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The woman was a vivimancer. Necromancy’s inverse twin, wielded on the living rather than the dead.
By its nature, lumithium bound the four elements of air, water, earth, and fire together, and in that binding, resonance was created.
All she knew was that as long as those manacles remained locked in place, she wasn’t an alchemist at all.
She looked up at him. “You’re a monster.” He raised an eyebrow. “Noticed that, have you?”
“You know,” Ferron said, jolting her from her thoughts, “when I heard it was you I’d be getting, I was looking forward to breaking you.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think it’s possible to exceed what you’ve done to yourself.”
“Do I know you?” she asked as her eyes slid closed. “I suppose you do.”
“Ferron always comes for me,” she whispered.
“But at this point I suppose I deserve to burn. I wonder if you’ll burn, too.”
“I have warned you, if something happens to you, I will personally raze the Eternal Flame. That isn’t a threat. It is a promise. Consider your survival as much a necessity to the Resistance as Holdfast’s. If you die, I will kill every single one of them.”
“You’re like a rose in a graveyard,” he said, and his lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I wonder what you could have turned into without the war.”
“You made me feel like the parts of me that aren’t useful still deserve to exist. Like I’m not just all the things I can do.”
They were the inverse and counter to each other. A healer and killer, circling slowly, the push and pull inexorable.
Women were always defined by the lowliest thing they could be called.
She was a non-active member of the Order of the Eternal Flame and did not fight.
