbow and drew her to her feet.

“I’m not leaning over you on the floor,” Ferron said in an irritated voice. Rather than pull her to the bed, he led her out of the room and down the hallway to another room.

The air was stale, the bed stripped and bare. Ferron wrenched a dustcloth off a sofa, and Helena lay down flat on it.

He leaned over her, vial in hand. His face went in and out of focus every time she blinked. Dark. Light. Dark. Light.

“How many drops?”

“Two, twice a day, for two days. Then euphrasia compresses for a week.”

Ferron leaned closer, dripping two drops of the belladonna atropine into her eye. She closed her eyes to keep from blinking it away.

His fingers brushed against her cheek, and she felt the cut there vanish. “The servants will have this room made up.”

She counted his receding footsteps, covering her left eye so she could see.

He stumbled as he left the room, catching himself against the doorframe and righting himself slowly, as if unsteady on his feet.

She closed her eyes again, listening to the heavy silence of the house.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry, she told herself.

She listened as the servants arrived and the bed’s mattress was flipped and made up with fresh sheets and bedding.

The radiators were turned on, hissing as the room warmed.

Helena’s few possessions were brought in and put into a new wardrobe.

The curtains were left drawn, permitting only a splinter of light.

When they were gone, Helena made her way over to the bed and tried to sleep.

Ferron returned a few hours later, followed by an older man with a case filled with innumerable contraptions.

“I warn you, sclera punctures are quite a nasty business,” he said with a wheezing voice as he glanced over Helena. “Not much that can be done. We’ll be lucky if she can keep the eye. I brought some patches, or if you’re willing to spend the money I have some glass ones which will do nicely.”

He sat down heavily in a chair that the butler had brought over.

“She instructed you in the vivimancy to try to repair it?” he asked Ferron, who was leaning against the wall, watching from hooded eyes.

Ferron gave a wordless nod.

The optician leaned closer, prying Helena’s eye open and holding various mechanical contraptions up, peeling the lid back as he studied the injury.

He was quiet for a long time.

“This is—quite exceptional work,” he finally said in a voice full of surprise. “Vivimancy, you say? Well.”

He sat back heavily and stared at Helena, rubbing his chin. “Where’d you learn this trick?”

“I was a healer,” Helena said.

The doctor made an incredulous wheezing sound. “But you’re—” He gestured towards her wordlessly. “How would you know about medical procedures like that?”

“My father was a surgeon, trained in Khem, before he moved to Etras.”

“Khem? Really. They have doctors there?”

Helena gave a tight nod.

“Fancy that. I’ve never known anyone from Khem.

And he crossed all the way from the lower continent?

I can’t imagine. The sea is—” He shuddered.

“Tides like mountains? No thank you. Even during the summer Abeyance, they say it’s a treacherous passage.

I can’t imagine living in the coastal regions.

You must be grateful to be inland now, away from all that. ”

Helena stared at him.

He peered at her through a series of lenses, muttering to himself and twisting various screws and then holding a small light near her face before sitting back. “I believe you may make a full recovery.”

He glanced towards Ferron. “Keep her out of the light, apply the belladonna twice a day, and there’s a good chance she’ll have little impairment.”

Helena watched one-eyed as he stood, packing his instruments away before he turned to Ferron, straightening his coat pompously.

“I must say, that’s an exceptional healer you have there.

When you told me what happened, I didn’t think there was much chance of keeping the eye.

We have a few vivimancers at the hospital now, and they cause more trouble than they’re worth.

Always sure they know better than the doctors, but then only addressing the symptoms and never bothering to understand how anything works. Useless lot.”

The doctor looked down at Helena again. His eyes resting on the manacles around her wrists.

“What a pity,” he said to himself. “Such a waste of talent.”

Ferron made a noncommittal grunt. The doctor turned to face him, flushing. “And you, sir. Remarkable that you could manage such delicate healing through imitation. Very impressive. You should work in the hospital.”

“So I’m told,” Ferron said with an insincere smile. “Do you think they’ll still hire me after I murdered someone in the lobby?”

The man blanched. “Well—what I mean is—”

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you out,” Ferron said, striding away.

H ELENA WORE A PATCH OVER her left eye. Ferron came like clockwork to administer the atropine drops, apparently not trusting even his servants around Helena with belladonna. Once she no longer needed the eye drops, she was brought cool compresses made from eyebright.

She’d just stopped wearing the patch when Stroud returned.

“You’ve had a rather unfortunate month, I hear,” she said as Helena automatically stripped for the examination.

