9. Preparation
CHAPTER NINE
Preparation
“Unbelievable.” Al muttered under his breath.
I sat upon one of the table surfaces in his workshop, attempting not to hiss and recoil from his ministrations.
“I asked for you not to be harmed, and they return you to me in this state.” He dabbed at my injuries.
“We must get this handled before you begin to Awaken,” he tutted, continuing to rub the lashes stretched across my back.
“Where is Cassiel?” I asked, voice roughened from screaming.
After Vaner’s rage had been satisfied and Cassiel and I lay in a pool of blood, he snapped Cassiel’s neck, rendering him unconscious. Both of us had been dragged away, yet the searing pain had not allowed me to see much more than the inside of my eyelids.
Even now, my mind continued to be fogged. I squeezed the clutched fur against my bare breasts.
“You must consider your own injuries. If I do not have you healed up, Awakening may kill you.” Al continued as if I had not spoken. “I applied the tincture. It will help stimulate faster healing. Hopefully.” He mumbled the last word.
Itchiness began along my back, and I rolled my shoulders, but the movement did nothing to soothe the creeping sting. I reached over my shoulder to scratch.
“Do not touch it.” He smacked my hand away before shuffling toward the table pushed against the wall. He pulled a cot out from underneath. “Lie face down.”
I stiffened my lips as I gingerly pushed off the stool to shuffle over. Each step sent shooting pain up my back. Removing my slippers, I made sure to tuck them under the cot so whatever Vera placed inside could not be seen.
The cot seemed slept in, with the fur across the top skewed. Slowly, I lowered while keeping my breasts hidden. Even though I was in my bloomers, the pain was too much for me to care. My arm gave out, and I landed on my front, my spine bent from the dip in the middle.
“You will be watching her, yes?” Al asked Officer Jahrod who stood near the exit.
“Yes,” he murmured.
“Perfection. I must go study my other patient. And see to moving him.” He was already walking away, striding up the steps.
As soon as he was gone, I released a gusting breath that seared my throat.
Cassiel had taken blows for me. He had not needed to get involved in Vaner’s sick display of power, but he had.
All the while, he told me of the first days at the hands of the council.
How they manipulated, how they tempted, how he had fallen.
Another wave of choked sobs spilled free.
Saints, every inch of me hurt.
At some point, I had fallen into a deep slumber.
Grogginess clouded my thoughts as I pushed upright on the cot.
Cold air touched my breasts and I yanked the fur to my chest with a speed I did not know how I mustered.
Officer Brandt had taken Jahrod’s place near the door.
He leaned against the sill, eyes closed, arms crossed.
A fortunate thing, since he had not seen my nudity.
Low muttering brought my attention to Al huddled over one of his workstations. Another body lay sprawled over the table surface, still and unmoving.
Hester stood at his side, complexion bloodless as she watched him, following behind him while holding a metal bowl. I recalled being in the same horror-filled position.
A frock in the customary shade redbloods wore had been spread across the end of my cot.
At least it was something to wear. Metal bars creaked as I stood.
Aches and pains radiated across my lower back, but the searing sting across my flesh was no longer present.
I rolled my shoulders to test it and still felt nothing more than soreness.
Whatever tincture Al placed had worked.
“Dress and come aid us,” Al called, making it clear he had been aware of me being awake despite his intense focus. Hester’s relief-filled gaze met mine.
I pulled on the frock, the fabric scratching my skin, and slid my feet into the slippers beside the cot. The hard item remained tucked inside one of them. My shoulders eased—no one had found it. I approached them, coming up behind Al.
Metal tools neatly lined the surface of the rolling table Al scooted around with him when performing procedures and dissections.
A woman, her face slack with serene death, lay upon the metal table. Her dress, the same shade and fabric as mine, was torn down the middle. It split to the sides, leaving her nude. How she was splayed seemed such a disservice to her.
“She was one of the House of Lords’ cooks.” Al watched me, scraping the side of the blade against the metal bowl to remove the layer of red clots clinging to the surface.
I approached, stifling a yawn.
Al’s grin widened, handing me the blade. “Women are notoriously more gentle.” He lowered his voice. “And have proven to have much stronger stomachs.”
