The water in you has grown stagnant, Roos, but it is not beyond cleansing.” Niclays kept his grip on the knife, quaking. Stagnant. The dragon spoke true. Everything around him had stilled. His life had stopped, like a clock in water, when Sabran Berethnet had sent him to Orisima. He had failed to solve one mystery since. Not the mystery of eternal life. Not why Jannart had died. He was an alchemist, the unmaker of mystery. And he would not be stagnant again.
