She nodded silently. Soren rested a hand on her shoulder. She could
tell he wanted to say something else, but he just stood up instead.
"We're back for a few days. I'm sure we'll see you around. You should
clean up and get some sleep. You need it."
He walked away.
Helena stayed curled against the wall, too crushed beneath her de-
spair to move.
"Marino."
A cool voice jolted Helena awake.
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.
Helena's stomach shrivelled as she stood stiffly.
They went up a floor to Ilva's office, and she produced a little key
from her pocket to unlock it.
Helena had always admired that Ilva never tried to hide her lack of
resonance, never acted ashamed or apologetic about it. Even though
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most people didn't possess measurable resonance, once swept into the
world of alchemy, the absence sometimes felt startling to encounter. The
guild families staked everything upon their alchemy; their future and
fortunes depended on maintaining their traditional resonance. They
were borderline superstitious about their children's abilities, and so a
Lapse in the family was often taken as a sign that the bloodline was
weak.
But Ilva had never been hidden away by the Holdfasts. The Faith
had long held that resonance was no form of superiority; it was Sol's
will to endow whom he would.
The Holdfasts had given Ilva as many opportunities as any other
Holdfast. She'd been one of the first women to study in the science
department before deciding her interests lay elsewhere, and the first
female non-alchemist to join the Eternal Flame when her brother He-
lios, Luc's grandfather, had become Principate.
Now she was the only family Luc had left, and he had made her
steward, entrusting her to act as on his behalf when he was absent.
Helena entered the office and stopped short.
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 sur-
rounding countries until his right arm was paralysed.
He rarely spoke in the public meetings. He managed logistical mat-
ters, supplies, rations, and dispatching and assigning the Resistance's
noncombatants. Helena didn't know why he was there; if she was going
to be censured, it made more sense for Falcon Matias to be present.
"Sit down," Ilva said, seating herself behind the desk, which was
covered in files.
Helena sat in the chair beside Crowther's. She was so tired it was
difficult not to slump.
"Seems I'm doomed never to have an easy conversation with you,"
Ilva said.
Helena said nothing. There was a long silence, as if Ilva were debat-
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ing where to begin.
"We're losing the war," Ilva finally said.
Helena blinked, the room coming into sharp focus. Her eyes darted
between Ilva and Crowther, who remained silent, both watching for her
reaction.
She didn't know what to say. Most people regarded it as a preor-
dained fact that the Resistance would win. Eventually. The Eternal
Flame was always victorious. In the battle of good and evil, good always
won in the end.
"I know," Helena finally said.
Ilva inclined her head, her gaze seeming to go through Helena. "Luc
is— exceptional. The best of all the Holdfasts, I've always said. When
you've lived as long as I have, you learn how rare it is that anyone with
such capacity for greatness is actually truly good, but Luc is one of those
rare few. It's a tremendous burden, trying to protect someone like that."
Ilva closed her eyes for a moment, her age showing in every line of her
face. "I never expected to be steward to the Principate. I've spent so
much time wondering what Apollo would do, or my brother, or father,
but it's no use—none of them were anything like Luc. He's so earnest,
it pains me." She pressed her hand over her heart and looked directly at
Helena. "I am grateful you at least did not make that proposal with Luc
present."
Helena just pressed her lips together, knowing Ilva's gratitude wasn't
because Helena would have hurt Luc but because he might have agreed
with her. Because he trusted her, valued her perspective even when they
disagreed.
But if she'd spoken with Luc present, and he had listened, everyone
else would have seen her as a serpent, dripping poison in his ears, cor-
rupting their golden heir.
"I stand by what I said."
Crowther let out a breath like a hiss, and the fingers of his hand
twitched. Her eyes caught on the ignition rings decorating his fingers.
"You know it's impossible," Ilva said.
Helena shrugged. "Even when we're losing?"
"Yes, even then," Crowther said, speaking at last through clenched
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304 • SenLinYu
teeth.
"I know you want to help," Ilva said, "but we're not only fighting for
ourselves, but for the soul of Paladia. As Principate, Luc cannot allow
the principles of his forefathers to be betrayed." Ilva looked down at her
hands, folded before her on the desk. "However, the country has been
exhausted by this war. The moral outrage towards necromancy has only
dulled further with time. There are many people like you in the city who
prefer the idea of necrothralls fighting instead of their sons. The Undy-
ing do not ask for food or soldiers, or for their citizens to do without,
and that has allowed their Guild Assembly to legitimise themselves and
claim that they are ones for the people."
"So what do we do?" Helena asked.
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.
There were a few reports later identifying him as likely among the
Undying, but little else was known since.
"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.
Helena's head swivelled sharply. "What?"
Crowther's upper lip curled. "He says it's to avenge his mother." He
inclined his head. "A strange motive, given that Enid Ferron died peace-
fully in the family's city residence a year ago. When he was reminded of
that, he admitted he has a few—conditions for the services he's offer-
ing."
Helena stared at him expectantly, but it was Ilva who spoke.