He slid it into my hand. Hester’s eyes widened, but I ignored her reaction to turn back to the corpse.
Al poked at all parts of the corpse, even ensuring to take one piece of the organ and place it in a small tube.
I studied the heart. It seemed to be the only organ that had not shriveled.
Instead it had enlarged to twice the typical size.
I would have worried about it exploding upon slicing a piece from it, but Al had already done it.
Contrary to what I had expected, there was no liquid inside it.
“Do you have the container for the next organ?”
Hester held up the glass piece. “What does he do with these?” she whispered.
Al chuckled, obviously having heard her from where he stood across from us, jotting upon the parchment on the table near the exit.
“I have only seen him inject a piece of flesh with other substances to notate reactions.” As I explained, I examined the opened body, debating which section I should cut into the lung. It had shriveled above the heart.
“She looks quite young,” I murmured. She could not be but a few annums older than me. “Cause of death?”
“Annum injections,” Al responded, distractedly answering.
My trembling hand caused me to nick the tissue attached to the splayed skin near her shoulder. It seemed as if all of her organs had withered.
All of this, caused by the annum injection. Suppressors that stifled redblood nature.
“Many annums ago, when I was a mere boy, my father was the lead Alchemist for a redblood camp. One eve, he brought me to a chamber where various redbloods had been chained to a wall. He went on to inject each and every single one of those redbloods with different trials that our lineage had cultivated. I have seen the insides of each of those results.”
For a moment—a split one—a frown crossed his features, and his quill ceased scratching across the parchment.
“Your generation has received the blessing of those advancements. With that in mind, collapsed organs are not so bad.” His bushy eyebrows twitched.
With no chance for me to respond, he went back to scribbling.
“Continue the separation process, Miss Amara, just as we have before.” He tucked the quill into the little slit at the front of his apron, took the parchment, and strode to a worn leather seat where a surface sat level.
“And I will stay out of the way should they burst. Take care removing the ovaries. Those have been known to explode.” He had to raise his voice to reach us across the way.
I brought the knife down to the flesh the lung adhered itself to, and carved to separate the organ from the body. This was the fate of redbloods—ending in this degrading manner, being poked and prodded as if she were nothing. As if she were a thing—an experiment.
It was her fate. It would have been mine if not for the Sigil and what that meant. I finished detaching the tissue layer from the organ.
“Are you well?” Hester whispered.
Turning to the table behind me, I set the scalpel aside and took the clamps to move it.
“As can be,” I murmured.
Hester’s complexion soured as she watched me place the lung in the glass.
“If you cannot do this, he will send for someone else,” I warned. Hester took another audible breath. “Perhaps not breathing through your nose will help.”
“Ah,” she croaked, nodding.
Then we commenced placing every single organ in a different container. It took longer because I had to explain to Hester every step as we went. By the end, we had a stack of organs in glass containers. I took the beakers holding the heart and liver, one in each hand.
“Grab what you can hold. It will take a few rounds.”
I peered toward Al, and he was still scribbling in his journal.
Officer Jahrod had taken Officer Brandt’s place, and he sat on a stool, leaning back against the wall.
He was closer to Al than us. Hester took the liver and one lung.
She kept right behind me as we walked across the work chamber toward the bookshelves.
“This is horrifying,” she choked. “How can you stomach it?”
“I had no choice.” I continue not to. “We have to find a way to leave this place.”
We made it to the shelves, and I reached up to place the heart on the top where Al preferred it. “The lung will be on the second.” I tapped the second shelf. Then I crouched to set the liver at the bottom. “I have mylk flowers and a journal stored in the drawer under my bed. Have you seen them?”
“Yes.” She sounded unsure. “After the Guard made a mess of your things, we collected their remnants as best we could and placed them back.”
“Did they take the journal?” I held my breath, waiting for her response.
She shook her head. “They snapped your quill and broke your ink. The journal was relatively unscathed other than being shaken about, but they left it on the floor with the flowers when they left.”
“Grind the dried stems down into a fine powder. It turns it into a poison.” The dosage depended on the fatality, but with a pinch ingested, it causes loss of consciousness.
“What? I cannot—”