Alchemised

by SenLinYu

“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—”

This is the reason why vivimancers can never be trusted, not even for a moment. They are corrupt from conception! This is why this country faces war even now. One moment of leniency and their corrupted natures will seek to spread their contamination.”

“Kaine Ferron has offered to spy for the Resistance,” said Crowther.

“He wants you, Marino,” Crowther said. “Both now and after the war.”

Most healers could practise for decades without consequence, but to heal injuries that cheated death came with a price. It was called the Toll.

Becoming a healer would slowly carve away Helena’s life span, like a candle being burned at both ends.

The tension between past ideals and present realities is what enabled this war.”

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?”

“It’s an odd request, don’t you think? Why would Kaine Ferron, the iron guild heir, want Helena Marino?”

How many people had he killed? He was clearly one of the Undying and had been for years now. How many necrothralls did he control? Why did he ask for her? Why would he want her? If he hurt her, would she be able to heal it all before curfew or would she be trapped there on the Outpost overnight?

“Yes,” she said, without emotion. “I’m yours.” Ferron might own her in body, but her mind and feelings were her own. If he wanted them, he’d have to work harder than that.

“I swear it, on the spirits of the five gods and my own soul, Kaine Ferron, I’m yours as long as I live.”

Murderers are still men, she told herself. And he was merely a boy.

Ferron didn’t want to be ruled by anyone. It was power he craved.

You were right about him, he’s incredibly prideful. Just the idea of being called by me practically threw him into a rage.”

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.

“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.”

“I wasn’t aware that immunity to mind-reading was something you expected from a war prize.”

You have to train yourself to do the reverse. Focus on what doesn’t matter. And remember, whatever you think they saw, unless you draw attention to it or they’re being extremely thorough, they only glimpsed. Don’t focus on it.”

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?”

He lived among immortal men all consumed by their own desire for power and vengeance. He couldn’t possibly risk trusting anyone.

Matias had always overruled the idea of new healers. It seemed Helena’s outburst had convinced him that any quantity of healers would be better than Helena.

“You’re Marino, I know. This is Marta Rumly, Claire Reibeck, and Anne Stoffle. I’m Elain Boyle.”

My betrothed has recently come of age, but I visited her once, and I have no intention of ever doing so again. I keep meaning to write her letters, but somehow,” he shook his head, “they all go astray.”

“I can find sphagnum outside of the city, and that’ll help with the gauze shortage at least. Lots of willow this time of year, too.”

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

She replayed what she’d said. The shock on his face, as if he hadn’t realised what he was like until she’d told him.

She didn’t believe him. He’d mentioned looking forward to her regret. That didn’t imply any permission to change her mind or refuse what was demanded. No, he was altering the terms of their agreement because of what she’d said to him.

Everything else was theatre now, a cover for a mission she was failing.

“I wasn’t leering at you,” she said forcefully. “You look scarcely grown. I don’t fancy boys.” The smirk vanished. He stared at her for a painfully long moment and stood up. “As I recall,” he finally said, his voice clipped, “I never asked you to look at all.”

“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.”

Undying. Murderer. Spy. Target. Tool.

The war had prematurely aged people in all kinds of ways.

“No,” he said quickly. “No. I won’t do that to you again.” She gave a short nod, but she knew better than to believe him now. He’d redefine the terms of the deal every time it was convenient to him.

“You’re too scrawny. No muscle at all. I don’t think I can even do anything with you in this state. I’m going to need to start you with callisthenics before I can even get anywhere with you.”

Your fault. You should have known. Ferron’s a monster. A born traitor, just like his father.

She knew that she was sabotaging her mission, but that wouldn’t matter if he died; the mission was already a failure on every level.

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.

Calculating, Cunning, Devoted, Determined, Ruthless, Unfailing, Unhesitating, and Unyielding.

Save him or kill him.

She was replaceable. Ferron wasn’t.

It was like quicksilver, a puddle of liquid metal on the ground, but the gleam was pearlescent, sort of glowing. When she touched it, it turned solid and cold.

Raw and exposed, it had a burn to it almost like the talisman inside Ferron’s chest, but softer, more familiar somehow. Like an old friend.

Hold his attention. Make him loyal. Or obsessed. Whichever came more readily.

Undying. Murderer. Spy. Target. Tool.

Don’t make me responsible for Kaine Ferron’s death. The stack wobbled, threatening collapse. Then it settled.

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.

It’s his opinion that anyone without the wits and will to survive deserves to suffer and die. Ideally for his amusement.”

“Don’t die, Marino. I might miss you.”

“If you are suspected of any violation of that body, I will have your hands cut off and your soul cursed to sink into the dark fires of the earth. Do I make myself clear?”