The society pages, which Helena had taken only a passing interest in,
gradually became the sections that she read most avidly as she noticed
a pattern. Over the course of several weeks, several familiar names van-
ished. Paladian guild society only had so many visible members, which
made their abrupt disappearances noticeable, especially when pages
usually brimming with gossip were reticent to speculate about their
whereabouts.
Helena couldn't help but wonder if it was a sign of a growing insur-
rection. Perhaps New Paladia's cracks were finally beginning to show.
She began having dreams of herself sitting across from Ilva Hold-
fast, with Crowther beside her. Her eyes darting back and forth be-
tween Ilva's strained expression and Crowther's appraising stare.
She could feel that they were waiting for her to say something, but
she always woke before she'd answered.
As Helena was left to her own devices, Spirefell became her domain.
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Alchemised • 169
With Aurelia gone, she spent little time in her room, accustomed to
ignoring the necrothralls' constant orbit around her. She avoided the
largest rooms and spaces with deep shadows, and it became an en-
grained habit to open the doors and pick things up gingerly so that it
didn't agitate the manacles.
Her familiarity was fortunate, because when Aurelia returned from
the city, Helena knew every hidden alcove and servants' passage to hide
in.
Aurelia had not come alone. She'd brought a companion, the same
broad- shouldered man Helena had glimpsed during the solstice party.
The first time Helena encountered them together, Aurelia was entirely
naked, splayed out across a bearskin rug, giggling beneath the body of
her paramour. Ferron was still in the city, and they seemed to be taking
liberal advantage of his absence.
It was more than a week before Helena finally saw the pair of them
fully clothed. At the rear of the house sprawled an enormous hedge
maze. Helena would sometimes pass the time trying to navigate through
it with her eyes. She was nearly to the centre when Aurelia exited the
maze, her companion close behind.
Aurelia was speaking animatedly, the first time Helena had ever seen
her happy, while her companion seemed absorbed by the house, peering
up and giving Helena a clear look at his face.
Lancaster.
Helena shrank from sight instantly.
Lancaster was Aurelia's lover? The same person who'd just happened
to find her room during the party.
That couldn't possibly be a coincidence.
Could he—
Helena was afraid to even allow the possibility to exist in her mind
where Ferron might return and discover it, but she couldn't stop herself
from wondering.
Could Lancaster be a spy? What if he was from the Resistance and
that was why he'd looked for Helena? Was that what he'd been trying to
communicate to her?
Was he a piece of her hidden memory? He must be. It would explain
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170 • SenLinYu
his surprise when she didn't recognise him.
She went back to the window, but he and Aurelia had moved on.
Helena began watching for Lancaster, growing increasingly con-
vinced that he had ulterior motives in visiting. He'd often try to slip
away from Aurelia, eyes and attention constantly wandering.
Helena weighed the risk of approaching him. If her suspicions were
correct, it would be vital that she escape before Ferron returned. If she
acted prematurely, she might doom them both.
Better unconfirmed suspicions than anything concrete for Ferron to
discover.
She was grateful for the choice when Ferron returned without warn-
ing.
He seemed tired. A sense of exhaustion hanging about him, but he
grew sharp and focused once Helena was in his sights.
"Stroud will be here tomorrow," he said at last. "She's concerned
about your physical condition."
Helena stiffened. "I've been walking. There's been nothing different."
"She'll arrive after lunch," was all he said before leaving. "Make sure
you're in your room."
Stroud arrived without Mandl and made Helena strip to her under-
clothes and stand shivering in front of her. Stroud walked around her,
fingers trailing over Helena's shoulders, resonance sinking into her skin.
"Don't they feed you?" Stroud finally asked, sucking her teeth as she
paused, squeezing Helena's arm and then pushing two fingers against
her stomach. "You're showing signs of malnutrition. What are you eat-
ing?"
Helena's skin hurt from the cold, the air piercing straight to her
bones. "K-Kitchen scraps," she said, shivering.
"What?" Stroud drew back, looking Helena up and down. "Describe
exactly what you've been eating."
Helena swallowed, trying to concentrate. "Um. It's all boiled to-
gether, some grains, vegetable peels, cores, and sometimes meat trim-
mings. When they're here, I think what's left on the plates is put in, too.
But they haven't been, so there's not been much meat lately."
"That's what we feed the thralls. Why are you eating that?"
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Alchemised • 171
Helena blinked at this revelation. It made sense, but she was too cold
to muster emotion at the news. "Because I'm a prisoner. I don't think
they thought it necessary to feed me well."
"You are a"—she paused as though debating what to call Helena—
"an asset. The Ferrons are supposed to be feeding you properly. That is
not nearly enough nutrition, it's no wonder you've been so sickly."
Stroud's expression grew irate. She turned and went to the door. One of
the necrothrall maids was waiting outside.
"I want the High Reeve. Here. In person. Now."
Ferron entered a few minutes later wearing a scowl, barely glancing
at Helena, who was still shivering in her underclothes. "You summoned
me?"
"Is there a reason you're starving her?" Stroud said, her hard fingers
digging into Helena's arm, lifting it and turning her. "Look at her. You
complain about her fevers while feeding her little more than kitchen
scraps."
Ferron finally looked at Helena properly. "Pardon?"
"She isn't a necrothrall," Stroud said sharply. "She needs real food.
You can't expect her to handle transference if you're starving her."
Ferron said nothing, but Helena could have sworn he'd somehow
paled. "I assumed she's been eating as Aurelia and I do." His fingers
flexed. "Aurelia has always managed the menu. I will make inquiries."
"I want her eating full meals. As much as she wants, with proper cuts
of meat and vegetables. And porridge or broths in between until she's
healthy."
Ferron gave a tight nod. "She'll be fed properly. I will ensure it."
"Thank you, High Reeve. See that she does." Stroud turned back to
Helena.
Ferron didn't move, still looking at Helena until Stroud glanced over
her shoulder at him. "Perhaps go see if there'll be a proper meal to-
night."
He blinked, gave a short nod, and left.
"Lie down," Stroud said as soon as the door closed. "I want to exam-
ine things more closely."
Helena was so cold, she was grateful to climb onto her bed. Even
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172 • SenLinYu
Stroud's cold fingers felt warm as she appraised Helena's limbs and then
worked up to her abdomen, pressing down with the heel of her hand,
feeling at Helena's organs.
Helena hadn't really considered malnutrition as something happen-
ing to her. Food had often been in short supply during the war, and
those who fought were prioritised; they needed consistent and high-
quality food. Noncombatants made do with what was left.