"He wants a full pardon for all of his wartime activities."
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That seemed an obvious demand, although entirely out of the ques-
tion. Luc would never pardon his father's murderer.
There was something about the way Ilva said it that made Helena
feel that a pardon was not all Ferron had asked for.
"And . . . ?"
"He wants you, Marino," Crowther said. "Both now and after the
war."
Crowther said it casually, but Ilva's lips went white.
Helena sat looking between them, certain she was misunderstand-
ing, but there was only silence.
"His information would be invaluable to us," Ilva said without meet-
ing Helena's eyes.
Helena shook head slowly, not ready for the conversation to move on
to estimates of value.
Crowther and Ilva were seated too far apart to look at simultane-
ously. She had to keep glancing between them; Ilva was not looking at
her, while Crowther studied her with a look of impassive curiosity.
Helena's voice failed twice before she managed to speak. "But—why
would he—I don't think Ferron knows who I am."
Crowther gave a slow reptilian blink. "The two of you were aca-
demically competitive, weren't you?"
"W-Well, yes technically, but—it was just the national exam scores.
We never— never spoke. He was guild, and you know how they were—
and I was— I was . . ."
The thirty- six- hour hospital shift had dulled her brain to the point
that it was only then that she only realised Ilva had not brought her into
the office to censure her at all.
She looked between them again. "Are you asking me to—"
"We need that information," Crowther said. "We have spies, but
none at the level Ferron can offer. This would be direct access to intel-
ligence we often spend months trying to piece together." He tilted his
head, studying her sideways. "Given your impassioned advocacy today
that the Resistance do whatever is necessary to win this war without
thought to personal cost . . ." He smiled. "We thought you might be
interested."
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306 • SenLinYu
Helen's mouth was so dry, she could barely swallow. Her words stuck
in her throat.
"We won't force you," Ilva said quickly. "It's only if you agree. You can
say no."
"Yes," Crowther said with another thin, empty smile. "Ferron was
quite specific that you have to be willing."
This had to be a test. They wouldn't do this, not after everything . . .
Ilva wouldn't sell her.
"You can have a day to think it over," Ilva said.
"But an answer now would be preferable, for all parties involved,"
Crowther said pointedly.
Ilva's fingers curled into a fist. "She should have time to think, Jan."
Those words finally made it real.
Ilva had never offered Helena time to think about any of the irre-
versible decisions she'd been asked to make. Helena almost felt the now
nearly invisible incision scar just below her navel. Ilva, who was always
calm, who always did whatever she considered best for Luc regardless
of the cost, had finally found a choice that even her conscience strug-
gled with.
Not a test then.
"I don't need time to think," Helena said. "You say we're losing the
war, and this is the only option, so—I'll do it." As she spoke, she could
feel the blood draining from her face, head and body growing light.
Ilva stared at her and then at Crowther, and she gave a sharp nod.
"All right."
Helena's fingers had gone numb at some point during the conversa-
tion. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak again. "How will you
explain it—once I'm gone?"
Ilva cleared her throat. "Oh, you won't be leaving. Not immediately
anyway. To start, you'll act as liaison between the Resistance and Ferron.
You'll see him— what was it?"
"Twice weekly," Crowther said.
"Yes. You'll go every four days, acting as his point of contact, and
pass the information he gives you to Crowther, who will ensure it
reaches the right members of the Council and the commanders. The
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Alchemised • 307
rest of the time, you'll remain here, and everything will operate as usual."
"Oh," was all Helena could say.
She should feel relieved by that, but she didn't feel anything. The
room was tunnelling, Crowther and Ilva were down a long telescope.
Even their voices were far away.
"Given the sensitive nature of this arrangement, there will be no of-
ficial records or acknowledgement of any kind," Crowther said. "And
under absolutely no circumstances are Luc or any other friends or ac-
quaintances you may possess to have any idea of this. Do you under-
stand, Marino?"
"Yes." Her ears were ringing.
Crowther said something else about healing herself as necessary to
avoid raising questions. She couldn't make out all the words.
She just nodded and said yes again.
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CHAPTER 24
Februa 1786
It was dawn when Helena reached the top floors of the Al-
chemy Tower. What had once been the Holdfast family's city residence
was now rooms for Luc and the paladins and a few other alchemists.
As Helena came around the bend of the hallway, the door ahead
swung open, and Luc walked out.
"Hel!" His face lit up for an instant, but then he stopped short.
"What happened?"
She stared at him, stunned that he'd read everything in her expres-
sion so quickly. Then she realised he was staring at her clothes.
She looked down. She was still covered in dried blood.
Soren and Lila both emerged from the room behind Luc, fully
armed. The paladins would never make the mistake of believing any-
where was safe for the Principate after what happened to Apollo.
"It's not my blood," Helena said. "Hospital shift. I just got off."
"Oh, that's a relief." Luc was clearly distracted; he took her by the
shoulders. "Did you hear the news?"
His voice was buoyant, and his eyes alight.
