More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Without lowering Lancaster from where he was holding him, Ferron shoved his hand into Lancaster’s abdominal cavity as easily as if his hand were breaking water. He pulled out Lancaster’s organs, winding them slowly around his fist. Lancaster screamed, his legs thrashing. Ferron drew out the intestines so far that they twitched, glittering in the moonlight. “If I ever see you again, I will strangle you with these,” Ferron said in a voice of deadly calm. “Pity you’re not immortal yet. I could do it so slowly then.” He dropped the intestines so that they hung down Lancaster’s front like watch
...more
Helena just looked at him. She thought she should say something. What she’d tried to tell Lancaster. “Ferron always comes for me,” she whispered.
Oh my GODDDDDD
Ferron will come. Ferron will come. The words ran through her mind in a relentless loop. He would; he had to know what was happening.
“How did you know I’d be able to fix my eye?” “You were a healer.” “Yes, but…” Her voice faded. She was unable to explain why she felt dissatisfied with the answer. “Where did you learn to heal?” she asked, thinking back not only on how easily he’d imitated her directions but also how he’d dealt with Aurelia, and repaired the nerve damage on his own. “Well, you see, there was a war, and I was a general. Picked up a few things.” A headache was developing in Helena’s temples from her imbalanced vision. “Well, you—you have a natural talent for it. In another life, you could be a healer.”
He was gone so suddenly, it was as if he’d evaporated. Helena opened her eyes and couldn’t see him anywhere. The violent sound of retching emerged from the bathroom. Eventually she heard the toilet flush and the sound of water running from the tap for several minutes.
☹️😭💔
Ferron emerged from the bathroom, his tense expression faded, as if he couldn’t maintain it. His face was drawn, his eyes stark and reddish. He looked strangely mortal. She wished he didn’t. She looked away.
In an instant, he was gone, recoiling as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. She barely opened her eyes in time to see him as he vanished through the door. She caught only a glimpse of his face just before the door slammed. He looked grey, as though he was going to faint.
“Oh, Marino.” His thumb trailed along her neck, following the scar below her jaw. “If I’d known what pain you’d cause me, I never would have taken you.” He sighed, and she could smell the liquor on his breath as his head dipped closer. She had no idea what he meant, if she was supposed to apologise. “But at this point I suppose I deserve to burn. I wonder if you’ll burn, too.” His face was so close the words brushed against her lips, and his mouth crashed against hers.
He turned away, and Helena’s resolve shattered. Her hand darted out, catching hold of his coat to stop him. Her body was shaking but she couldn’t let go. She gripped harder. She didn’t want to be alone; she couldn’t bear it. His hand rose, resting on her shoulder, and that was all it took. She crumpled, huddling closer. She could barely feel his fingers on her arm, but breathing no longer felt like a rope burn dragged through her lungs. She dropped her head against his chest.
“I don’t trust you to be conscious right now,” he said. She felt his resonance, delicate as the prick of a needle. Heaviness swept through her like a black tidal wave, dragging her down. “No…” she choked out, not sure what she was protesting. Everything. But the world slipped from her grasp. She was dimly aware of her legs being lifted onto the bed, the duvet pulled over her. “I’m so sorry.”
The mattress shifted, and cool fingers touched her cheek, brushing back her hair and resting against her forehead.
When they’d gone, Ferron would sit on the edge of the bed and smooth her hair. Sometimes he would take her hand, his fingers moving absently against hers. The first time he did it, she thought he was playing with her fingers; then she realised he was massaging them. He always started at her palms, careful not to bend her wrists or bump the manacles, working slowly to her fingertips, knuckle by knuckle. It made them spasm less, so she let him, but she told herself she didn’t like it.
He didn’t speak or meet her eyes, but he was there constantly. Sitting sometimes for hours with her hand in his as if it could keep her from slipping away.
His eyes had that eerie silver glow as he sat next to her, her hand in his once more, but this time her palm was pressed against his chest so that she could feel his heartbeat. She couldn’t help but think something was supposed to happen, but nothing did. The dead sensation in her wrists was like a pit. She felt like an hourglass, the final grains of sand finally running down. It was almost over. She could feel herself slipping away. The room flipped as she was dragged up and crushed tight. “Stay…please…stay.”
“You’re mine. You swore yourself to me.” The words were growled in her ear.
