Page 152 of Alchemised
She sank under the water until it covered her face.
Why not? After all, he didn’t care about the Eternal Flame. So what held him back? It wasn’t as if Ferron was above violence. He’d ripped out a man’s heart with his bare hands.
She replayed what she’d said.
The shock on his face, as if he hadn’t realised what he was like until she’d told him.
CHAPTER 30
Aprilis 1786
BEFORE THE NEXT MARTIDAY, HELENA SUBMITTED FOR and received a standard-issue alchemical knife. Because of the chimaeras, she skipped foraging and went directly towards the Outpost, casting a wistful glance over the wetlands as she turned towards the dam.
There had been more than ten chimaeras spotted outside the city, mostly wandering the banks of the West Island. There were no deaths reported yet, but many of the people trapped in the city and on the Outpost relied on the river for food. It was only a matter of time.
Several units were being assembled into hunting parties. Predictably, Luc had immediately volunteered his battalion.
Inside the tenement, the door to the unit had been replaced. Helena hoped it was a good sign as she let herself in.
Her cloak and jacket, both abandoned by her flight, were on a table, neatly folded.
Ferron was not there.
She walked around the room, inspecting it. There were remnants of a kitchen, and a far door revealed a filthy bathroom, the sink chipped and stained as if there’d been chemicals poured down it. At least it had a bathroom. Some of the tenements in the low districts were so old, they didn’t even have that.
She sat, fingers curling against her palm, using her resonance to tamp down her rising unease and keep her thoughts from anxiously spiralling. It was fine, Ferron was just late.
The minutes dragged on.
She hadn’t told Crowther or Ilva what had happened. She’d passed it off as a brief meeting; Ferron had warned of the chimaeras and she’d hurried back, no mention of anything else.
But if Ferron didn’t show up, she would have to tell Crowther, explain what had gone wrong. Her chest grew so tight she could barely breathe.
When ten minutes had passed, she forced herself to accept that Ferron was not coming, but as she pulled her satchel up onto her shoulder, the door clicked and he walked in.
He didn’t seem at all surprised to find her still waiting there.
He closed the door and stood in front of it, his expression unreadable, body eerily still. It was strange how empty his posture was.
Helena had relied heavily on body language after moving to Paladia. Etras was culturally expressive; words, expressions, gestures were all part of communication. Northerners were canny, and they often communicated more through subtext than their actual words.
That was why Helena had been so drawn to Luc: He wasn’t like that; he didn’t say things he didn’t mean. With other Paladians, Helena had learned to decipher what they meant through their bodies instead of their mouths.
However, Ferron’s body said almost nothing. He reminded her of a gambler, hiding his tells. There was nothing about him that indicated his current mood.
“I’m sorry,” she said, breaking the tense silence. “I shouldn’t have said that last week. I lost my head. I’ll do—whatever you want to make it up to you.”
Ferron didn’t react beyond his eyes flickering briefly.
“It’s fine,” he said after a moment, his voice void. “When I specified willing, that meant you were allowed to say no. Although, perhaps try saying it next time, instead of provoking me.”
Helena looked at him in astonishment. From the moment Ilva and Crowther had told her the terms, she’d assumed her willingness, once given, was irrevocable.
Anything that happened after, she’d already agreed to.
She didn’t believe him. He’d mentioned looking forward to her regret. That didn’t imply any permission to change her mind or refuse what was demanded. No, he was altering the terms of their agreement because of what she’d said to him.
Her eyes narrowed appraisingly.