Helena couldn't remember the last time he'd looked like this.
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Alchemised • 309
"We retook the trade district during the battle, means we're on track
to get the ports by summer."
"Really?" She tried to force some excitement into her voice.
If Soren hadn't mentioned that the battle had been considered a suc-
cess, she would have sounded completely disbelieving. She knew it was
strategically significant. City warfare was fraught with danger and com-
plicated logistics. All the levels and districts and zones of the city were
porous. Attacks could come from any direction. To have captured such
a large district was a remarkable success.
How could that battle be a victory, when so many had died?
Because the ports meant food, resources, and medical supplies. Ev-
erything that had been rationed for months. The supplies smuggled
from Novis only ever took off the edge off their shortages. If they had
the ports in time for summer, they'd be able to get the quantities they
were desperate for.
"We've got a new trick," he said, and smiled again. "You know those
lumithium pieces we find sometimes after burning the liches and Un-
dying? If you can rip it out, it kills them. All their necrothralls, too."
Helena stared at him in surprise. "How'd you figure that out?"
The only reliable method for permanently removing the Undying
from combat was by burning them so hot and fast that they couldn't
regenerate, but when on fire, the Undying and the necrothralls would
often plunge straight into the nearest cluster of combatants.
That was why there were always so many burn wounds.
"Heard a rumour about it, so we figured we'd give it a try. Lila got the
first one." Luc grinned, nodding over his shoulder. "We're going out to
celebrate. Just a few of us. You want to wash up and come?"
The no she knew she should give stuck in her throat. She didn't want
to be left alone with her thoughts. It would be so nice to see Luc happy.
"I— " she started to say, but she caught sight of Soren's face, and he
gave the faintest warning shake of his head.
The words died in her throat. Of course she couldn't go. How had
she already forgotten what she'd just done in front of the Council?
Even if people had been ordered to forget it, they wouldn't if she
were seen anywhere near Luc.
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310 • SenLinYu
"I can't," she said.
His face fell. "Just for a little while," he said, and attempted a con-
spiratorial smile, the way he used to grin when he was coaxing her away
from homework. "You don't have to stay long."
Soren spoke up. "Let her sleep, Luc. She was probably in the hospital
longer than we were fighting."
Luc ignored him. "Breakfast," he said, setting his jaw stubbornly "At
least breakfast. You're never in the mess. Go wash up. We'll wait."
"No. I really can't," she said. "I need to sleep. Maybe next time, all
right?"
Her voice wobbled.
His face fell. "All right, if you really don't want to." He stepped back
and forced a smile. "I'm holding you to that, though. Next time."
Helena's normally tidy room looked as though a tornado had
blown through. Lila had returned in full force, which meant there was a
pile of filthy clothes, fireproof amiantos under-armour, and padding
piled in one corner, while armour, weaponry, and holsters and harnesses
were spread across Lila's unmade bed as if she'd emptied her entire
trunk getting dressed.
Despite the impression of coolheaded, sharp-eyed talent that Lila
radiated as paladin, behind closed doors she could be chaos personified.
Off duty, she was twitchy and incapable of keeping still or on any task
that didn't interest her, and she left things everywhere. Weeks after Lila
departed, Helena would find her things in odd places. Mostly padding
or pieces of scale mail or little gears for her rappelling harness that Hel-
ena had to hope weren't important.
Helena stood, staring tiredly at the mess for a moment before winc-
ing at the sight of her reflection in Lila's vanity.
She was covered in dried blood. She wasn't sure if her uniform could
even be bleached clean. It was a pity that only amiantos fabric could be
whitened by being thrown in fire.
She forced herself to sit down at Lila's vanity and remove the pins
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Alchemised • 311
holding her braids in place before she stripped for a shower. Her sun-
stone 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, repre-
senting each of the seven planets, except the sun, centre of all.
Ilva had given it to her when Helena returned to the city and for-
mally made her vows as a healer.
It had been a private ceremony, an informal recitation beneath the
Eternal Flame's light with only the steward and Falcon present as wit-
nesses because Ilva did not want Luc to have any idea about the kinds
of promises Helena made in his name. He already chafed against the
traditional vows his paladins had made about protecting him. Luc didn't
want anyone to die for him, and certainly not to promise to as his pala-
dins did.
Helena had also promised to.
Most healers could practise for decades without consequence, but to
heal injuries that cheated death came with a price. It was called the Toll.
To heal a mortal wound or reanimate the dead required vitality, a
drop of life itself. The greater the scale of the work, the greater the cost.
Healing came with the highest cost; that was why the Faith considered
it a purifying act and allowed its practice while forbidding all other
forms of vivimancy.
Becoming a healer would slowly carve away Helena's life span, like a
candle being burned at both ends. Someday, she didn't know when, her
resonance would begin to wither and fade, and Helena would go with
it. She felt it sometimes while healing, a sensation like sand in an hour-
glass being diverted, flowing from her fingertips and into her patients.
She never knew how much was left, just that she was spending it.