After the Resistance lost the ports, there'd been shortages of almost
everything.
Stroud's resonance made Helena's stomach lurch. She gagged and
tried to sit up.
"None of that. Lie still."
Before she could protest, Stroud's fingers were digging in against the
base of her skull, and Helena's eyes rolled back, unconsciousness swal-
lowing her.
When Helena woke, Stroud was gone. She felt terrible with a heavy
sense of disorientation throughout her body, her vision blurring, and
there was a sharply painful bruise near her left hip as if she'd been
stabbed with a needle. Helena rubbed at it, trying to think what kind of
injections might be necessary to treat malnutrition, but her mind was
too foggy for much coherence.
That night, there was a knock, and the maid brought in a tray with a
full meal. Meat in a red wine sauce, two different vegetable dishes, one
with cheese, and thick slices of soft fluffy bread with butter spread in a
generous layer across each one, and even a stewed pear for dessert.
Helena gorged herself, despite knowing she might end up sick from
it. She was starving.
She was still eating when Ferron walked in, standing over her to
inspect her meal.
"It would seem that I'm obliged to personally see to everything," he
said with a scowl as he stepped back. "You could have mentioned it."
"If I were to start complaining, the food would not be the first thing
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Alchemised • 173
I'd bring up," she said, dragging her spoon down the side of the pear and
eating it in tiny savouring bites, refusing to be hurried by him.
He inclined his head, expression still irritated, and went over to the
nearer window. Helena deliberately took slower bites, chewing luxuri-
antly.
When she was finally finished eating, she thought she might pop.
She wanted to curl up and sleep, but Ferron nodded pointedly at her
head. She sighed and seated herself on the edge of her bed, hating how
routine it had all become. Even her dreams felt routine.
She kept dreaming of Ilva and Crowther. And Lila crying. Over and
over, the memories seemed to haunt her.
Ferron also seemed to find them interesting. He watched them sev-
eral times before he moved on to the time she'd spent spying on Lan-
caster, wondering if he might be there to save her.
He drew his hand away.
As her vision returned, she found herself lying flat on her back in the
bed, his face just above hers.
"Lancaster will be one of the Undying soon," he said. "In belated
recognition for his exceptional services during the war."
There was something sneering in the way he said it, but if he meant
to plunge Helena into despair, he failed. If Lancaster wasn't one of the
Undying yet, that made it even more likely that he might be a spy for
the Resistance. He'd have to seem trustworthy to get this close to Hel-
ena without raising suspicion.
"Are you one?" she asked. She'd assumed for so long, but she'd begun
to wonder if he might be something else entirely.
He gave a slow smirk. "What do you think?"
She shook her head, uncertain.
The smirk faded, but he kept looking at her, and his eyes grew darker
than she'd ever seen them.
She realised then that she was lying on a bed under him. Heat
flooded under her skin, and her spine prickled as she sat up quickly,
folding her arms.
He stepped back, straightening. "If you have any hopes involving
Lancaster, you should let them die."
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174 • SenLinYu
Lila was seated on the edge of Helena's bed, eyebrows knit together,
studying her. No scar on her face.
"Are you—" Lila looked away and seemed to be choosing her words care-
fully. "Are you not all right, anymore? Is that why you spoke and why there's
all the trainees now?"
Helena looked sharply at Lila, but Lila was unfastening a buckle and
didn't meet her stare.
"No. I'm fine. The trainees are because Matias hopes to get rid of me."
"Oh, good. I mean, not good, but that makes sense," Lila said, and cleared
her throat. "I can see why you're not thrilled about them then."
Helena forced a laugh.
" You know, you can talk about—anything with me, if you want." Lila
looked over at her.
"No." Helena shook her head. "I don't need to talk. There's—no point in
talking, and as I have now been reminded publicly, I'm not a fighter. I don't
know anything about what war really is. So—what would I even have to
say?"
Lila's prosthetic leg clicked as she shifted and then said, "I think the hospi-
tal's worse than the battlefield."
Helena went very still.
"I realised it when I was in there for my leg." Lila's gaze was faraway,
eyebrows furrowing. "At the front—everything's so focused, you know. The
rules are simple. We win some. We lose some. You get hit sometimes. You hit
back. You get days to recover if it's bad. But—" She looked down, her fingers
tapping absently along the place where her prosthetic was joined to her thigh.
"— in the hospital, every battle looks like losing. I can't imagine what that's
like, for it to be like that all the time." She looked at Helena, "All you see in
there is the worst of it."
Helena said nothing.
Lila sighed and unclasped more pieces of her armour, leaving them all
over Helena's bed. "When Soren told me what you said—I don't agree, but I
get it."
Lila nudged her with her elbow and stood. "Even if the trainees are just
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Alchemised • 175
because of Matias meddling, I'm glad you're getting more time off. I think
you've needed that—some space from it all."
Helena spent days replaying the conversation. She bitterly missed
having people to talk to, who cared about what she said.
She'd had trainees?
She remembered Stroud mentioning there being other healers like
Elain Boyle, but Helena had assumed they'd come from somewhere
else.
She couldn't imagine Falcon Matias approving the addition of more
healers.
Ilva Holdfast had worked very hard to make Helena's vivimancy pal-
atable to the Resistance. She'd declared that it was the gods' will that the
Eternal Flame had a vivimancer in their ranks, and that Helena had
been born, found, and brought to Paladia destined to become a healer,
so that if Luc were struck down in battle, vivimancy might save him; a
resonance of corruption purified by Sol's will.
Helena had needed to leave the city and go into the mountains to
train with an ascetic monk. Matias had been a Shrike at the time, living
in a hut near the Holdfast estate, acting as a spiritual advisor for the
family.
He'd disliked healers on principle and hated Helena the moment he
laid eyes on her.
Nothing about her fell in line with what he regarded as appropriate
for a healer. He'd been more an obstacle than a teacher, but Helena was
stubborn, and familiar enough with medicine to manage her own train-
ing. She was determined to become a healer, whether he wanted it or
not.
When Ilva began demanding that Helena be sent back to the city
because Luc had gone to the front lines, Matias tried to resist, denying
Helena's suitability until Ilva practically bribed him with the offer that
Luc would make him Falcon, a religious rank high enough to join the
Council, and even then he agreed only on the condition that if Helena
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176 • SenLinYu
was to be the Eternal Flame's healer, then she would heal all who served
Sol's sacred cause.
The Principate, after all, was not above others, but first among equals.
What would make Matias approve trainees?
Helena couldn't help but think wistfully about Lila.
