Seventeen #3
Alys tried to push Clement aside, fumblingly.
Her arms had been replaced by lengths of limp twine.
So many people were talking, everything was so loud, and—there.
Alietta was still in the wooden chair, looking shaken but alive.
Moyna and Estiene were holding one each of her wrists.
Her lined face was speckled with a new rash: the red of vermeil.
Mathé’s blood, Alys had made it worse.
“Tixerrant. Alys.” Jehan, popping up next to Clement.
She knew it was Jehan speaking because his mouth moved, but she was only mostly sure he’d said her name, and she couldn’t unravel what came after that.
Everything was a tapestry of booming chaos; grasping the Jehan-thread was impossible.
His expression said concern. He was asking if she was all right. He wanted her to respond.
Alys would have liked to. The idea was simply unfathomable.
Someone had set a new and smothering geas upon her.
Words and pieces of words slipped away like wet soap.
The lights were too bright but the idea of closing her eyes, of trapping herself in the tapestry without even the anchor of sight, was terrifying.
There was some more too-loud talking. At least one person was swearing.
Among all of it came a sound that hurt Alys’s skin, it was so loud, as the bell rang for the end of the hour.
It was as if she’d climbed the North Tower and was standing right next to the hugest bell. As if she were the clapper itself.
More swearing happened. Alys sank to sit on the floor.
Having more of herself in contact with the ground was good.
Slowly she became aware that the room was quieter, and that her fingers were twitching against her knee, and also that something was odd about her vision.
But she could at least see what was happening.
It was like the first day of the Grand Exam all over again.
Dean Brodier and Healer Hilaret were in the exam chamber now, Brodier talking to the other members of the exam group and Hilaret helping Alietta through the door under the clock.
Hopefully someone would heal her properly.
Or at least reverse whatever disaster Alys had managed to wreak.
She’d ruined this one so spectacularly. She was the dead weight dragging this exam group down.
It had been foolish beyond belief for them to have trusted her with—
A hand landed on Alys’s shoulder. It pressed her down just as the stone of the floor pressed up. Alys looked up the arm and into Clement’s face, where Clement had crouched down beside her.
“Is this all right? Does it help?”
It took all the focus Alys had, but she managed to yank the words into coherence, only a few seconds after they were spoken. Pull yourself together. She could be fine. She tried to muster her usual smile and reassure Clement with it.
“No, don’t worry.” Clement’s own mouth tweaked.
They were looking at their own hand instead of staring into Alys’s light-tender eyes.
It was like the pressure: restful. They said quietly, “Something like this used to happen with my brother Stephane. When he was very upset he didn’t want to talk.
He liked to curl up on the floor and have us pile things on top of him, too, but we’re a bit low on blankets and bags of flour in here. ”
The words were happening in time with Clement’s lip movements, by the end of that. Some more of Alys’s panic ebbed. She had long ago learned the incredible weight that kindness could have when you were scared and your body was doing its best to kill you.
Brodier came over, looking pinched and trailing the others like ducklings. Alys sat up straighter. She would be expected to talk. She wasn’t going to be able to. Then Clement’s hand squeezed her shoulder and Clement stood, angling themself between Alys and Brodier.
“She’s fine,” Clement said. “Just needs some recovery time. I’ll stick with her.”
“I— Well, thank you, Savoye. If you’re sure,” said Brodier, sounding relieved not to have to deal with the enormous inconvenience that was Alys herself. “Any concerns, make sure she goes to the Hospital to get checked out.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Alys,” said Jehan. He was crouched by her now. Untidy strands of his hair appeared in Alys’s periphery. She stretched her twitching fingers and clenched them again. “I don’t know if I’d have thought of slapping you, but I’m glad someone did. And we’re glad you’re all right.”
He sounded warm. That was unbearable. Alys wrestled her voice into her mouth.
“No. I—failed,” she managed. “The case.”
“We failed the case,” said Estiene.
Alys had to look up, at the strange hollowness of his voice—had to see his pale face staring after Brodier’s retreating back. It was her fault. This was all her fault.
It would be hard to fail the Grand Exam, the Secretary had said, without an egregious and obvious disaster.
Nearly burning out. Nearly killing a patient.
There was no disaster more obvious than Alys.