After the avowal ceremony, when Matias had gone, Ilva had stopped
her and draped an amulet around Helena's neck, tucking it under the
neckline of her uniform.
"It's traditional for a healer to wear a holy amulet," Ilva had said.
"This crest is only worn by the Holdfasts and their paladins, but I think
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312 • SenLinYu
it right that you wear it, too."
Now Helena stood, staring at the amulet, cold and hollow inside.
The protruding sunrays bit against her palm, leaving a circle of indenta-
tions, threatening to break skin. She squeezed harder until they sank
into her palm and her blood ran across the gold.
Helena woke because her hands hurt, a bone-deep ache radiating
from her palms to fingertips. Repetitive strain injuries were common in
alchemists. She started to massage her right palm to try to loosen the
muscles, wincing. The circle of cuts from the amulet reopened, blood
trickling down her wrist. She should heal them—blood poisoning was
a severe risk in the hospital—but instead she lay there staring at them
until they stopped oozing blood.
Finally she dressed and braided her hair and headed for the
hospital—only to be informed that she had no shifts for the next two
days. The news should have been a relief, but being left to her thoughts
was the last thing she wanted.
Helena departed reluctantly, compiling a list of tasks she'd been put-
ting off. She'd check the hospital inventory first, and then—
As she came around the corner, she found Crowther standing in the
hallway, studying a mural of Orion Holdfast.
Every corner of the Institute was beautifully decorated with various
forms of the alchemical arts, but that mural was Helena's favourite. She
often found herself in front of it after her worst shifts, or when Luc
hadn't come back for a long time.
In most of the depictions of the Holdfast Principates, there was a
sort of indifference in the expressions, likely intended to make them
look regal and divine. In this mural, there was a tenderness to Orion's
face, a hint of a smile.
It made him look like Luc.
The sun's rays were a halo behind Orion, and he wore the radiant
crown on his head. His flaming sword was laid aside, still piercing the
Necromancer's skull, while cradled in his palms was a large orb of bril-
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Alchemised • 313
liant light.
Whenever Helena stood in front of it, she told herself that someday
there would be paintings of Luc like that.
"I can see why you like this one," Crowther said, glancing sidelong at
her.
Helena knew little about Jan Crowther, even though he'd joined the
faculty at the Institute when Helena was fifteen.
He'd been a sponsored student, like her, brought to Paladia as a child
after being orphaned by a necromancer in the far north-eastern reaches
of the continent. He'd attended the Institute, joined the Eternal Flame,
and fought in the crusades, where he'd been injured. When he'd joined
the Institute faculty, students expected he was there to train Luc, given
the rarity of pyromancers, but Luc had nothing to do with Crowther.
After less than a year, Crowther left again, only to immediately return
after Principate Apollo's assassination.
He turned and stared at her. His right arm was strapped tightly
against his torso with a harness. Although he still wore ignition rings on
his left hand, she'd never seen him use them.
"My office, I think," he said, gesturing down the hall towards the
Alchemy Tower. Helena said nothing. They rode the lift to one of the
faculty floors, and he led the way to a door with his name on it.
His hand brushed across a metal panel, and the door clicked and
opened.
The office within was clearly lived in. One wall was covered in maps,
not only of Paladia but also of the neighbouring countries and other
continents. A dilapidated sofa was crammed in a corner.
There was scarcely floor space to walk.
"Sit," he said, slipping around his desk and seating himself. The only
window in the room was directly behind him, leaving him cast in
shadow. "What do you know about the Ferron family's history?"
Helena sat, staring at her lap rather than trying to make out
Crowther's expressions.
"Just the general things," she said. "They were one of the early com-
mon guild families. Their resonance is mostly for steel alloys. They have
iron mines, and a few generations back they developed the methods of
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314 • SenLinYu
industrial steel manufacturing. Most of the infrastructure in Paladia
nowadays is made with Ferron steel."
Crowther's silhouette nodded. "The Ferron family is arguably older
than Paladia. They were iron alchemists when the basin was still a flood-
plain; their early resonance and techniques were developed finding bog
iron."
Helena wasn't sure how that information was relevant, but she sup-
posed anything about the Ferrons was useful to know.
"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?"
Helena tried to remember. "Is it a lizard?"
"No." Crowther shoved a slip of paper towards her.
Helena picked it up and stared. 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 rep-
resent 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 in-
stead of the serpent. A mythical creature is an unusual choice either
way."
She tried to hand it back.
"Look. Again."
She sighed, not sure what Crowther wanted her to see.
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Alchemised • 315
"Squint if you need to."
She narrowed her eyes, letting the image blur. "Oh." She felt like an
idiot. "They chose a dragon because the wings make it look like the
symbol for iron."
"Yes," Crowther said. Her jaw clenched at the condescension in his
voice. "It says a great deal about how the family sees themselves. A circle
is without hierarchy, and yet in this crest, it is iron that forms it."