When Helena came back as a healer, it had been inadvisable for her
to seem too close to Luc. A childhood friendship was all very well, but
someone like Helena couldn't appear to have undue influence over a
figure like the Principate.
Paladia's survival depended on the Resistance's unwavering faith in
Luc. If his judgement was questioned, all Paladia would suffer the con-
sequences. Certain sacrifices had to be made.
Lila as Luc's paladin primary had been the closest to Luc that Hel-
ena was allowed to be after that. Lila had been primary . . .
Helena blinked.
There'd been a paladin secondary. Soren. Lila's twin brother. Where
was Soren?
Helena's head throbbed.
Why would she forget Soren? He—
A face briefly flickered in her memory. Helena's mind swerved vio-
lently, as if recoiling. No. She tried to focus.
Soren. Remember Soren. What happened to him?
Her skin crawled, a painful ghastly ache rose through her body, her
lungs seized as if there were water inside them, and her vision turned a
violent red.
When her head cleared, her temples were throbbing.
What had she been thinking about?
Something about— Lila?
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CHAPTER 13
It was the misplaced gleam of silver that caught Helena's at-
tention as she was passing along the outer edge of the main foyer. On
the far side of the room, she spotted a door left ajar—a door which she
knew was always kept locked.
She pretended not to notice, making her way there slowly. All too
aware of the eyes everywhere.
The dining room was well lit and in the process of being arranged for
a dinner party. Dishes and chests of cutlery had all been laid out for
selection.
Helena only gave herself a moment to draw a steadying breath be-
fore slipping through the door.
She knew better than to lock it, knowing that would draw in every
necrothrall like a lure.
Instead, she walked calmly, exploring as she always did, heading to-
wards the large display cabinet filled with intricate silver candlesticks
and epergnes, not letting herself look too closely at the silverware chests
on display.
When she was hidden behind a large floral arrangement, her right
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178 • SenLinYu
hand shot out, snatching up a beautifully sharp-edged table knife with
one smooth motion. Her hand dropped again, hiding the knife amid
her skirts as she kept walking.
Her heart began pounding violently in her chest.
All these months, and she'd finally managed to get her hands on a
weapon.
One of the maids was close behind her. Helena knew better than to
attack a necrothrall unless she was sure she could sever the head com-
pletely. Better to smuggle the knife back to her room.
Then what? Her temples pulsed.
Should she kill herself ? A month before, the answer would have
been obvious, but the possibility of rescue tugged at her. Luc's insistent
voice haunting her, begging her to live.
Perhaps she only needed to wait a little longer.
No. No more waiting.
She squeezed the knife, feeling the weight of it tucked in her palm
until her wrists nearly spasmed.
If she went into her bathroom and lodged herself between the door
and sink, she would have enough time to slash her wrists and throat
before anyone reached her.
She'd just need a minute, enough time to lose as much blood as pos-
sible before there was any intervention, which wouldn't be too hard
because Paladia, for all its scientific medical advancement, was supersti-
tiously terrified of blood transfusion or anything else involving the bod-
ies or fluids of others. They thought it would contaminate their
resonance.
A vivimancer could force blood regeneration, but with enough blood
loss, the energy and materials for new blood would take their own lethal
toll. Stroud might be knowledgeable enough to avoid it, but someone
like Ferron wouldn't be.
If she severed her carotid arteries, even if he did manage to keep her
alive, her brain wouldn't be usable.
The room threatened to sway, but she steeled herself. She kept mov-
ing idly, pausing to pretend she was studying the silver dishes displayed.
They were beautiful, intricate pieces made with elegant, organic lines, a
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Alchemised • 179
stark contrast with the heavy ironwork.
The butler entered the room, gesturing towards the door.
Helena turned and headed out, careful to keep the knife from sight,
moving only a little quicker than usual as the front door opened and
Ferron walked in, followed by Atreus, whose mood had turned
Crowther's thin face sour.
Ferron paused, his eerie eyes instantly alighting on Helena, his gaze
flicking to the open dining room doors.
"I didn't realise you let your prisoner have free rein in the house,"
Atreus said, looking at her with distaste.
Ferron raised a silencing hand, his focus on Helena, a predatory in-
tensity illuminating his eyes.
Her instincts screamed for her to flee, but she didn't want to find out
how fast he could set the house on her; the cage of iron bars in that
foyer could easily chase her down.
Best to avoid suspicion.
She forced herself to stop and face them, burying her hand in her
skirts.
Ferron drifted towards her. His gaze seemed to be cataloguing her,
as if there was a checklist he was reviewing. He idly pulled his gloves off,
pocketing them.
She took an involuntary step back, the pattern of the knife hilt biting
into her palm.
"I don't often see you in this part of the house." His voice was casual.
"Was that your first time in the dining room?"
Her mouth went dry. "I was—looking at the flowers."
He glanced towards the dining room again, eyes narrowing. "Were
you now?"
She used his distraction to adjust her grip on the knife. "Yes. I like—
flowers."
Heat rushed along her neck, a cold pit forming in her stomach.
"Let's see it then." His eyes were on her hand where it was hidden
amid her skirts.
Helena's heart dropped like a stone as she tried not to react, to ap-
pear innocent.
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180 • SenLinYu
"What did you take?" He held out his hand.
She could try lying. He wouldn't believe her. She could try running.
He'd catch her.
She could try killing him.
Yes. She'd do that.
She let her eyes widen, jaw slackening with surprise. His mouth
curved into faint smirk.
She lunged.
She had minimal training in combat alchemy, but her body moved
on instinct. The blade sliced through the air as she flung herself at him.
Ferron dodged, as she'd known he would. A perfect basic defence
dodge.
She let go of the knife, sending it spinning through the air.
Resonance would have made it easier, but she could do without.
She caught the hilt in her left hand, ignoring the pain that shot up
her arm. With resonance she would have transmuted the length, but it
took a split second longer to slam the blade into his chest, straight for
his heart.
Pain exploded through her wrist. She'd thrown all her weight into
the blow, but she could have been stabbing granite; the blade barely
pierced him.
Ferron gave a low gasp as if she'd knocked his breath out, catching
her by the shoulders as he doubled over. She used both hands and
pushed harder as something inside her left wrist tore, trying to force the
blade through his heart.
Ferron laughed, his lips close enough to her neck that his breath ran
down her spine.
"And here I thought you'd use poison," he said, his voice mocking.
Rage ignited inside her. She flung herself backwards, taking the
knife with her.
Atreus was crossing he room, hands outstretched, face contorted
with fury.
She had no chance against two.
Her left wrist was on fire. She could barely manage to grip the han-
dle, but she wouldn't let go.