“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.”
“I know—it is hard to consider, but I believe we should offer Resistance members the choice of donating their bodies to the cause in the event that they’re killed in combat,” she said. “Rather than burning the bodies, we could—” She hesitated a moment, knowing she could never take back what she was about to say. “—reanimate them and use them as an infantry in order to protect our living combatants. This would be done only with their written permission—”
Her eyes snapped open, and she found Ilva Holdfast standing before her, both hands resting idly on the head of her cane. Helena was still huddled against the wall where Soren had left her. “Let’s have a private chat,” Ilva said, her tone even and emotionless.
Gender bent Moody
Jan Crowther was seated in one of the two chairs across from Ilva’s desk. He was a needle of a man, plainly dressed, with ash-brown hair combed back from his face. A red flame pyromancer, Crowther had fought in the Eternal Flame’s crusades against necromancy in the surrounding countries until his right arm was paralysed.
Snape??
Ilva pursed her lips, drawing a deep breath. “Do you remember Kaine Ferron?” Helena stifled an incredulous laugh. Everyone remembered Kaine Ferron. He’d murdered Luc’s father by ripping out his heart at the foot of the Alchemy Tower. Ferron had been sixteen, just another student, and without warning he’d committed the worst crime in Paladia’s history. He was never arrested or charged, even though the investigation had yielded multiple witnesses positively identifying him as the murderer, because he’d disappeared.
“Kaine Ferron has offered to spy for the Resistance,” said Crowther.
Her sunstone amulet, tucked under her uniform, was warm from her skin as she lifted it off. She paused, cradling it in her palm, throat working as she studied the golden sunrays and the shimmering red surface of the stone in the centre. The Holdfast Suncrest, with seven points rather than eight, representing each of the seven planets, except the sun, centre of all. Ilva had given it to her when Helena returned to the city and formally made her vows as a healer.
“I was Kaine Ferron’s academic advisor here at the Institute.” She peered at him. “You knew him? Do you think his offer to spy is legitimate?” Crowther sighed, pressing his fingertips down on the desk so the joints bowed inwards. “Ferron was a remarkable liar and an impersonal student. I believe he hated this institution. Our conversations were rarely more than minimally cordial.” “Why?” “Why? I should think it obvious. The Ferrons are ambitious. They’ve made no effort to hide their inflated opinions of themselves. Did you ever see the crest they bought with their fortune?”
Okay hey Snape
It was a dragon curled into a perfect circle, long fangs tearing apart its own tail. On the upper right, taloned wings arched above the curved body. “It’s an ouroboros,” she said, doubtful about what character insights a family crest would reveal. Crowther remained silent, so she hazarded a guess. “In Khemish alchemy, a serpent ouroboros is supposed to represent infinity or rebirth. Perhaps that’s how the Ferrons saw their new fortune. Although in Cetus’s writing, it can also be used to represent greed and self-destruction. Maybe that’s why they chose a dragon instead of the serpent. A
...more
“I mean that time has allowed this country to begin questioning what is divine, and whether it matters. Our Principate can alchemise gold and wield holy fire. Two gifts of exceptional rarity. Once, that was miracle enough. But the world has changed, and the Principate has not. Morrough can raise the dead and grant immortality. The Ferrons have found a way to turn their lowly iron into seemingly infinite mountains of wealth. In a world like that, what purpose is there in fire or endless gold?”
“He won’t ever be loyal, but I expect he’ll be an excellent spy if for no other reason than his vanity. He’s already done more for us in a day than the Resistance has accomplished in the last year.” “What do you mean?” Crowther flicked two fingers; they were so long they reminded Helena of harvestman spiders. “When he made his offer and set his terms, as proof of his—sincerity, he told us how to kill the liches and Undying without fire.”
