Alchemised, page 25
“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.
* * *
Helena 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 Ferron. “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.”
Chapter 18
Everything around Helena blurred. Stroud removed the paralysis after Ferron icily excused himself, but Helena still didn’t move.
The grating, scratching sound of Stroud’s pen on paper was the only sound in the quiet room.
Helena’s mouth had gone parched, but she struggled to swallow, trying to think of some way to reverse what had so suddenly happened.
Her fingers flexed, running across the linen sheets as she tried to focus on external sensations. A half-whimpering rasp escaped her throat.
She thought she might scream. Just scream and scream and never stop.
“What’s wrong?” Stroud asked, glancing up from Helena’s medical file.
Helena stared at her.
“I would have thought you’d be pleased to have a break from transference. With the way you’ve been resisting, you’d likely have liver failure before the year’s out.” Stroud tapped absently on Helena’s file. “I’m very particular about the alchemists in my program. The war cost us so many priceless lineages. You should be grateful to still provide something with such lasting significance.”
“You’re having me raped, and you expect me to be grateful about it?” Helena’s voice was dead, coming from far away.
Stroud’s expression soured. “I’m giving you an opportunity for your life to mean something.”
Helena’s rage was the only thing keeping her from losing her mind. “If it’s such a great thing, it’s a wonder you don’t volunteer yourself.”
Stroud froze, anger flashing like lightning across her face, darkening every line. Helena braced herself to be struck, but Stroud’s mouth pressed into a thin-lipped smile and she leaned over Helena almost tenderly.
“The High Reeve has been married for more than a year without any children to show for it. His Eminence insists Ferron be your first candidate, but I doubt anything will come of it. After everything Bennet did to him, he’s scarcely what I’d call human. After he’s made his attempts, you’ll come back to Central, and I’ll be the one to decide who goes next. For however long it takes.”
Helena’s blood ran cold.
Stroud touched Helena’s chin with the tip of her finger. “With that in mind, I think you’d best learn to watch that tongue of yours. I don’t have to let you keep it.”
Helena did not make another sound until Stroud was gone. Dread welled up inside her like poison, corroding her organs, burning her lungs. She went through the house, every unlocked door, searching the rooms in a desperate frenzy to find something, anything. There had to be something.
Ferron did not reappear until the following evening. When he did, his expression was hard, but his eyes seemed to slide off her, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at her anymore.
Her hands started spasming over and over, nerves twinging.
“It’s not tonight,” he said abruptly. “I’m told”—he was still not looking at her—“you won’t be fertile for three more days.”
She wasn’t surprised—
He was a murderer and a necromancer. What reason did she have to think he’d be above this?
Yet somehow, irrationally, she’d thought he was…safe.
Stupid.
“Come here,” he finally said.
She walked mechanically, staring at the buttons on his coat and shirt. He reached out, leather gloves pressing against her jaw, tilting her face up until her eyes met his.
“How much can you see?” he asked, gaze flickering from one eye to the other in comparison.
Helena laughed.
She had no idea when she’d last laughed. A lifetime ago. But the question was funny. Hilarious even.
Every good thing she had ever had in her life was destroyed, every scrap of solace ripped away as though there was nothing left of her now except hurting. She had been imprisoned and violated in almost every way imaginable, and now he would inflict this final atrocity upon her, but he was worried about her eyesight.
She laughed and laughed and then she wasn’t laughing anymore, she was crying. She was crying until she was rocking, back and forth, half screaming, and Ferron just stood there.
She didn’t stop until she was hollow, as though she’d sobbed out everything inside her and now the only thing left was a shell. She was so tired of existing.
“Feel better?”
She swallowed, her throat aching. “No.”
His fingers spasmed, and she watched him curl them into a fist, tucking it behind his back. She knew that trick.
She looked up at him, noticing then the odd pallor and haggard set of his jaw.
Well, at least they were both suffering.
“What were you tortured for this time?” she asked dully, relieved to wonder about something, anything else.
He gave a slight hum. “It was for a few things. As I am frequently reminded, I am a constant disappointment, and now the public, through their vast collective intelligence, has deduced that I’m the High Reeve.”
The news piqued her curiosity. “Was it because you killed Lancaster?”
“I imagine that played a part, and Aurelia’s little fit didn’t help. I had to leave suddenly, and the High Reeve was supposed to be in attendance. International papers are less reluctant to print such theories, so word’s gotten out. I’ll soon be acknowledged as the High Necromancer’s successor.” He gave a grimacing smile. “This previous anonymity was all for my protection, you see.”
“Of course,” Helena said. “So you were only tortured a little bit.”
“It was nothing,” he said, but his hands were both behind his back.
He shifted, as if he was about to leave. Even though she didn’t want to be anywhere near him, the alternative was being alone with her thoughts.
“Why’d you kill Lancaster?” she asked.
“He endangered my assignment. I would have done a formal execution, but I was busy, and I wanted him taken care of.”
“So you killed him in the middle of the hospital?” she said, eyeing him doubtfully.
“I was going to kill him in his hospital room, but he tried to run.” He shrugged. “I improvised.”
The image of Lancaster lying split open while Ferron gutted his remains was seared into Helena’s mind.
Ferron rolled his neck. “If you have no more questions, we should get this over with. Sofa, or bed?”
The words were like a steel rod rammed down the length of her spine, and it took her a moment to realise he intended to check her memories.
She’d assumed that was over now. “I thought—”
Thought what? That she wasn’t still a prisoner and that in exchange for her body, she’d now be permitted her mind? She swallowed her words and went to the sofa.
He followed her, expression unreadable as he extended his hand, fingers barely grazing her forehead before his resonance slid through her skull.
By the time he stopped, Helena felt as though she’d collapsed inwards upon herself. Reliving all the recent days made her jaw clench until her teeth threatened to crack.
She lay slumped back on the sofa, Stroud’s threat echoing in her head.
She pressed her face into the fabric of the sofa, smelling the age and dust, and tried to shut out the surrounding world. Ferron left without a word.