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Alchemised • 181
She angled the blade back and drove it towards her own throat,
meeting Ferron's eyes with savage triumph.
Ferron moved so fast he blurred.
The world morphed, going silver as resonance exploded outwards
and the knife was ripped away from her throat, pain tearing up her arm
all the way into her shoulder.
Her mind struggled to catch up.
Ferron had caught the blade in his fist, wrenching it up overhead.
His other hand was wrapped around her throat, holding her back.
She couldn't move. His resonance had her frozen, every bone, mus-
cle, and tendon under his control. She couldn't even breathe. Her heart
was constricted. Atreus, a few feet away, was trapped in place as well.
This was how Ferron killed.
His hand around the knife blade was seeping blood, running over
her fingers and down her arm. His eyes were a reflective silver so bright,
they appeared to glow.
"Why don't you ever stop?" He let go of her, shoving her back.
Her hand, numb with pain, lost its grip.
"Why don't you die?" There was no point in being coy. She wanted to
kill him; they both knew it.
Blood was still flowing down the hilt of the knife, dripping scarlet
across the white marble floor, spattering across the ouroboros mosaic.
His lips curved into an insincere smile. "Prior commitments, I'm
afraid."
He glanced back at his father, coming towards them again. Ferron's
expression turned vicious. "Did I ask for your help?"
He turned back to Helena, examining the knife in his hand. It had
sliced into his palm so deep, it was lodged in the bones. He didn't even
wince as he pulled it free, holding it up so the blade caught the light,
scarlet blood gleaming along the edge.
"How good of Aurelia to have these freshly sharpened and left
within your reach."
With a careless flick of his wrist, he tossed it back towards the din-
ing room. With the lazy way he threw it, it shouldn't have made it across
the room, but his resonance still sang in the air.
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182 • SenLinYu
The knife gained velocity as it flew straight through the barely open
doorway and into the large vase in the centre of the table. It shattered
on impact, glass flying in all directions as the water flooded across the
table.
He glanced down at his hand. The wound was already gone.
Helena knew the Undying could regenerate but it was still startling
to witness. It would have taken her at least half an hour to heal a wound
like that; hands were delicate, intricate, full of nerves.
Her left wrist hurt so much she could hardly think straight. A stream
of blood ran down from beneath the manacle into her palm, joining
Ferron's on the floor.
She watched dully as Ferron curled his own fingers. Then his eyes
alighted on her hand. His jaw tensed. "You would injure the one place
that is difficult to repair. I'll have to call in Stroud."
He turned towards one of the necrothralls.
"Take our prisoner to her room," he said in a cool voice. "Be sure she
stays there until tomorrow."
Helena didn't wait to be nudged along. She turned and left.
"I've seen that girl somewhere," she heard Atreus say as she reached
the hallway.
"She was the only southerner at the Institute, rather hard to miss I'd
say," Ferron said, not seeming to care.
The rush of adrenaline was ebbing from Helena. When she reached
the stairs, her legs trembled, almost giving out. She listed towards the
nearest wall, fingertips seeking the surface and wincing as they made
contact. Her blood smeared along the wallpaper.
She should have cut her throat open the instant she'd gotten her
fingers on that knife.
It was midwinter when Governor Fabian Greenfinch was nearly
assassinated.
It happened during the unveiling ceremony for Morrough's new
statue. The governor was giving a speech about New Paladia's liberation,
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Alchemised • 183
and Mandl, Warden of the re-education centre on the Outpost, whose
"members" had built the statue, had been standing beside him on the
dais. As the ribbon cutting commenced, a crossbow bolt emerged from
one of the nearby buildings. It narrowly missed the governor, instead
striking Mandl.
Mandl died.
In front of a crowd of reporters and international visitors, citizens,
and foreign dignitaries, one of the Undying, whose appearance marked
her as undeniably and visibly among the immortal, died.
The death sent shock waves across Paladia and beyond. The newspa-
per headlines were almost audibly hysterical. The Resistance terrorists
believed to have been wiped out had reappeared in a spectacular man-
ner, before an audience that could not be as easily cowed into silence as
the national press was.
Lancaster's visits to Spirefell abruptly ceased. Aurelia floated around
the house, wan and paranoid, starting at every sound as if expecting
Resistance fighters to emerge from the walls and murder her next. Sev-
eral times Helena heard her interrogating Ferron about what protec-
tions the estate had, and couldn't they have more necrothralls?
Ferron, when Helena caught glimpses of him, was no longer in coats
and cloaks and pristine white shirts or even armour, but what appeared
to be a combination of light combat gear and hunting clothes. He regu-
larly returned to the house covered in mud, soaked from rain, and pale
with rage.
Helena was thrilled.
She read the coverage obsessively, her heart soaring. The Resistance
was still out there.
The papers emphasised over and over that it was a failed assassina-
tion attempt, trying desperately to gloss over the fact that someone os-
tensibly immortal had been killed by accident instead.
Helena knew the continent had to be alight with speculation of how
it had been done, and how it might be replicated.
There was a way to kill the Undying.
Her steps were light for days.
Stroud visited again. Unlike Ferron and Aurelia, she seemed unfazed
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184 • SenLinYu
by the upheaval and new danger.
The butler accompanied her, carrying in a folding medical table, set-
ting it up in the middle of the room before leaving.
"Strip and seat yourself," Stroud said, patting the table and then
turning to review a file.
Helena set her jaw as she obeyed.
"I would have thought you'd have more urgent concerns than com-
ing here," Helena said, hoping to lure out some new information.
Stroud glanced over. Her "no" was casual, like she couldn't think of
anything.
"You're not worried you might be targeted?"
"I'm not one of the Undying," Stroud said with a careless shrug.
"You're not?" Helena was startled. She'd assumed anyone so close to
Morrough must be.
"No. Someday, perhaps, but I have no interest at present. The High
Necromancer empowers me to carry on his work so that I will not
weaken or fade so long as I am faithful."
"I didn't know that was possible." Helena's fingers ached, her left
hand was still in a splint, recovering from her attempt on Ferron's life.
"There are many things you don't know. The Toll of extensive vivi-
mancy is reversible for those who know the means." Stroud glanced
derisively at Helena.
Helena watched her curiously. "But why not become Undying?"
Stroud shook her head. "The Undying have their own—limitations.
Bennet was one of the earliest to ascend. He used the High Necroman-
cer's great knowledge to experiment beyond what was believed possible.
He spent decades seeking to unlock the secrets of transference. Anyone
who knew him could not help but appreciate his genius. I was among
the few who worked most closely beside him . . ."