“It’s an odd request, don’t you think? Why would Kaine Ferron, the iron guild heir, want Helena Marino?” She shook her head. “He could have asked for anything, cited a crisis of conscience, demanded a mountain of gold, but instead, he wants…you? It’s an irrational choice.” Crowther drummed his fingers thoughtfully. “A sign of some kind of subconscious obsession perhaps.” His eyes flicked over Helena appraisingly. “An obsession is a weakness, and a weakness is an opportunity for us. As we established, you’ll go to Ferron twice a week and bring his missives safely back to me, and during those
...more
He was goading her. That was obvious. From the moment she’d knocked on that door, everything he’d done was intended to keep her on edge. This kiss was intended to compound that. To seal her sense of humiliation and cement her resentment towards him, the belief that she was only being spared further shame through his leniency. He expected her to hate him, to be so distracted by her emotions that she was easy to manipulate into fuelling her own misery. It was a game. None of this was real. She was a toy, something he’d thrown into his list of demands as a diversion tactic. She wasn’t a part of
...more
Ferron was there, physically. And he was alive, technically. But he was immutable in a way that her mind simply refused to comprehend.
He cleared his throat. “I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket and tossed an object to her. She caught it reflexively, studying it. It was a tarnished silver ring; she knew it by both sight and resonance, although her silver resonance was minimal, not high enough for her repertoire to be considered noble. However, this ring was hand-forged rather than transmutationally crafted; she could see the hammer marks that had beaten a scaled, almost geometric pattern onto it. A bizarre thing for an iron alchemist to have. “A symbol of our relationship,” Ferron said, and when she looked
...more
GOING TO DIE OH MY GOD
He cleared his throat. “I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket and tossed an object to her. She caught it reflexively, studying it. It was a tarnished silver ring; she knew it by both sight and resonance, although her silver resonance was minimal, not high enough for her repertoire to be considered noble. However, this ring was hand-forged rather than transmutationally crafted; she could see the hammer marks that had beaten a scaled, almost geometric pattern onto it. A bizarre thing for an iron alchemist to have. “A symbol of our relationship,” Ferron said, and when she looked
...more
THE RING GOODBYE
“Would a test subject help?” She stared at him in blank horror. “What? No.” “It would be effective, wouldn’t it?” “No,” she said again. “I’m a healer, I’ve taken oaths—” “No, you’re not,” Crowther cut in, a susurration in his voice like the snap of scissors. “Not in this room, not on this assignment. I don’t have any use for a healer. I need a vivimancer who will do what is necessary. Heroism is something for others to perform for the masses. Intelligence work—our work—is breaking people open by whatever means necessary to reach their secrets. That is what you are a part of now.”
“What did you do to me?” she retorted, her voice tremulous. “It’s a trick I learned from Artemon Bennet,” he said, stepping away from her. “He calls it animancy. When we take Resistance fighters alive, it’s not unusual for us to examine their memories. So if you’re ever captured, there’s a chance it’ll happen to you. Which makes you a liability for me.”
“Now, I’ll ask again.” Ferron’s voice was implacably cold. “What did you do to my ring? Where is it?” She swallowed, forcing herself to speak steadily. “It’s an elixir that’s bonded to the surface. The coating bends light to make things hard to notice unless you know to look for them.” He crouched and lifted her left hand, his thumb sliding across her fingers until he found the ring by touch. His eyes narrowed. He tilted her hand this way and that. His eyebrows went up. She could tell he could see the ring again. He was silent for a long moment. “I’ve never heard of anything like this before.”
...more
Bro I’m crying
Ferron stared at her, his mouth twisting. “Are you wanting a confession? Shall I tell you everything I’ve done?” She stared into his mocking eyes. “Do you want to?” There was a flash of surprise that softened his features for an instant. He was lonely.
Helena had assumed Ferron would be like the rest of them. Now she wasn’t sure what he was. He’d been so angry. Angrier than she had ever seen anyone, but he had driven her off. He hadn’t hurt her at all.
“What happened?” she asked, risking a step closer. Blood was still flowing at an impossible rate. Finally, he shook his head. “Just lost my arm.” As if to prove it, he unclasped his cloak. Both it and his grey coat fell off, revealing that there was nothing but scraps of burned fabric beneath, and a haemorrhage of blood where his left arm should have been. He swayed, his eyes losing focus. “It’ll grow back. But it’s—taking a while.”
Oh….
“Ferron,” she said, the idea abruptly occurring to her, and she wondered why she’d never thought to ask before. “Was it a punishment for you—being made Undying?” He glanced at her, his face empty. “How could immortality be a punishment? It’s what everyone wants.”