Crowther drummed his fingers on his desk. "Iron will never be a noble
metal, but it is indisputable at this point that Ferron steel has built as
much of Paladia as Holdfast gold. The Holdfasts ruled for nearly five
hundred celestial years by divine right, but the rest of the world has
been catching up with our technological revelations. The tension be-
tween past ideals and present realities is what enabled this war."
"What do you mean?"
Crowther's eyes gleamed in the shadows.
"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?"
Helena was dumbstruck to hear such criticism uttered by a Council
member.
"If you think that, why are you here?"
"Because I wish to see every necromancer wiped from the face of this
earth. That is the purpose of the Eternal Flame and the reason for the
Principate's crown. I will see this city burned to ash sooner than allow
necromancers to use it as their stronghold," Crowther said, baring his
teeth. "As long as the Eternal Flame is faithful to ridding the world of
necromancers, I will be faithful to it."
His words were chilling.
"Then taking Ferron's offer is a compromise—working with one
necromancer to stop others."
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316 • SenLinYu
"That and because we have no other options at this point," Crowther
said, waving his hand.
Helena did not point out her alternative. "Still, I would like to know
that there's some tangible purpose to this deal. I am the only healer the
Resistance has, and if Ferron—" She couldn't bring herself to verbalise
what Ferron could do. "Based on everything you've said, Ferron doesn't
seem to have any reason to help the Eternal Flame. I don't understand
how it could be worth it to trust him."
Crowther only scoffed. "I'm sure Ilva has filled your head with pretty
stories about your importance, but you're easily replaceable. We already
have several candidates under consideration."
The room went briefly out of focus, and Helena felt as if she'd been
kicked in the stomach.
Crowther's features were just visible enough that she could see his
cheeks stretch as he smiled. "As to why I believe in the legitimacy of
Kaine's offer, it is because I know he is not loyal or concerned with our
cause that I believe him earnest in this. The Ferrons have spent the last
century digging into their family lineage and convincing themselves of
some imaginary right to rule that was usurped by the Holdfasts. They
were not looking for someone else to serve when Morrough appeared;
they thought he was a means to an end, an outsider with the resources
to challenge and undermine the Principate for them. But now Mor-
rough holds too much of an advantage. Ferron is making the gamble
that he can sabotage the Undying by aiding us until the scales even."
"Because if the Undying and the Eternal Flame destroy each other,
then— "
"Who better to rule the ashes than the family whose steel can re-
build this city?"
Helena straightened, starting to see the strategy. "So he'll betray us
eventually, but not until we're more of a threat to the Undying."
"Yes."
She nodded slowly, ignoring the sick knot in her stomach.
"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."
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Alchemised • 317
"What do you mean?"
Crowther flicked two fingers; they were so long they reminded Hel-
ena 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."
"The lumithium," Helena said, remembering Luc's words, the "ru-
mour" they'd heard about.
"Yes. The vulnerability of the 'talismans,' as he calls them, was Fer-
ron's sample of the information he could offer. It's likely to be a very
beneficial arrangement for us in the immediate future."
And when it wasn't? What would happen to her then?
"However . . . I have no interest in accepting Ferron's crumbs. We
will take advantage of this."
Helena leaned forward. "How?"
Crowther raised his eyebrows, an odd smile playing at his lips. "Be-
cause he made a mistake when he asked for you."
Helena's heart stuttered.
"He wanted us to believe the reason for his spying was his mother.
When I wouldn't let him get away with that lie, he was forced to impro-
vise, and he did so by inventing an excuse of wanting you. Quite the
misstep, I'd say."
Her hand clenched, and she could feel the punctures in her palm
began to bleed, sticking to the inside of her glove. "Why?"
Crowther leaned forward, his thin features emerging from the shad-
ows.
"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 anything, cited a crisis of conscience, de-
manded a mountain of gold, but instead; he wants . . . you? It's an irra-
tional 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 weak-
ness, 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
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318 • SenLinYu
during those visits, you will do anything he wants."
"I know."
"You will also make a study of him. It is your job now to notice ev-
erything. Discover his weaknesses, his secret desires. Make use of that
allegedly clever mind of yours. Let him think he has all the power and
gradually make him begin craving things he can't demand from you.
Whatever passing interest prompted this, I want you to turn it into an
obsession that consumes him."
She stared at him, incredulous. "I don't have any idea of how to do
that."
"Well, then it's fortunate that you have an advantage over him."
Helena stared at Crowther, at a loss.
"Ferron was already gone when your vivimancy was discovered. He
doesn't know what you are. With your abilities, you can make him feel
however you want him to feel about you. Enthral him."
Helena sat stunned. "I've never used my vivimancy to—"
"But you could, couldn't you?" His face hardened, dark eyes narrow-
ing. This was the point of the conversation, the destination he'd been
leading her to the whole time. "Your job, Marino, is to use any means
necessary to bring Ferron to his knees. You will use those cursed abili-
ties of yours to make him forget he ever wanted anything but you."