Visible emotion swept across Stroud's face, and she cleared her
throat. "But even I could not deny that near the end, he began slipping.
He poured tremendous resources, including his own vitality, into ex-
periments, and the more he did it, the more obsessed he became. The
Undying frequently develop a tendency towards sadism over time.
Some more quickly than others. I don't want my work marred by such
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Alchemised • 185
preferences. Perhaps once transference is perfected, I will request ascen-
dance. But until then, the High Necromancer provides what I need. He
knows it makes me even more loyal than the others."
The Undying had always seemed psychotic, but Helena hadn't re-
alised it was a side effect of their immortality.
Stroud touched Helena with her hard, soap- rough hands, murmur-
ing to herself that Helena was already showing signs of eating properly.
"Take these." Stroud held out several tablets.
"What are they for?"
Impatience flashed across Stroud's face. "The High Necromancer
wishes to see you."
Helena recoiled. "Why?"
Stroud ignored the question. "If you don't take them yourself, I have
a tube here." She pulled it out of her medical satchel. "I can paralyse you
and shove it down your throat all the way to your stomach and then
pour the tablets down. I've done it many times before. It will bruise the
oesophagus, and you'll struggle to swallow or speak for a few days. It's
your choice."
Helena shoved the tablets into her mouth, dry-swallowing them and
ignoring the way they tried to stick in her throat. As they dissolved, they
burned against the tissue.
Stroud turned away, rummaging through her bag again. She'd
brought considerably more items with her than on previous visits. Hel-
ena squinted, trying to make out what they were, but her vision was
suddenly fogging.
"Wait— "
Stroud pulled out several vials and large syringes, laying them out in
a row.
"What are you— " Her face was going numb.
She blinked. Stroud had filled a syringe and stood before her, flick-
ing it to remove air bubbles.
Helena tried to read the words on the vial. The letters blurred.
"Don't . . ." she managed to say.
"It's all to get you ready, like I said," Stroud said as she jabbed the
needle into Helena's arm, injecting it.
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186 • SenLinYu
Helena scarcely felt it.
Stroud picked up the next vial and a larger syringe.
Helena's head lolled back, and she swayed, nearly falling off the table
as she tried to get away.
"Lie down." Stroud's words ballooned around her.
It only took slight pressure, and Helena collapsed sideways. The table
was cold against her temple as another needle sank into her arm. The
room had gone dark.
She heard the flick of Stroud's fingers against another syringe.
Then she didn't remember anything.
When her eyes opened, it was dark. She was in her bed, her arms and
legs aching with injection bruises. The splint on her hand was gone.
It was like someone had kicked her repeatedly in the lower abdomen
and then stabbed her all over for good measure. Her whole body had a
taut, swollen feeling, as though her skin was stretched too tight. She
wanted to curl into a ball, but it hurt too much to lie on her arms.
In the bathroom mirror, she found her eyes wildly dilated, the sclera
bloodshot. Her mouth was parched, but water hurt inside her stomach.
She nearly collapsed on the floor of the bathroom.
Ferron arrived the next day, or perhaps two days later. Helena had
lost track of time.
"The High Necromancer wishes to see you," he said. "What's wrong
with you?"
Helena had no idea what was wrong, she just knew she'd been dosed
with something horrible.
"Stroud," she muttered.
He swore and left, then came back looking incensed.
He had her carried to a motorcar idling in the courtyard. She was
bundled in blankets and tucked into the back seat. The fresh air made
her feel marginally better, enough that she could sit up and look out the
windows, arms still throbbing from the bruises.
Rather than head to Central, the bridge they took turned towards
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Alchemised • 187
the lower parts of the city and into a tunnel. The car drove on and on
and didn't emerge. Instead, it stopped somewhere in the gloom. Dim
amber lights shone weakly through a sort of vaporous mist that hung
over the ground, darkness pressing in on all sides.
The air was stale and damp. She could smell the river threatening to
seep in.
Ferron got out and opened the far passenger door, his expression
tense. "Can you walk?"
The few figures Helena could make out were old, rotted necrothralls.
She swallowed hard and nodded.
Don't look at the shadows.
"Come then." He took her by the arm. He didn't grip hard, but it still
made the bruises throb.
Helena had no choice but to follow, her breath growing short. His
silver- white hair became the only thing visible in the dark. She reached
out, trying to ground herself by finding a wall to touch.
A damp, slimy surface met her fingertips. She snatched her hand
back.
The tunnel finally opened into a large room with green glass sconces
illuminating it; dozens of other tunnels all opened into it, as if they were
in the centre of a warren. The walls were covered with intricate but
faded murals. It looked almost like an abandoned temple.
She'd never seen this place. She knew Paladia been built on the ruins
of a city long ago destroyed by plague. Rivertide. The site of the first
Necromancy War. She'd thought all traces of it gone.
The air was thick with the smell of decay, a vile miasma that came
from the far end of the room.
Her every instinct screamed to run, but Ferron pulled her forward.
Her feet slipped across the floor until they reached the far end of the
room.
"Your Eminence." Ferron knelt, pulling Helena to the ground with
him. "I've brought the prisoner. My deepest apologies for the delay."
There was a long silence, so long Helena began to doubt there was
anyone there.
"Bring her closer." The words floated, blurred and mumbled from the
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188 • SenLinYu
darkness.
Ferron pulled Helena up and dragged her up a series of steps she
could barely make out before shoving her to her knees again.
Helena stared in horror at the sight before her. She barely recognised
the grotesque shape.
Morrough lay reclined upon a throne of bodies. Necrothralls, con-
torted and twisted together, their limbs transmuted and fused into a
chair, moving in synchrony, rising and falling as they breathed in tan-
dem, squeezing and releasing around him. Morrough seemed shrunken
somehow from the immense distorted being he'd been.
Now he looked as though the skin was rotting off him.
One of the faces in the throne was briefly illuminated in the dim
light, and Helena thought it might be Mandl's old face, but she couldn't
be sure because the throne shifted, lifting Morrough towards her.
Morrough tilted his head, his empty sockets like blackened holes.
"Have I thought too well of you, High Reeve? I wanted those memories
by now, and you've brought me only scraps."
There was something wrong with Morrough's tongue, the words
slurred as if he were speaking around some large object in his mouth.
"I apologise. I will strive to do better."
"Yes, you are always striving, aren't you?" The words did not seem
kindly meant. "I shall I inspect these memories myself. Hold her fast."
There was a pause, and the only sound was the heaving of the de-
cayed bodies. Another face appeared, half rotted, but she recognised the
wide scar that ran along the side of Titus Bayard's skull.
