Alchemised: A Novel, page 52
They passed through a door into the records closet that Pace used as an office.
“Just here, Sofia. Thank you, I can manage from here,” Pace was saying as Helena was lowered onto a camp bed.
Helena knew, dimly, that she’d gone too far.
She was normally careful, but there hadn’t been any choice this time.
She was so cold and tired. Blankets were pulled up and tucked around her. She heard Pace’s voice, calling her a fool girl with no sense.
Helena just wanted to sleep for a few years.
She felt a needle in her arm. It made her skin itch, and when she tried to transmute it out, her hand was smacked away.
“Worst patient I’ve ever had.”
Thick velvet darkness swallowed the world.
CHAPTER 43
Octobris 1786
THE HOSPITAL HAD GROWN QUIET WHEN HELENA woke. She felt weak as a kitten. She lay unmoving until Pace entered.
“How’s Lila?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Recovering,” Pace said in a tart voice. “Quite a miracle that she survived. All thanks to the recovery team’s quick thinking and daring rescue.” She cleared her throat. “They’ll all be medalled for bravery, and there were several Ember Services called, to devote prayers of thanks to Sol for his—grace in saving her.”
Helena stared up at the ceiling. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Three days.” Pace went over to her desk, sorting loudly through a drawer without removing anything. “I said you were quarantined. All that foraging exposes you to the elements too much, I think.”
Helena’s eyes threatened to slide closed again. “Thank you.”
“I do what I can. Crowther wants to see you when you’re up again,” Pace said. She started to leave, but then paused. “Lila Bayard is not the only person that the Resistance would suffer greatly for losing. I’ve told Ilva, Crowther, and Matias as much time and again, though I can’t say they listen, but maybe you will. There are rare talents that shouldn’t be squandered even if they are overlooked.”
When Helena went out, Luc was sitting beside Lila, who lay so still she scarcely seemed to be breathing. Lila was taller than most people, but she looked shrunken without her armour. She was swathed in neat bandages that had been packed with salves to ease the pain and sensitivity from the new tissue. Her breathing was slow and laboured, but Helena had only to brush her fingers against Lila’s hand to feel that her vital signs were stable.
She stood beside the bed, fingers just barely touching Lila’s.
Luc was staring at Lila’s face. His eyes were huge, purple-blue circles bruised under them as he held his paladin’s hand in both of his. Soren was across the hospital, stationed near the doors.
Paladins were as intrinsic as the Holdfasts in the history and tapestry of the nation. The country was named for them, in acknowledgement of their vital role in the first Necromancy War. As the centuries passed, the role had gradually become mostly ceremonial.
Lila had been something altogether new, though, a once-in-a-lifetime talent. Her parents had wanted her to have all the chance for the greatness traditionally limited to sons. Lila was placed solely in the combat track, training to join the crusades to experience real combat when she was only fifteen, while Soren was double-track at the Institute, like Luc. Soren would have been considered an excellent combat alchemist if his twin sister wasn’t his competition, but no one compared to Lila.
There’d been a procession when Lila came back after a year crusading. Helena hadn’t really known Lila then, aside from her being Soren’s sister.
She’d dismounted from a charger, pulled off her helmet, and stood resplendent, like a goddess stepped out of myth. Her pale hair was wrapped around her head like a crown, and she presented her weapons to Luc, who had stood, looking as if he’d been struck by lightning until Soren kicked him in the ankle.
Luc, who’d always been a bit of a larker about combat training and dismissive of the idea of a paladin, developed a passion for it overnight. He’d started constantly disappearing from study sessions and social events to practise with Lila.
His interest had been so painfully obvious that Helena and Soren were embarrassed just witnessing it, but before anything could happen, Principate Apollo was dead.
Lila had spent her whole life training to be a paladin. Soren was not remotely prepared, and Sebastian Bayard, able as he was, had just failed in his own vows by having been absent when Apollo was murdered.
Lila took the vows. To protect Luc with her life, to die for him. Luc had no choice but to accept them. Whatever had or hadn’t briefly existed between them was buried beneath the weight of those vows.
“I’m sorry …” Luc said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I lost my head when I saw it take her.”
His expression was dazed, and his blue eyes didn’t seem to see the room around them. Helena knew the look. He was back in the moment, reliving it over and over, dissecting it into every instant when he could have done things differently.
“It was after me. The chimaera. I couldn’t get my sword out in time. Should have just used fire.” He shook his head. “Don’t know why I didn’t. It was so fast. Lila threw herself in front of me and I heard the sound when it bit her—”
His voice died.
People were often like this in the hospital; their failures poured out of them.
“There was blood coming from her mouth, but she didn’t scream—she told Soren to hold me back. It ran with her and I—I should have just used fire—” he choked out. “Soren wouldn’t let go and I—”
“She’s going to be all right, Luc,” Helena said. “All her vital signs are stable. No lasting injuries.”
He nodded jerkily, his eyes still fastened on Lila’s face.