Her throat closed, her face burning. "I don't think that's even possi-
ble— "
"Then make it possible. Or are you just the compliant lamb that Ilva
sees you as?"
Helena flinched.
"If you only want to be a victim, then by all means, go. Or you can do
things my way, and Kaine Ferron will not be your owner, he'll be your
target, and your job will be to get as much information out of him as
possible until it is we who have no more need of him." He gave a thin
smile. "The choice is yours."
When Crowther finally let her leave, Helena felt as drained as if
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Alchemised • 319
she'd just pulled another three-day hospital shift. He told her he'd "send
word" when he had a date and location for the first liaison, and until
then she was to behave as usual.
She went to the library archives and found old copies of the newspa-
pers that had been printed after Principate Apollo's assassination.
There'd been a picture of Ferron included. His student portrait, taken
only a week before.
She stared at the boy in the black-and- white photograph.
He was in his student uniform, the crisp white collar that kept the
chin up, and the pins on his jacket with his guild sigils, iron and steel.
Guild students only ever wore their guild elements, while Helena had
been required to wear a sash with pins for all the metals she was ranked
as competent in, as if she didn't already stick out enough.
He had dark hair but pale Northern skin and eyes, and his expres-
sion was tense with just a hint of prideful defiance in it, as if he'd known
then what the photo would be used for.
She studied him, memorising the details, trying to imagine what
he'd be like now, more than five years later.
When she ran out of newspapers to read, she checked out several
medical textbooks, as well as studies and theories on human behaviour
and the mind.
She couldn't find a reason why she wouldn't be able to emotionally
and physically enthrall him with vivimancy the way Crowther wanted,
but that didn't necessarily mean it was doable. Just theoretically possi-
ble.
It couldn't be anything too overt, only enough to alter the heart rate
and stimulate certain hormones and reactions to stimuli until there was
an ingrained physiological response. Using vivimancy would simply be
taking a shortcut in old behavioural experiments.
Helena knew from years of healing that most people couldn't tell
when resonance was being used on them unless the manipulation was
overt. That was part of what made people so afraid of vivimancers: the
idea that something could be done without their knowledge.
But if Ferron ever suspected it, he'd kill her in a heartbeat.
Which meant it would be a gradual process, requiring her to know
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320 • SenLinYu
Ferron intimately, to be able to read his body and emotions. The feelings
she evoked would have to seem natural. Subtle as poison until he was
too far gone for a cure.
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CHAPTER 25
Februa 1786
The liaison point selected was on the factory Outpost north
of Headquarters. The Outpost was a huge satellite structure built in the
river just below the dam, erected atop enormous pillars that held it
above even the highest storm floods, but near enough to benefit directly
from the hydroelectricity generated by the dam.
The factories there had been shuttered by the war, and the Outpost
decimated by both sides during early attempts to control it for potential
weapons manufacturing. There'd been such massive and extensive de-
struction, it was eventually rendered virtually defunct. Once in ruins, it
wasn't strategic enough for either side to prioritise holding it, and since
disputing the territory further could have endangered the dam, it was
mutually abandoned.
Neither side wanted Paladia without electricity, or waist-deep in
water.
Even before the war, Helena had considered the Outpost one of the
ugliest things she'd ever seen, a brutal black stain on a picturesque land-
scape. In addition to being an eyesore, the Outpost had filled the skies
with black smoke, poisoned the water, and left vile bogs of foul sludge
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322 • SenLinYu
throughout the wetlands that flooded into the water slums and low
districts during Ascendance.
She'd never gone anywhere near it.
In the late evening on the designated day, she changed out of her
uniform, leaving all her possessions carefully packed in her trunk, in-
cluding the sunstone amulet. She hadn't worn it since the meeting, the
mere sight of it making her feel sick.
She dressed in civilian clothes that were as nondescript as possible.
With her hood pulled up, hiding how dark her hair was, she was hardly
memorable. Just a civilian trying to stay out of the war's path. The Un-
dying didn't usually bother civilians; they preferred Resistance soldiers
as their necrothralls because they came armed and trained to fight.
The route was relatively simple. She only had to walk north from
Headquarters and cross the bridge to the mainland. Because the north-
ern tip of the island was built on the plateau, she didn't have navigate
through the various levels of the city. The roadway gate was closed. The
guards stationed at the pedestrian door checked the papers and identi-
fication Crowther had provided and let her through.
The river swirled below, not even flood season yet, just all the water
from the mountain storms.
She reached the mainland and followed the road to the dam, then
took a second bridge across the water to the Outpost. She was startled
by the number of people there. Because the facility was abandoned,
many of the poorer civilians who weren't alchemists and were afraid to
ally with either side had fled there: The Outpost was the only place re-
moved from the fighting that didn't require enduring the winter brutal-
ity of the mountains.
The Outpost was a combination of a labyrinth and a city. The huge
metal and concrete walls made it claustrophobic. The factories were
heavily sabotaged in ways only possible with alchemy. Bizarre transmu-
tations and alchemisation used to destroy complex machinery. The ten-
ements were more intact, and heavily occupied. The building she'd been
directed to find had the alchemical symbol for iron set into its decora-
tive mosaic doorway.
