Page 51 of Alchemised
According to Matias’s stringent understanding of the Faith, necromancy, in addition to its violation of the dead, was also a violation of the natural cycle and natural law, and vivimancy stemmed from the same corrupt form of resonance.
Healing was permitted within limits because it was categorised as a spiritual intercession, something selfless and divinely led.
Helena had never understood why, but the Institute, which generally treated science and the Faith as complementary to each other, strictly banned the study of vivimancy even for healing. Most healers tended to appear in remote places in the Novis Mountains and were only taught to work by intuition, their success or failure left to the will of Sol. No “science” about it.
Helena learned to hold her tongue and pretend that her unusual talent for healing was divine and not because she understood the systems and functions of the human body.
The tablet Ferron had forced down her throat was a clear demonstration of the potential if healing were allowed to be scientific. It seemed to have some kind of vasoconstriction component. A glycoside, perhaps synthesised from foxglove. She tried to remember if she’d noticed anything that might have indicated mineral acids, and maybe …
“Awful, aren’t they?” Aurelia’s voice floated down the hallways from the foyer. “They were inside at first, but it doesn’t matter how much they’re doused, they just reek. I told Kaine I’d set them on fire if they stayed inside another day.”
“He won’t just get you new ones?” It was a man’s voice.
“No.” Aurelia’s tone was petulant. “I’ve asked and asked, but they’re Central’s, so we must keep them. Everyone else has new thralls all the time, but Kaine never wants to change them. Then he finally brings some new ones, and they’re those awful things.”
“For the prisoner, I suppose.”
“Of course.” Aurelia’s voice turned sour. “The whole house has been turned upside down because of her. Just look at the banisters. They make the foyer look like some giant birdcage, but Kaine insists we keep them like this now. He bites my head off if I even leave a door open, and the thralls are never around when I need them. It’s so embarrassing. I saw Lotte Durant the other day. Her husband gets her new thralls as soon as the old ones start getting ugly. Lets her pick them out and everything. They do whatever she tells them. Even awful things sometimes—it’s so funny. One of the girl ones scorched Lotte’s new silk, and you should have seen what Lotte had all the rest of them do to it. Chills just thinking about it. I wanted to punish one of mine once, and Kaine showed up saying they’re his and if I want to torture any, I’d have to make my own … Well, I would if I could.”
Helena followed Aurelia’s voice and discovered that the foyer had been transformed since she’d last seen it. The rails had been reshaped into iron bars stretching all the way up to the ceiling, making it impossible to jump from the landings or from the stairs. Ferron was clearly taking no risks.
Down below, Aurelia and her companion walked into the next room, still discussing how unfair and unsympathetic Ferron was as a husband.
The details of the ouroboros on the foyer floor showed up better from the third floor, even with the bars. Helena stared down, studying the wings, the spines, the fangs, and the sleek body curving into a circle as it consumed itself.
THE NEXT MORNING, HELENA LAY pinned to her mattress as if a boulder had been dropped onto her chest. A lash of despair, and grief, and anger—all the feelings she’d been unable to experience the day before—had come back, redoubled, so heavy she could barely breathe.
The period of respite made it all hurt even more; the momentary relief making the magnitude of its weight even more tangible. She could feel herself crumbling.
Her spine and neck were overheated while the rest of her body was clammy and ice-cold, the sheets and nightclothes damp with a strong mineral scent. There’d definitely been mineral salts in the tablet.
She rolled onto her side and was violently sick on the floor.
She slumped down, shivering, limbs leaden. She wanted to strangle Ferron and then crawl into a hole and die. She was hot and cold and thirsty and pathetically desperate for comfort.
If even one of the necrothralls had walked in and stroked her hair, she probably would have wept.
A wave of loneliness struck so sharply, she gave a heaving sob and almost burst into tears anyway.
The door opened, and one of the necrothralls did enter, but only to clean the mess.
She lay in bed sick until evening, shivering and sweating until she passed out from exhaustion.
When Ferron arrived the next day, Helena glared daggers at him. He could have warned her about the withdrawal.
He waited for her to retrieve her cloak, but rather than lead the way, he stood and let her walk past.
The hallway was unlit. She could feel the shadows, the dark looming, but she kept her fingers tracing along the wainscotting and her focus on her next step. She knew her way. Even in the dark, she could find it now.
When she reached the courtyard, Ferron appeared on the veranda, observing her like a scientist with a test subject.
She sighed and began a tedious walk around the courtyard. When she finished the first loop, he was already gone.
CHAPTER 9
A NOTE ARRIVED ON HELENA’S LUNCH TRAY a few days later.
Transference tonight was written on the card in a brusque script.
