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She had to endure. To stay alert. That way she would be ready. She had to stay ready. She would not let herself fade away.
vivimancer. Necromancy’s inverse twin, wielded on the living rather than the dead.
“This is elaborate, beautiful, professional work. A vivimancer manually rewiring the human consciousness.”
By its nature, lumithium bound the four elements of air, water, earth, and fire together, and in that binding, resonance was created.
Usually, resonance was channelled into the alchemy of metals and inorganic compounds, allowing for transmutation or alchemisation. However, in a defective soul which rebelled against Sol’s natural laws, the resonance could be corrupted, enabling vivimancy—like what the woman had used on Helena—and the necromancy used to create necrothralls.
All she knew was that as long as those manacles remained locked in place, she wasn’t an alchemist at all.
“The High Reeve was Bennet’s favourite after all.” Morrough waved a dismissive hand as he vanished into the shadows. “It’s time he’s given more to do than hunting.”
It was the iron guild heir. Kaine Ferron. She stared at him in stunned recognition.
“The war is over. What is it you think you’re protecting in that brain of yours?”
Is it too soon for me to be predicting that Helene is dead and some sort of new undead thing that was created? Should I just stay in my lane because I don’t read this genre of book and have read nothing from this author so really anything could happen?
“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.”
“Why all this sudden interest in me?” he asked. She shrugged. “You don’t make sense.” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that all? And here I was hoping you were plotting to seduce me.” She stared at him blankly. He gave a mocking smile. “Steal my heart with your wit and charms.” Helena scoffed.
The room blurred, the edges disappearing. The face softening as it faded away. “Do I know you?” she asked as her eyes slid closed. “I suppose you do.”
Gasp! What if she was actually in love with Kaine and NOT Luc and it all part of the memory loss?! Am I reaching here?
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. “I think you should go to bed,” he said.
“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.”
“You’ve noticed the pattern, haven’t you?” There was a pause and uneasy muttering. “The Celebration Purge,” Ferron said when no one spoke. “The killer’s imitating the executions. Vidkun was a copy of Bayard and his wife.”
Is Ferron doing the killing?!
“Ferron always comes for me,” she whispered. He stopped short. His jaw locked, fists clenching, saying nothing for a moment.
As our other animancer, the High Necromancer has chosen you to be the first to make an attempt with Marino here. If she becomes pregnant, we’ll look for signs of animancy. Your father was a great help in detailing your mother’s condition, so we know just what symptoms to look for. However, given how tight our timeline has become, the High Necromancer considers it best to keep alternatives under consideration. You’ll have two months to produce results, or she’ll be transferred to Central, and we’ll see if we have better luck with other candidates.”
She closed her eyes tighter. Her mind scrabbled, trying to find an escape. In stasis, in the tank, she’d learned to take herself away when her mind teetered on the edge. That was how she’d survived. She’d learned she could endure. Now that escape didn’t work. She was trapped inside her body, as if someone had nailed her consciousness in place with a spike.
“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.
It was a punishing kiss. The moment their lips touched, he crushed her body against his. The hand on her throat slid into her hair, tangling in the curls, gripping them tight as the kiss deepened, angling her head back so that he could consume her. He kept kissing her, hard enough to hurt but not bleed, like a storm poured down her throat.
She’d been receptive to Ferron. He’d come towards her and kissed her and she had let him. In the moment, it hadn’t even occurred to her to push him away. Instead, she’d melted at the warmth of being held. Trapped in Spirefell, she was latching on to any glimpse of kindness, any sense of tenderness her mind could fabricate. But it wasn’t kindness. He wasn’t kind; he simply wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t as monstrous as he could be.
And for Helena’s fracturing mind, an absence of cruelty was sufficient solace. For her starved heart, it was enough.
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.”
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.” The light grew and the strangest sensation came over her, a glow inside her chest, familiar even though she was certain she’d never experienced anything like it before. The constant feeling of strain inside her chest, like a thread pulled to the verge of snapping, slowly faded away. She closed her eyes, drawing a struggling breath, and the dream dissolved into nothingness.