Helena entered, trying not to seem lost.
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Alchemised • 323
There'd been a skylight far overhead, but now its glass covered the
floor. Only a few of the units had doors. Second floor, to the left, the
fourth door. The number beside it was scratched off.
Helena pulled off her gloves and knocked firmly, trying not to be too
loud.
Nothing happened. She waited and checked the map. Perhaps she
was too early.
Well, she'd wait. She stood, externally calm while her heart beat her
blood into a storm.
The door abruptly swung open, an electric lantern's light spilling out
into the landing. Kaine Ferron stood framed in the doorway.
He looked identical to his portrait in the paper, as if he had not aged
a day. Five years and time had not touched him.
He didn't even look seventeen. There was a coltishness to his build,
the kind that boys had just after a growth spurt before filling out. Even
his dark hair was combed in the same way he'd worn it at the Institute,
as if he'd stepped straight through the years.
He was in a stone-grey uniform that almost matched the hazel-grey
of his eyes. It was the uniform of upper-middle-ranked members of the
Undying. The higher the rank, the darker the uniform. The generals
wore all black.
He stared languidly down at her with his eerily youthful face.
The circumstances were already odious, but somehow what she felt
least prepared for was that he'd look so young.
She stood gaping at him until he finally moved, holding the door
slightly wider in invitation, creating just enough space for her to squeeze
by if she brushed against him.
Her heart caught in her throat as she stepped inside.
As she crossed the threshold, she was torn between wanting to scan
the unit and being afraid to take her eyes off Ferron for an instant.
In the split second it took her to pivot, her eyes raced across the
room, taking in as much detail as possible. It was simple and empty.
One room with dirty walls and a cracked tile floor, furnished with only
a wooden table and two chairs. No bed, no sofa. She didn't know if she
should be relieved or terrified.
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324 • SenLinYu
Her body threatened to tremble uncontrollably. She barely heard the
door closing over the blood roaring in her ears.
She faced him, trying to mirror his languid indifference, to keep
from betraying how scared she was. His fingers barely brushed the sur-
face, but she heard a mechanism shift inside it before the click of the
lock, trapping her.
As he turned to face her, she spoke.
"Ferron, I understand you want to help the Resistance." Her voice
came from somewhere far away. Her mind was churning. Racing ahead.
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 be she trapped there on
the Outpost overnight?
The questions were clamouring in her head as dread crawled through
her like a parasite. She felt it insinuating in her bones, finding every
crack in her resolve to burrow into.
"You understand the terms?" he asked, tilting his head appraisingly.
His face might be deceptively young, but his eyes weren't.
She met them. "A full pardon. And me. In exchange for your infor-
mation."
"Now and after the war." His eyes glittered as he said it.
Helena didn't let herself react. After years in the hospital, she'd
learned to ignore her feelings and do her job.
"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.
Get closer, Ferron. Become so obsessed with finding my vulnerabilities
that you don't notice the ones I'm making in you.
He smirked, and as he did, his true age suddenly showed starkly, not
a physical vanishing but a look of spite so unmistakably hardened with
time that it temporarily erased the façade of youth.
"Promise?" he asked.
"If you want."
He flashed a quick grin, the expression slicing like a scythe across his
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Alchemised • 325
face, more a wound than a real emotion. "Swear it then. I want to hear
you say it as a vow."
She didn't let herself pause or think, just pressed a hand over her
heart. "I swear it, on the spirits of the five gods and my own soul, Kaine
Ferron, I'm yours so as long as I live."
It was only after she'd spoken that she thought about the other vows
she'd made in her life. All the contradictory things she'd promised. She'd
have to find a way to reconcile them all somehow.
At those words, he stepped towards her.
There was a predatory curiosity in his eyes, like a wolf stalking prey.
Before he could touch her, she blurted out, "Until we win, you can't
do anything to me that will interfere with—with my other responsi-
bilities in the Resistance. I have to be able to go back without—without
drawing attention."
He paused, an eyebrow rising. "Right . . . I'll have to keep you alive
until this is over." He sighed. "Well, I suppose that gives us something
to look forward to." He leaned towards her, bringing his face close to
hers. "We'll save the real fun for later."
"I want you to swear it," she said, and her voice shook.
He laid a hand over the place a heart should be. She wasn't sure if the
Undying had hearts.
"I swear," he said, exaggeratedly reverent, his breath ghosting across
her neck, "on the gods and my soul"— he laughed as he said it—"I won't
interfere."
She craned her head back, eyes narrowed, suspicious of his coopera-
tion. She knew it was an empty vow, but why play along? He had all the
leverage, and instead of exploiting it, he was pretending like this was
some kind of mutual agreement.
Noticing her scrutiny, he straightened and walked around her, tsking
when she tried to keep him in her line of sight. His eyes were aglow
with amusement.
