Alchemised

by SenLinYu

She thought at first if she waited long enough, some glimmer of light would appear, or someone would come. Yet no matter how long she waited, there was nothing.

She studied Ferron for any jewellery or signs of an amulet. Guild families usually wore signet rings and a variety of pins and brooches to indicate their orders and exclusive clubs, but in stark contrast with his wife and father, Ferron usually wore nothing, not even a wedding band. The only piece visible was a slender, dark metal ring on his right hand. Her eyes narrowed as she studied it. “What kind of ring is that?” she asked. He looked down. “This?” he asked, as if there were any other rings she could have been referring to. He turned his hand. “Just an old piece.” He slipped it off and tossed it to her. She caught it reflexively, disappointed to discover that it wasn’t an unusual black metal at all, but a severely tarnished silver ring, as if he never took it off to care for it. It 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 wear.

She didn’t understand. She didn’t remember— “Who are you?” she slurred through her teeth. Myriad emotions flashed across his face. He opened his mouth, then shut it firmly. “I’m in charge of your care,” he finally said very slowly, saying each word precisely.

“Do I know you?” she asked as her eyes slid closed. “I suppose you do.”

Curiosity bloomed in his eyes, real interest rather than the feigned attention he’d employed during the party. “You’re full of surprises.” “Do you say that to every girl?” The words popped out thoughtlessly. Ferron gave a short laugh, his gaze sharpening, eyes darting across her face.

“The world already knows she’s mine,” Ferron said, his words pointed, “but if you’d like, I can remind them. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m hiding anything, my dear.”

Lila was seated on the edge of Helena’s bed, eyebrows knit together, studying her. No scar on her face. “Are you—” Lila looked away and seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Are you not all right, anymore? Is that why you spoke and why there’s all the trainees now?” Helena looked sharply at Lila, but Lila was unfastening a buckle and didn’t meet her stare. “No. I’m fine. The trainees are because Matias hopes to get rid of me.” “Oh, good. I mean, not good, but that makes sense,” Lila said, and cleared her throat. “I can see why you’re not thrilled about them, then.” Helena forced a laugh. “You know, you can talk about—anything with me, if you want.” Lila looked over at her. “No.” Helena shook her head. “I don’t need to talk. There’s—no point in talking, and as I have now been reminded publicly, I’m not a fighter. I don’t know anything about what war really is. So—what would I even have to say?” Lila’s prosthetic leg clicked as she shifted and then said, “I think the hospital’s worse than the battlefield.” Helena went very still. “I realised it when I was in there for my leg.” Lila’s gaze was faraway, eyebrows furrowing. “At the front—everything’s so focused, you know. The rules are simple. We win some. We lose some. You get hit sometimes. You hit back. You get days to recover if it’s bad. But—” She looked down, her fingers tapping absently along the place where her prosthetic was joined to her thigh. “—in the hospital, every battle looks like losing. I can’t imagine w...

“Drink this,” he said, pressing a vial of something into her hand. “It’ll help.” Helena’s hand shook, but she swallowed without question. There was nothing he could give her that could make things worse. Instead pain relief so bitter it was mouth-numbing washed across her tongue. She sat breathing unsteadily as it took effect. She tried to focus but felt concussed. With brain injuries it was important to remain conscious. Conversing was supposed to help, keeping patients talking. She kept herself talking. “Did this happen to you?” Her tongue was sluggish. She felt Ferron look at her, his pale eyes gleaming briefly in the darkness. “More than once…” he said after a long silence. “My training was rigorous.” “Why?” He shifted, muffling a low groan. “To see if I’d be better than my father, or if I’d break under interrogation, too.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Was that—before you killed Principate Apollo?” He released a huffing breath, as if suppressing a laugh. “Are you wanting a confession?” he finally asked. “Shall I tell you everything I’ve done?” She could only make out the vaguest shape of him, crouched in front of her. His breathing was still strained as he held her upright. She wondered then if they’d paused there so she could recover, or so he could. The dose of laudanum she’d taken had eased the pain splintering her head. A question rose to her lips, and she felt as if it was vital that she ask. She leaned forward, trying to see his face. “Do you want to?”