Before she could shrink back, Ferron's knee lodged between her
shoulder blades and his hands wrapped around her jaw, holding her in
place.
Morrough extended his decrepit right hand, overlarge with fingers
jointed like spider legs. The bones were emerging through the tips of his
fingers, except for two which hung limp, dangling strips of flesh.
The resonance that struck Helena was blistering in its power. It
jolted through her like a live wire, charring her from the inside. Her
body spasmed, jerking violently.
She screamed through her teeth as it ravaged its way through her
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Alchemised • 189
skull.
Morrough's examination of her memories wasn't some disorienting
state of reliving; it was like having her consciousness flayed. Morrough
peeled her mind apart, ripping her memories from wherever he found
them.
While he'd said he wanted to see the lost memories, he seemed in no
hurry to find them, instead focusing his attention on her imprisonment
at Spirefell. The claustrophobic monotony, the endless isolation, punc-
tuated only by Ferron's occasional appearance to check her memories or
perform transference.
Morrough seemed particularly interested in the transference ses-
sions and the nightmares and fevers that followed. He found her fears
amusing and the agony of transference a novelty, replaying it over and
over, Ferron crushing and consuming her until there was no end or be-
ginning of either of them.
It was only when she'd stopped screaming and gone limp, no longer
struggling at all, that he finally turned to the glimmers of memory, but
even those he distorted.
Luc on the roof, but stripped of all the details that had made the
memory beautiful: the white fire, the light in his eyes, the gilding of the
city at sunset, all of it disappeared until all that remained was the dis-
tance between them, the way Luc recoiled from her, the reproach in his
voice, and the drug washing him away.
Morrough watched the memory of Lila asking about the trainees
several times with a sort of idle curiosity, but it was her memory of Lila
scarred and crying that he took the greatest interest in.
When he tired of it, she hoped he was done, but he was not. He went
back to the last transference session.
Whatever power she'd briefly possessed to push Ferron out of her
mind failed her now. Morrough stretched the memory out, drawing out
every excruciating moment of Ferron's mental violation, the backlash
from her attempted resistance until she didn't even realise when he fi-
nally stopped.
Her mind was awash in so much pain that it blotted out everything
else until she grew aware of her lungs seizing. Her eyes unable to focus.
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190 • SenLinYu
She had no sense of where she was until she felt her pulse fluttering
against the pressure of Ferron's fingers, his knee pressed against her
spine.
"So . . ." Morrough's voice came from somewhere in the dark. "The
Eternal Flame's animancer is not dead after all."
"You believe Boyle is still alive?" Ferron sounded startled.
"Who?"
Ferron loosened his grip on Helena, and she slumped against him in
the suffocating darkness. "Stroud mentioned her. Based on the Resis-
tance records of Elain Boyle, it was presumed that she— "
"Boyle was no one. Haven't you noticed that the transference was
different with the others?"
Helena's eyebrows furrowed. Others?
"I was told that the transmutations in her mind would cause diffi-
culty," Ferron said.
"Those difficulties are because she is resisting, because she can resist.
This— she is the animancer."
There was a pause punctuated only by the heaving rhythm of necro-
thralls. Ferron seemed frozen with surprise.
"You did not notice, or even suspect?" Morrough sounded so en-
raged, he had to pause to catch his breath. "I had wondered at your
progress, the reported intensity of the brain fevers in her, unlike our test
subjects. How could so much be concealed if the mere penetration of
her mind is so difficult?"
Morrough spoke so slowly that dread seemed to build with his every
word. Ferron remained silent.
"There is only one answer: She is the animancer. Even now, with her
resonance all but gone, she is still resisting. She erased her memory of
what she is in an attempt to escape me."
The pressure growing in Helena's head was so intense, her vision
disappeared.
"Surely not." Ferron's voice broke through. "Stroud said it was im-
possible for any person to erase their own—"
"What does Stroud know of anything? She cannot imagine talent
beyond her own abilities. This is the animancer. I could feel her attempts
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Alchemised • 191
to resist me." The corpses oozed Morrough towards Helena again, his
eye sockets looming, his resonance a sharp hum in her bones.
"I beg your forgiveness for my failure," Ferron said, his voice sound-
ing hoarse with shock. "I never considered it."
Morrough was silent for a long time, his skeletal face bloated and
rippling in her vision.
"Your father was recently here, begging for an audience as you now
beg for forgiveness. He claims he tried to tell you what he remembered,
but you did not listen."
Ferron's grip on Helena tightened again. "His memory is hardly reli-
able, Your Eminence. It seemed imprudent to indulge his fits of para-
noia. I did not realise he would disturb you with his claims. However . . .
I did quietly begin a reinvestigation due to his comments."
"And . . ."
"It would seem that she was apprehended near the West Port shortly
after the bombing."
"To rescue the Bayard paladin?"
"A bombing seems a careless method of rescue. The paladin's escape
may have been coincidental. As you recall, Bayard was already dying
when I captured her."
"It was because of Bayard. I am sure."
Helena's mind throbbed as she tried to understand what they were
saying.
A rasping, wheezing sigh rose from all the bodies at once. "All this
time we thought Hevgoss . . . but it was the Eternal Flame after all.
They must have caught on to him."
"Surely if they'd realised, they wouldn't have allowed their Head-
quarters to be so easily taken."
"Perhaps . . ." Morrough did not sound convinced. "But that is not
for you to decide. I determine what was pointless. This proves that the
Eternal Flame was more cunning than we thought. I suspect our cap-
tive animancer knows far more than she realises."
"Then I will continue to break her," Ferron said. He started to pull
Helena up from the floor to drag away.
"Did I give you leave to go?" Morrough's body was suddenly raised
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192 • SenLinYu
high, his massive, distorted form now looming over them both. He was
barely clothed, and his skin sagged, rotting off him so that Helena could
see his organs pulsing where it tore away. Bright beneath the decaying
flesh. She stared dazedly.
There were too many bones, some greyish and crumbling, others
white.
Morrough's wasted hand fell on Ferron's shoulder. "You are growing
presumptuous, High Reeve."
Ferron instantly released Helena. She dropped to the ground at his
feet. It was warm, and something wet clung to her skin, seeping through
her clothes. She could smell viscera and old blood. In the darkness, cold
fingers tugged at her dress as the throne morphed with another rasping,
rotting heave.
"How can I trust a someone who presumes and overlooks as much
as you have of late?"
Ferron drew a sharp breath.