“When I was a kid,” he said, his words rough, “I used to think it wasn’t fair that all the real wars were over before I was born. Used to be afraid I’d be one of the Principates everyone forgot, because nothing happened.” He looked down; he was ripping at his nails, all his fingers bleeding. “I’d do anything to have that now. I can’t taste anything now except blood and smoke, and I don’t feel anything except when I’m on fire. The stories made it sound so good. Fighting for a cause. Being a hero.” He shook his head. “Why does everyone pretend it’s anything like that?”
Helena reached out, fingers brushing against his shoulder, not sure what to say, how to comfort him.
“Maybe that’s what they had to tell themselves, to live with it. Maybe it’s all they let themselves remember,” Helena said, but she, too, wondered that anyone who’d seen war’s true face would let it be so gilded.
THE DEBRIEFING THAT OCCURRED ONCE Lila woke and was declared out of danger was tense. It was the first time Luc would leave the hospital.
Matias, Ilva, Althorne, and Crowther all stared down at Luc from the dais while he glared defiantly back at them. All his penitence seemed to have vanished.
“Lucien,” Ilva said after a long silence, “Lila Bayard is your paladin. It is her sworn duty to protect you, be it at the cost of her own life. You endangered your entire unit, injured a dozen of your own men and Council member Jan Crowther, and violated your vows as well as the orders of General Althorne. You have been summoned for censure.”
Luc lifted his chin. “I’m sworn to protect this country and represent the values of the Eternal Flame which my forefathers established. Neither of those vows will be fulfilled if I let people die for me when I can save them.”
“You are the heart of the Resistance. A symbol of hope and light and goodness. You do not get to choose one person’s life over that. You betrayed the people who follow you, and you betrayed your paladins, particularly Lila, who knew her oaths and was prepared to do as she had sworn. Your selfishness nearly rendered her sacrifice worthless.”
“I’m not a symbol,” Luc snapped, “or a heart. I’m Principate. We lead by our actions, not our commands.”
The argument was all theatre. The Council had to censure him, and Luc stood there like a figure of myth, inexorable and resolute.
Ilva sat, gaze like a serpent as she stared down at her great-nephew. “That is not your choice. If you cannot follow orders and protocol in the presence of your friends”—she emphasised the word carefully, the insinuation crystal-clear—“then you will be reassigned to a different unit and provided with new soldiers to act as your paladins. Although, in keeping with tradition, we will allow you to retain Soren Bayard.”
Luc’s mouth snapped shut like a sprung trap, his face losing a shade of colour.
“The choice is yours,” Ilva said, seeming satisfied by his silence. “Choose carefully.”
Luc stood a moment longer, radiating fury. Soren was just behind him, standing to his right, still acting as primary while Lila recovered. There was a new gauntness to his face.
“I will uphold my vows and those which I have accepted.” Luc’s voice was hollow and defeated.
“Good,” Ilva said, but her voice was still cold, disapproving at how long it had taken Luc to choose. “The recovery team managed to kill the chimaera before it escaped the East Island. A wall was found breached. There will be an investigation into how that happened. Given the behaviour of the creature, we must assume that they’re capable of more than we realised. Based on reports, it appears likely they wanted Luc taken alive, and the animal was capable of targeted hunting. Althorne, you have the floor.”
HELENA PUT OFF THE MEETING with Crowther for as long as she could, but eventually she ran out of excuses. In retrospect, her decision to restore the nerves in his arm had been impulsive. It hadn’t been an emergency; she could have waited for him to regain consciousness and asked if he wanted it done.
It had been a reactive choice. She’d seen the danger Luc represented to everyone and acted based solely on that. Now she regretted it. Crowther was more likely to use two hands for torture than to ever use them to protect Luc from himself again.
Crowther was putting away a chess set as Helena entered, using his right hand to slowly grasp each piece and place it in a box.
“Marino.”
Helena just stood there, not sure what to expect. Crowther paused in his work, staring at his hand, opening and closing it slowly. It was barely more than skin and bone.
“I understand that I have you to thank for this.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant it sarcastically or not.
“I should have asked,” she said. “I just—after Luc, I was worried about what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”
She couldn’t read his expression, but he nodded slowly.
“You have an interesting intuition. I may have underestimated it,” he finally said. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought much of vivimancy. However—you do the Eternal Flame credit.”
WINTER BORE DOWN ON PALADIA. Icy mountain wind whipped across the river basin, leaving the buildings and windows brilliant with frost. With nothing left to forage, Helena had long hours to work in the lab.
Shiseo had done what no one else could and identified the remaining compounds of the alloy which had been injected into Vanya Gettlich all those months ago.
The final compound in question had evaded analysis.
Shiseo and Helena had worked manually using old chymistry techniques to determine, as the other metallurgists had, that it was not a natural compound but a synthetic fusion of lumithium and something that Helena had never encountered.
When Shiseo checked his work several times, his hands trembled.
“I don’t know how they have this,” he finally said. “This should not be here.”
“What is it?”
He was silent for a long time.
“In the East, there is a rare metal found deep in the mountains. It is—rarer than gold. Only the Emperor himself is permitted to possess it. We called it mo’lian’shi. It—creates inertia.”