“The Undying. You’re his source of power, and the Resistance—we figured that out, didn’t we? How to kill him. How to kill all of you.”

“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.”

“Well.” He blinked and shook his head. “That was certainly—something.” He ran a gloved thumb across his mouth. “You are full of surprises,” he added after a moment, voice lower than before. Helena wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she just said the first thing that popped into her head. “Do you say that to every girl?” He huffed a laugh and ran his hand through his hair to brush it off his face. “No, I can’t say I do.”

Omgggg the flashback for page 148 (ch 10)

“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 up sharply, he raised his right hand to indicate a matching band on his index finger. “There’s a mirrored entanglement in them. If I do anything to mine, you’ll feel it. I’ll transmute it to warm briefly if I need to meet. Twice if it’s urgent. I’d advise coming very quickly if it ever burns twice.”

Flashback for Pg 124 (Ch 8)

Anyone who studied metallurgy knew that silver and iron were incompatible metals. They couldn’t be alloyed. Silver was a noble metal, however, which would have placed the wife above her husband in station if not fortune.

“Drink this.” A vial of something was shoved into her hand. “Otherwise you may black out.” She placed it in her mouth, doubting that Ferron would poison her, but if he did, she wasn’t sure she’d mind. Her skull throbbed as though there were a drum inside it. Mouth-numbingly bitter pain relief washed across her tongue. She nearly spat it back into the vial as she realised that he’d given her laudanum for a headache. Did he have any idea how limited opium supplies were in the North? But it was already in her mouth, so she swallowed. When she reopened her eyes, the room had a soft luminous quality. She blinked at the way it softened the edges of everything, including Ferron. “Did this happen to you?” she asked, her tongue sluggish. He was Undying; she didn’t know if they got headaches. Or even slept. “More than once,” he said. “My training was rigorous.” She nodded. It was strange how untouched by the war he looked. Yet when she forced herself to look past his appearance, there was an eerie, dangerous stillness about him. “Why?” she asked. He stared down his nose at her, eyes growing hard. “To see if I’d be better than my father, or if I’d break under interrogation, too.” She had never thought about what had been done to Atreus Ferron after his arrest. Everyone knew that he’d confessed; she’d always assumed it had been voluntary. “Was that—before you killed Principate Apollo?” Ferron stared at her, his mouth twisting. “Are you wanting a confession? Shall I tell you everything...

The flashback for page 194 (Ch 13)

“You think you’re better than us because you’re immortal, but you’re dead inside already.”

Lila sat on the edge of Helena’s bed. “Are you—” Lila wasn’t looking at Helena and seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Are you not all right anymore? Is that why you spoke and why there’s all the trainees now?” There was a pause. Helena looked sharply at Lila, but Lila was focused on unfastening a buckle and didn’t meet her stare. It had never occurred to Helena that Lila might know of the Toll. It was more than she could handle thinking about just then. “No. I’m fine. The trainees are because Matias hopes to get rid of me.” “Oh, good. I mean, not good, but that makes sense,” Lila said, and cleared her throat. “I can see why you’re not thrilled about them, then.” Helena forced a laugh. But the tension, the new undercurrent between them lingered. It was Lila who spoke next. “You know, you can talk about—anything with me, if you want.” “No,” Helena said. “I don’t need to talk. There’s—no point in talking, and as I have now been reminded publicly, I’m not a fighter. I don’t know anything about what war really is. So—what would I even have to say?” Lila’s prosthetic leg clicked as she shifted and then said, “I think the hospital’s worse than the battlefield.” Helena went very still. “I realised it when I was in there for my leg.” Lila’s gaze was faraway, eyebrows furrowing. “At the front—everything’s so focused, you know. The rules are simple. We win some. We lose some. You get hit sometimes. You hit back. You get days to recover if it’s bad. But—” She looked down, her...

Flashback for chapter 12 memory

He was in a crucible, and he was the crucible, and he would either die terribly or be wholly alchemised into something that could survive the paradox.