"Your failures seem to be multiplying. Overlooking your prisoner's
signs of animancy. Ignoring your father's counsel. And where are the
assassins that I ordered you to find?"
The copper-tanged rot in the air choked Helena as the darkness
closed around her, cold dead fingers scrabbling, trying to drag her
deeper. All her fears coming to life.
"I am your most loyal servant. I will not fail you. If it was the Eternal
Flame, I will find them."
"It was the Eternal Flame. Who else could it be? Who would dare
to kill the Undying? The weapon was obsidian. Crowther is ours now,
but he must have shared the secrets with someone overlooked during
the purge. Perhaps their identity is one of the secrets our captive ani-
mancer is trying so hard to keep from us."
As Morrough spoke, the resonance in the air became a solid,
weighted mass bearing down. Helena's ribs bowed under the pressure,
threatening to snap inwards and shred her lungs.
"Mandl's death was a humiliation. For one so illustrious, you should
have foreseen it."
The pressure eased enough for Helena to manage one desperate
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Alchemised • 193
breath, but the miasma coated her throat, choking her.
"I am investigating all potential avenues," Ferron said, breathing
heavily. "The records indicate that Crowther collaborated with a metal-
lurgist killed during the final battle. I have assigned cryptologists to
re-evaluate his research for any hints of other collaborators."
"That is old information," Morrough snarled. "How many weeks
have you been investigating the deaths with nothing to show for it?
Have you forgotten what happens when I am disappointed?"
"I— "
The thrumming of Morrough's resonance concentrated and van-
ished. There was a crack, sharp and sudden like branches snapping. Fer-
ron gave a broken gasp and dropped like a stone, falling not prone but
over Helena, one arm braced just above her head.
She could just barely make out his face. His silver eyes above her
seemed to glow as blood spurted from his mouth, dripping from his lips
and onto the floor. His expression twisted, his body contorting and his
pupils dilating until his irises were narrow bands of silver.
Then he screamed and went limp, collapsing on top of her.
The weight of his body, the jut of broken bones, pressed down on her,
but she couldn't feel a heartbeat.
No hint of breathing. He was completely still.
He jerked, a garbled gasp rattling in his lungs as his chest began
pulsing. He convulsed as though drowning, coughing up blood, as he
pushed himself off her.
"I- I will not f-fail you, I swear." His voice shook, barely more than a
whisper, and he rose unsteadily back to his feet.
"Be sure that you don't," was all Morrough said.
Ferron reached down, fingers spasming as he pulled Helena up from
the ground again. Her head lolled back.
"Watch her carefully. The Eternal Flame will come for her soon, I
am certain of it."
"I will die before I lose her," Ferron said, his grip tightening.
"I want them alive this time, High Reeve. These last embers who
dare mock me. You will bring them to me, to kill at leisure."
"You will have them. As I have given you all the rest." Ferron's voice
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194 • SenLinYu
had grown steadier. He bowed low.
Helena craned her neck, peering through her swimming vision at
the green, rotted faces visible on the throne, terrified of how many she'd
recognise if she could see them clearly.
She tried to rip herself free, but she couldn't escape. Ferron squeezed
harder as he dragged Helena out of the hall, pulling her through wind-
ing tunnels, not stopping even when her legs failed, feet tripping. He
wouldn't let go.
Finally he stopped and, without releasing her, allowed Helena slide
to the floor. She crumpled, gasping, still struggling to breathe. The air
was cleaner, damp and swampy, but there was no more scent of blood.
The stones in the tunnel were dry.
Her head hurt so much that trying to think was like touching a raw
wound, but she had so many questions.
"I—" Her throat closed, convulsing. "I—attacked a prison?"
"It was after the final battle," Ferron said, his sounded far away.
"Seems you were captured after levelling more than half the West Port
Laboratory. You'd disguised yourself as a Hevgotian during the attack,
and then disappeared into that tank afterwards, resulting in contradic-
tory reports. The investigation was considered inconclusive until my
father realised where he recognised you from. He was present that
night."
She shook her head. "I was a healer," she said. "I wasn't—they didn't
let me fight."
Ferron said nothing.
She still didn't understand. "And Lila was there?"
"Yes."
"But she was dying when you—caught her."
"The West Port Laboratory was Bennet's experimental research site."
A low sound of horror tore from Helena. She doubled over, retching.
Ferron had to prop her up.
"Drink this," he said, pressing a vial of something into her hand.
"It'll help."
Helena's hand shook, but she swallowed without question. There was
nothing he could give her that could make things worse. Instead pain
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Alchemised • 195
relief so bitter it was mouth-numbing washed across her tongue. She sat
breathing unsteadily as it took effect.
She tried to focus but felt concussed. With brain injuries it was im-
portant to remain conscious. Conversing was supposed to help, keeping
patients talking. She kept herself talking.
"Did this happen to you?" Her tongue was sluggish. She felt Ferron
look at her, his pale eyes gleaming briefly in the darkness.
"More than once . . ." he said after a long silence. "My training was
rigorous."
"Why?"
He shifted, muffling a low groan. "To see if I'd be better than my
father, or if I'd break under interrogation, too."
She furrowed her eyebrows. "Was that—before you killed Principate
Apollo?"
He released a huffing breath, as if suppressing a laugh.
"Are you wanting a confession?" he finally asked, his tone dry. "Shall
I tell you everything I've done?"
She could only make out the vaguest shape of him, crouched in front
of her. His breathing was still strained as he held her upright.
She wondered then if they'd paused there so she could recover, or so
he could. The dose of laudanum she'd taken had eased the pain splinter-
ing her head.
A question rose to her lips, and she felt as if it was vital that she ask.
She leaned forward, trying to see his face. "Do you want to?"
He was silent for a long moment, and then stood without answering,
pulling her to her feet. Her body was half numb, and he had to nearly
carry her the rest of the way to the motorcar.
In the light, she found she was covered in putrefied remains, rotted
blood and gore smeared around her clothes and hands. All the necro-
thralls were watching as Ferron pulled her over to the car, handing her
off to one of his own servants, letting it strip off her dress and wrap her
in a wool lap cloth. She collapsed across the back seat.
Ferron sat up front. When the motorcar emerged from the tunnel,
she was almost blinded by the vivid white of the overcast sky, but she
managed to make out his profile. He was slumped forward, eyes closed.
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196 • SenLinYu
Pale as death.
It took two days before Helena could see reliably, and three before
she could sit up without feeling dizzy. She tried to read but the words
swam, leaving her with nothing but her thoughts to preoccupy her.
One the third day, one of the maids brought a tray of porridge to her
bed. She looked at it, meeting the cloudy blue eyes.