For months, he’d been something bloodless and soulless. Not a person, but an evil to endure and an obstacle to overcome. Seeing him injured, stripped of the shell of a uniform that he hid inside, had altered her perception of him. There was a fragility that she had been unprepared for. He’d seemed so human, and she didn’t like thinking of him as human. Undying. Murderer. Spy. Target. Tool. That was how she needed to view Ferron. Not as someone who could be hurt. Not as someone who didn’t understand blood loss and who rambled explanations. Not as someone who assumed a hand extended was meant to
...more
“You’re so young. You don’t even know how young you are. You’re sacrificing things you don’t even comprehend the value of.”
His face had grown gaunt, as if he’d lost almost all his remaining weight, the bones of his skull jutting starkly through his skin. He looked— —like a corpse. Her heart lurched into her throat. His skin was grey and papery, eyes sunken. His dark hair hung limp around his face. Dirty and uncombed. He didn’t appear to have eaten, slept, or bathed in all the weeks since Helena had last seen him. “Are you—are you a—are you dead?” she forced herself to ask. Could he be killed and then made into a lich using his own body? Was that possible? He cracked a smile that made his lower lip split, a trickle
...more
My shayla ☹️
When her resonance connected with his body, she almost snatched her hand back. The talisman in his chest was emitting so much power, it threatened to burn her nerves touching him. Every cell in his body was singed from it. He was dying. Over and over. His body pushed so far over the edge that it failed, only to be instantly regenerated, and fail again. He was simultaneously dead and alive because it was a sort of repeating cascade of regenerative failure.
There were no bandages underneath. His entire back was a rotting wound, lacerated surgically from his shoulders down past his ribs. There was an alchemical array carved into his skin. He inhaled and she could see the white of his ribs, scored with grooves. The incisions over his shoulders were the worst of it. Not merely cutting to the bone but into the bone, carving into his shoulder blades, a lumithium alloy welded in, bonded with the bone to keep the array intact and activated. Whatever regenerative abilities Ferron had, it was not enough to counter an injury of this magnitude. Arrays could
...more
That would kill a normal human, but Ferron didn’t die so easily—yet he also couldn’t change. Helena was beginning to understand how the Undying were “immortal.” He was not ageless; his body was trapped in time, his regeneration keeping him exactly as he was. It did not let him change, not with age or injury. But the array was designed to change him. The mutated power existed for the sole purpose of alteration, and that contradiction was killing him in a way far more profound than the mutilation of his back. He was in a crucible, and he was the crucible, and he would either die terribly or be
...more
Each of the eight points had a distinct concept using combinations of symbols. Helena parsed the meaning slowly. Calculating, Cunning, Devoted, Determined, Ruthless, Unfailing, Unhesitating, and Unyielding.
She knew she should wake him, but he was exhausted. He could use the rest. Reaching out tentatively, she tucked his dark hair back from his face. His features were sunken, hollows in his cheeks, temples, and eyes, all that eerie youth gone. He looked broken.
“Should I not call you Kaine? It seems odd to keep going by surnames. We’re going to be around each other for the rest of our lives, you know.” He looked heavenwards and sighed. “I don’t care what you call me, but I’m not changing anything.” “Good. Then it’s Kaine now.” She needed to make herself think about him differently. She’d made too many wrong assumptions while seeing him as Ferron.
“There you are,” Ferron said, drawing her attention away. He was wearing only trousers and a white shirt with half the buttons undone. She was used to seeing him always fully dressed, layered in his defensive shell of a uniform, and while she’d stripped him to the waist twice now, both occasions had been for medical purposes. The room they were standing in did not feel professional. Despite his haggard state, Ferron—Kaine, she mentally corrected—looked oddly striking, as if she’d never seen him in the proper environment before.
Girl he’s yummy
If he died, it didn’t really matter what happened to her. There were other healers now, and with the ports back, her medicine wasn’t needed anymore, either. She was replaceable. Ferron wasn’t.
She could feel his annoyance at the question. “Because we’re bound to Morrough.” Her hands froze. “Do you mean like”—there was no polite way to phrase it—“are you like—the necrothralls?” He glared from the corner of his eye. It was well known that necrothralls could go only so far from their necromancer or else they’d “die” again. Most necromancers could manage a few miles at most. The Undying’s reanimations were particularly powerful; the necrothralls in Paladia moved so freely, no one was sure of their limits, but they were assumed to be somewhere within Paladia’s borders. That a limitation
...more
