Page 71 of Alchemised
Why would she forget Soren? He—
A face briefly flickered in her memory. Helena’s mind swerved violently, 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?
CHAPTER 13
IT WAS THE MISPLACED GLEAM OF SILVER that caught Helena’s attention 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 before 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 towards 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 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 completely. 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 wrist 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 possible before there was any intervention, which wouldn’t be too hard because Paladia, for all its scientific medical advancement, was superstitiously terrified of blood transfusion or anything else involving the bodies 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 moving idly, pausing to pretend she was studying the silver dishes displayed. They were beautiful, intricate pieces made with elegant, organic lines, a 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.