“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.”
“Yes, I remember Ferron,” she said, realising that Ilva was waiting for an answer. “Kaine Ferron has offered to spy for the Resistance,” said Crowther.
“He wants you, Marino,” Crowther said. “Both now and after the war.”
Don’t make me responsible for Kaine Ferron’s death. The stack wobbled, threatening collapse. Then it settled. Her throat thickened, and a weight in her chest lifted, as if the universe was telling her it was possible. A southern ritual had no place in the North, but she’d given everything for the war, and it had not been enough. Superstition was all she had left.
Her cheeks were still hot as she packed up all her supplies, refusing to look at him again. He spoke just as she was leaving. “Don’t die, Marino. I might miss you.”
“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.”
She knew that people enjoyed sex, but she had always thought it was an indulgence. She had not known it was a hunger. Or that she was starving.
They were the inverse and counter to each other. A healer and killer, circling slowly, the push and pull inexorable.
That bitterness in his eyes—she finally understood it. He had been waiting for her betrayal. This was what held him back. He’d known from the beginning, before the possibility had ever occurred to her, and he’d trained her anyway.
It was not a slow, sweet kiss. It was not a kiss caused by alcohol or insecurity. It was born of rage, despair, and desire so hot, it threatened to burn her into oblivion. It was possibly a kiss goodbye.
“I can’t—I can’t—” he kept saying over and over. Helena didn’t know what to do. She ran her fingers through his hair and just held him. “I can’t—I can’t do this again—” he finally gasped out. “I can’t care for someone again. I can’t take it.”
After so many years of healing, necromancy was effortless. There was nothing to hurt. She simply told Soren’s body that it could not die. He would fight as he’d always fought. He would protect them, because he knew how to do that.
He wouldn’t let go. He gripped her tighter. “You are not expendable. You don’t get to push everyone away so that they’ll feel comfortable using you and letting you die.”
“You are not replaceable,” he said, his hands trembling against her shoulders. “You are not required to make your death convenient. You are allowed to be important to people. The reason I’m here—the reason I’m doing any of this—is to keep you alive. To keep you safe. That was the deal.” He searched her face. “They didn’t tell you.” She shook her head, giving a broken sob and—before she let herself think—she kissed him.
“I think I’ve nearly memorised you,” she said. “Especially your eyes. I think I learned to read them first.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and he caught her hand, capturing it against his chest. “I memorised yours, too,” he said after a moment, and then sighed, looking away. “I should have known—the moment I looked into your eyes, I should have known I would never win against you.” She gave a small smile, struggling to stay awake, afraid it might all fade away if she did. “I’ve always thought my eyes were my best feature.” “One of them,” he said quietly.
Kaine Ferron was a dragon, like his family before him. Possessive to the point of self-annihilation. Isolated and deadly, and now he held her in his arms as if she were his. The temptation to give in, to let him have her, and to love him for it terrified her.
“You’re mine,” he said against her lips, his fingers sliding along her throat, tangling in her hair, holding her fast as he dragged her nearer.
He pulled her close, crushing her to his chest. “You’re mine. You swore yourself to me. Now and after the war. I’m going to take care of you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. You don’t have to be lonely. Because you’re mine.”
The world had reduced itself to a single point, Kaine, his breath and body and touch.
“You’re mine. You’re mine.” He’d repeat the words over and over. “Say it. Say you’re mine.” He’d entwine their fingers, press their foreheads together, and sometimes his whole body would tremble. She’d wrap her arms around him, trying to reassure him. “I promise, Kaine. I’m always going to be yours.”
“You’re mine. I’ll always come for you.”
People were terrified. Alchemy and resonance were everything; the idea of being without was like returning to a pre-alchemical stone age.
I have warned you, if something happens to you, I will personally raze the entire Order of the Eternal Flame. That isn’t a threat, it’s 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. Given that the risk to their lives is the only way to make you value your own.”
“You are. It doesn’t matter what happens to you, you will still be mine.”