"Ferron, will you come here?"
The maid stared at her, and then away, leaving without acknowledge-
ment, but that evening as she was picking at her dinner, the door opened
and Ferron entered.
"You called?" His tone was sardonic.
"I had a question I wanted to ask you," she said, sitting forward even
though it made her head throb until her eyes threatened to pop.
She drew a slow breath, gathering up all the threads of information
she'd collected over the months. As if without realising it, she'd been
weaving a tapestry, and only now could she make out the image forming
at her fingertips.
"Mandl wasn't the first of the Undying to be killed," she said as last.
"They've been dying for weeks. I didn't realise what the disappearances
had in common until now. I thought it was censorship, that maybe they
were dissidents, but it's the Undying. They're disappearing because
they're being killed, and you're the one who's been covering it up."
Ferron said nothing, his expression carefully blank.
She swallowed hard. "You know, the Undying have never made
much sense to me. Scientifically or logically. Immortality seems like a
dangerous thing to just—gift to people, and Morrough's hardly the al-
truistic type. I know how vivimancy works. There's a price for complex
regeneration, and someone always has to pay it. There's no way around
that. In order to regenerate the way the Undying can, someone is paying
for it."
"I thought you had a question," Ferron said.
"I'm getting there," Helena said calmly, trying to ignore the throb-
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Alchemised • 197
bing in the back of her head. "When the Undying are in dead bodies,
they don't retain their old resonance; they get whatever resonance the
new body has. Like your father: He's an iron alchemist, he doesn't know
anything about pyromancy. So if someone like you, an animancer, lost
their body, you'd lose that ability, and if you thought being a lich was a
punishment, something you do to teach someone a lesson, you'd cling to
your body no matter what condition it was in and be desperate to figure
out transference. But even if you did, you'd still need to find an ani-
mancer. But someone like that would fight the transference."
She winced, pressing her hand against her forehead as if she could
push back the pressure. "So . . . that's where the repopulation program
comes in," she said unsteadily. "Morrough doesn't care about the econ-
omy or what kind of alchemists there are in New Paladia. The real rea-
son Stroud's using selective breeding is to find a way to control what
resonance children are born with. That's why they brought back your
father and I saw him at Central. She's trying to produce an animancer
for Morrough. If transference is perfected by the time she does, he'd
have the means and the perfect vessel to use, but he's—he's running out
of time."
Ferron's eyes narrowed.
She drew a deep breath. "Something's wrong about him. He's too
old, and that should affect resonance, but it hasn't with him. He's got
some other source for his power, something he can draw from. But he's
deteriorating anyway. I saw him only a few months ago, and he wasn't
like that. That throne is now keeping him alive. I kept trying to guess
what could possibly hurt someone like him. It's not like anyone could
get close. Then I thought, maybe the source of his power is right in front
of us, but it's been disguised, so that people wouldn't realise. Perhaps it's
presented as a gift, something people are desperate to earn, but really
he's the one who needs it."
Pain shot through Helena's head. Her vision turned red. She gave an
agonised gasp, toppling sideways. Ferron was moving towards her.
She looked up, forcing her question out.
"The Undying. You're his source of power, and the Resistance—we
figured that out, didn't we? How to kill him. How to kill all of you."
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CHAPTER 14
Helena was seated on a stool in a laboratory. Lying on the
table before her were rows and rows of transmuted metals and compounds,
some shaped into hollow spheres, others still in small vials, waiting for test-
ing.
Directly across from her sat Shiseo, studying a sphere grasped in his fin-
gers, as he made notations on slip of paper.
" You have an interesting repertoire," he said in a quiet voice as he reached
towards a vial in the third row. "Very unusual. Good attention to detail. I am
surprised you are not a metallurgist."
"I wasn't sure what to do," Helena said, handing another sphere over for
grading. "It felt like whatever I chose, someone was disappointed. Every-
one— " She started to move her fingers but stopped, folding her hands. "Ev-
eryone wanted a lot for me, and I'm not sure I ever knew what I wanted."
She shrugged. "Probably good that I didn't, since it didn't matter in the end."
Shiseo didn't reply. He was studying his notes; then he looked at her folded
hands before his impassive eyes reached her face. "I don't think a steel weapon
would suit you."
"What?"
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Alchemised • 199
" You are exceptional with titanium. I met the titanium guildmaster once,
and even his work was not so perfect." Then he picked up a piece of her nickel
work, studying it as well. "Have you ever tried nickel and titanium alloy?"
She shook her head.
"It would make a better weapon for you. Very light. You'd waste your
strength with steel."
"This isn't for a weapon," Helena said quickly. "It's just—curiosity."
Shiseo just made a little click with his tongue. "Well . . . if you wanted a
weapon, I would advise you to use nickel and titanium. Don't limit yourself
to what Paladians do."
The entire right side of Helena's body was vaguely sore, and her
tongue had the sensation of oversensitive, newly regenerated tissue
across its surface as she struggled to wake.
She stared dazedly at the canopy over her, trying to remember what
had happened.
Ferron— she'd been talking to Ferron. She looked around for him,
but he was gone.
She'd been telling him that Morrough was dying, that killing the
Undying somehow hurt him; she'd finally pieced it all together and
then—
There was nothing after that.
She sat up slowly. It must have been another seizure. She shifted her
shoulders, opening her mouth cautiously, expecting the muscles to
catch, residual tension holding her back, but it didn't.
She looked down at herself. She'd been treated.
Seizures were not something she'd encountered much in a military
hospital, but Titus Bayard had suffered from them after his brain injury.
Muscle tension wasn't something that could be treated with a mere
touch of vivimancy. Resonance could loosen the knotted muscles, but
the tension had to be manually massaged away to help the limbs to
stretch and extend again.
Which meant that someone had, at minimum, touched the entire
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200 • SenLinYu
right side of her body. She shuddered and hoped it hadn't been one of
the necrothralls—but then reconsidered when she reviewed the alterna-
tives.
She took a long shower until all the remaining aches in her body
faded, tilting her back and letting the water stream through her hair,
replaying the memory.
Shiseo. So, she had known him. She didn't want to believe it, but he
was right there in her mind now.
They couldn't have known each other well. He probably performed
resonance tests for lots of people. Maybe he'd done it as a way of spying
on the Resistance.
So why hide that memory? She was bewildered by the span of her
memory loss.
Why would the Undying trust Shiseo if he'd worked and lived
among the Resistance for the entire war? Countless Paladians had been
killed or imprisoned for less, but instead he was entrusted as envoy.
It made no sense.