Helena had never heard of such a thing. There were metals and substances which were inert in their natural, raw state, and there was lumithium and its emanations which could reverse inertia to create resonance. Iron was often inert, but once it was processed into steel, even without emanations, it developed a low resonance.
The Irreversibility of Resonance had been established by Cetus about the nature of alchemy. One of his few principles to stand the test of time and scientific interrogation.
Nothing could be made inert.
“I’ve never heard of that,” Helena said.
He shook his head, his eyebrows drawn together.
“You wouldn’t have. It is a part of the Emperor’s power. As lumithium can create resonance, mo’lian’shi takes it back. What this is—” He looked down and seemed deeply troubled. “This is mo’lian’shi fused with lumithium. The simultaneous effect of both together creates a resonance haze.”
He looked at his notes again. “It is unstable. The fusion is deteriorating, but they may perfect their methods in the future. This was probably only a first attempt. But …” His voice trailed off. “I don’t know how they have this.”
He fell silent and did not elaborate for a long time, but finally said, “When the new Emperor came to power, there were questions, mysteries about how he found the wealth to pay his armies.”
Since working with Shiseo, Helena had heard a few rumours about what had brought him to Paladia. That he’d been a eunuch who’d served the previous Emperor, or the illegitimate child of someone in the court.
Helena stared at Shiseo, wondering just who he was. Exceptionally educated was one thing, but knowledgeable about a secret imperial metal was another.
“Perhaps the Undying bought it from the black market,” she said, but she was already thinking about how Crowther and Ilva would interpret this. If Morrough had an alliance with Hevgoss and secret trade connections with the Eastern Empire, the threat that loomed over Paladia had just grown by magnitudes.
If the new Emperor had obtained his throne selling something of imperial value, that was a violation of his own trade laws.
Shiseo shook his head. “You don’t understand how carefully mo’lian’shi is protected. It is a rare and delicate thing. Once mined, it must be carefully processed to bring out the effects. It is often immediately alloyed to prevent it from degrading. But this—” He touched the vial lightly. “—this was made from pure mo’lian’shi. Only someone of royal birth, with an Emperor’s seal, could access it.”
“And you know of it,” she said slowly.
Shiseo met her eyes briefly before they slid away. “And I know of it.”
Now Helena was silent.
“Did you suspect this?” she finally asked. “Is that why you asked for a chance to analyse it?”
He looked absently around the lab. “When I heard of the struggle the metallurgists had, I thought it was a new variety. But this, I am sure, is the Emperor’s. They would not have an identical refining technique.”
Helena felt as though she stood upon a political landmine. In their hands was proof of a deal not merely between Morrough and another country, but of a treachery between a ruler and his own empire. The information was dangerous and raised more questions than it answered. If the Emperor was in debt, how would Morrough have gotten the money to involve himself?
Shiseo was probably the only person who could have discovered it. When the deal was made, it had most likely been done under the assumption that no one could ever connect it to the East.
“Officially, we can call it a synthetic fused metal, using lumithium and an unknown compound,” she said slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. “In the future, if it seems necessary to reveal the Empire’s potential involvement, perhaps we can—discover it, then.”
Shiseo nodded slowly.
“We will have to tell Ilva and Crowther at least. They’ll need to know about this.”
“KAINE,” HELENA SAID QUIETLY. SHE was seated on the floor, trying to relieve the raw sensation in her resonance. “Do you think the Eternal Flame can win the war?”
He was leaning against the wall. “Does it matter what I think?”
“I live among idealists, but all I see are bodies. I’d like the opinion of someone who doesn’t believe that optimism somehow improves the odds.”
He glanced at her. “Does the Eternal Flame have a strategy to win?”
She looked down. As far as she knew, the plan was to reclaim lost territory, drive the Undying back, and burn as many of the dead as possible. The same method that the Eternal Flame had followed in all the Necromancy Wars in the past.
She gave an awkward half nod.
“The High Necromancer will do whatever it takes to win. The method doesn’t matter. He wants Paladia, ideally with the city intact, but if he can’t get it, he’ll raze it instead. You’re fighting someone whose only objection to genocide is the waste of potential resources. Even a genocide is acceptable if it leaves him with the materials for more necrothralls. And you’re trying to win by—what? Waiting for Sol’s intervention? Is there any plan that doesn’t hinge on the inherent superiority of goodness?”
Not that she was aware of.
“Why aid us, then?” she asked. “If you don’t think we can win.”
His expression grew mocking. “Don’t you think you’re worth it?”
“Oh yes, your rose in a graveyard,” she said, lip curling. “Was the array for me, too?”
“Who else?” he asked, his voice empty, just a touch of irony in it.
“Aurelia, perhaps.”
He smiled. “Right. Quite forgot about her.”
“Why are you helping us, Kaine?”
He looked over at her. His features had grown markedly different in recent months. He’d lost all trace of juvenile ungainliness; there was a hardness to his features now that felt more accurate to who he was. His hair more silver every time she saw him. There was no hazel left in his eyes.
He looked a world apart from the dark-haired, insolent boy he’d been when she’d first come to the Outpost. There was an unearthliness to him now.