Helena’s vision was still imbalanced, making things swing out of focus as Stroud began examining her. Stroud noted something in her file, and then made Helena lie back and spent more than a minute kneading her stomach and lower abdomen.

“Perfect,” Stroud finally said, stepping back and taking several more notes. “You’re finally ready.”

Helena stared dully at the ceiling, debating whether to give Stroud the satisfaction of asking what she meant. Stroud stood waiting, and finally she relented.

“Ready for what?”

“Enrolment in my repopulation program.”

Helena looked at her blankly.

“Didn’t I mention it?” Stroud inclined her head smugly. “It must have slipped my mind.”

Helena blinked slowly. Her uneven vision left her off kilter, as if reality itself were out of alignment. “I was sterilised.”

“Yes, I know.” Stroud just nodded. “I believe I may be the first vivimancer to manage a full ligation reversal.”

The room threatened to tilt. “No. They said it would be—”

“Well, they did try to make things difficult. I had to practise several times on a few of the extra girls we had in the program. It wasn’t any loss, don’t worry.

Not every resonance is worth replicating, and it’s good to have a few spares for consolation; some of the sires don’t take it well when we don’t have any availability for their repertoires. ”

Helena’s throat convulsed. “What?”

“Anyway, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. I thought you’d figure it out. I suppose you’re not as bright as everyone says.”

Helena tried to scramble up and escape, but Stroud paralysed her limbs with a careless touch.

“The High Necromancer is convinced that you’re an animancer. If he’s right, we can’t let a girl like that go to waste. Do you have any idea how rare they are? And here you are at the critical moment, when we need one most.”

Her body shook. “I thought—the transference—”

“Oh, so now you want to cooperate with transference?” Stroud laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll still try to recover your memories afterwards. We’re simply reprioritising for a little while.”

Stroud went to the door where the maid was waiting. “High Reeve, a word.”

Helena lay there, unable to move. Ferron wouldn’t let this happen. He’d spent months practising transference; Stroud couldn’t come and upend everything.

She tried to make herself breathe steadily. If she started hyperventilating, Stroud would probably sedate her or knock her out completely. What if she woke up back in Central, waiting for someone to come through the door to—

Her vision swam, terror crawling through her like insects.

What was she going to do? Try to argue that her memories were more valuable than a pregnancy?

If she had to choose one or the other, what was worse? Cooperating with Ferron’s extraction of the Eternal Flame’s secrets, or letting herself be raped to produce the child Morrough needed for his own transference?

Even if she did stop resisting transference, if she cooperated with Ferron, wouldn’t they just forcibly impregnate her afterwards?

“You called,” Ferron said as he entered, his tone clipped with irritation.

“High Reeve, yes, I wanted to inform you that I’ve been able to reverse Marino’s sterilisation. The High Necromancer wants her transferred into the repopulation program,” Stroud said.

Ferron’s expression did not so much as ripple, but he went uncannily still.

“You did what?” he finally said.

Stroud laid a hand proudly on Helena’s stomach.

“You know how rare animancers are. If she really is one, it would be a waste not to use her. I’ve spent the last few months experimenting with a reversal process, and it’s finally complete.

They were careless, really; they should have taken out the womb, although I would have replaced it if they had.

I have plenty of healthy subjects to choose from.

It was a relatively minor process compared with what Bennet and I used to do to the chimaeras. ”

“You didn’t mention this.” Ferron’s voice had grown dangerous.

“The program is not your purview, and you talk so frequently of how fragile she is, I thought it better to wait until I was sure. However, the High Necromancer wants her enrolled immediately. The matter of transference will resume once we have the child. I suspect she’ll be much more cooperative about it then.

” She looked down at Helena. “Won’t you? ”

Ferron was silent.

“Now, I could take her back to Central. We have a long list of promising sires, and Marino here has such an unusual repertoire that we could pair her with practically anyone.” Stroud looked squarely at Fer ron.

“However …” Her voice was idle, meandering like a summer brook.

“When it comes to resonance, there is one candidate who stands out from the rest.”

“Get to the point,” Ferron’s voice was flat, but Helena could hear murder ringing underneath.

Stroud straightened imperiously. “It’s time you had children.

I know your family’s concern is with iron, but you have a wife for that.

As our other animancer, the High Necromancer has chosen you to be the first to make an attempt with Marino here.

If she becomes pregnant, we’ll look for signs of animancy.

Your father was a great help in detailing your mother’s condition, so we know just what symptoms to look for.

However, given how tight our timeline has become, the High Necromancer considers it best to keep alternatives under consideration.

You’ll have two months to produce results, or she’ll be transferred to Central, and we’ll see if we have better luck with other candidates. ”