"My, but you're suspicious of me, aren't you? Let me guess: You think
this is all a ploy on my part, and that I'll change my mind the moment
I've gotten what I want."
Helena went violently still.
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326 • SenLinYu
"Yes, that's exactly what you think." He stopped short. "How's this?
As a token of my—sincerity, I won't touch you. Yet." His eyes trailed
lazily down. "After all, I did specify willing, and you don't look very will-
ing."
She should have felt relief but instead she was horrified by his pro-
posal. This wasn't what she wanted. She was supposed to begin her mis-
sion at once; the longer it took to start, the more likely it was that
Ferron would lose interest before she had a hold on him. But how was
she supposed say that without making her intentions obvious?
He seemed to notice her discomfort at the offer and gave a slow,
wolfish smile. "In the meantime, I'll let you go running back to your
precious Eternal Flame with my information and find other means of
enjoying your company."
The thought of consenting to whatever awful thing he wanted was
bad enough, but being forced to remain dreading it was worse.
She slid a hand behind her back, curling it into a tight fist until her
nails bit into her palm, the almost healed cuts all throbbing, threatening
to split open again.
"That's—generous of you," she said in what she hoped was a con-
vincingly meek voice.
"Yes, I am generous. However." Ferron suddenly looked appraising.
"I do think you should give me something, at least." The smile he flashed
was viperine. "After all, I did have to give up some rather precious infor-
mation to earn you. Surely, I deserve something to warm my cold heart."
Helena's stomach dropped, her equilibrium vanishing.
"What— what do you want?" she asked in a stiff voice.
She tried to calculate the likely options, but she was already drown-
ing in possibilities. She didn't like to think about the kinds of things
men considered a favour.
"You don't sound very enthusiastic." He pulled an expression of
mock grief, pouting and looking so young that she almost physically
recoiled.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked through gritted teeth. "Tell
me, and I'll do it."
He gave a barking laugh. "My gods, Marino. You are desperate."
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Alchemised • 327
"I'm here. I assumed that was obvious," she said in a deadened voice,
unable to look at him anymore.
"Well, since you're a void of creativity when it comes to gratitude:
Kiss me like you mean it," he said, and then as if it were an afterthought,
he added, "Based on your performance, I'll decide how much informa-
tion I feel inspired to part with."
A kiss? Just a kiss? That was better than she'd expected, but she still
didn't want to go anywhere near him.
He was goading her. That was obvious. From the moment she
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 hu-
miliation 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
his real plan.
She had to remember that.
She stepped towards him.
Ferron was meticulously composed, from his smoothly manicured
nails to his ageless face, all hiding the monster that lurked beneath his
skin.
His pupils were contracted, his eyes a flat with disinterest.
She gathered her resonance until she could feel its hum in her fin-
gertips and tempered it faint as spider silk.
She wouldn't manipulate him yet—it was much too early—but the
kiss was an opportunity to touch him, to discover what he felt like. And
what he felt for her. It would give her a starting point.
She slid her arms around his neck, not letting her bare hands touch
his skin yet. Her fingers skimmed across the fine dark wool of his coat,
pulling him forward.
He smirked as he leaned in, like it was fun.
When their lips were almost touching, she hesitated, almost expect-
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328 • SenLinYu
ing him to shove his hand straight into her chest and rip her heart out,
the way he'd killed Luc's father.
She trembled, and she knew he felt it.
His breath smelled like juniper: peppery, sharp, and fresh-cut.
His eyes were languid again, lashes low as he met her eyes. She won-
dered what he saw when he looked at her.
Murderers are still men, she told herself. And he was merely a boy.
So she gave him a slow, sweet kiss, the way she could imagined her-
self kissing someone she was keen on. She didn't try to make it enticing
or seductive. She let it be tentative. A first kiss, because it was her first
kiss.
As she kissed him, she let her fingertips brush the back of his neck,
fingers sliding up through his hair, following the curvature of his skull,
and then she let a whisper of her resonance slip beneath his skin.
Ferron was not human.
She knew that the Undying were unnatural, but she hadn't been pre-
pared for how unnatural he would feel.
She could sense him, map him as she might anyone else, the beat of
his heart, his nerves, veins, the currents of energy, all the interconnected
facets of a body, but it felt wrong. Like trying to touch a mirror's reflec-
tion rather than a person.
Ferron was there, physically. And he was alive, technically. But he
was immutable in a way that her mind simply refused to comprehend.
She couldn't let herself focus on it. She had to pay attention to what
she was supposed to be doing, which was kissing him. Yet she found his
physiology far more interesting than his mouth.
She let one of her hands slide down, palm pressed against his face,
giving herself more direct contact, pulling him closer. She was losing
focus, but his body fascinated her.
How was this possible? She couldn't help but press a little closer.
The tempo of his heartbeat altered and then altered again.
Her mind abruptly recalled the physical reality of what she was
doing: Her arm was around his neck, one hand on his face, body arched
against his to counter the height disparity.
He jerked away from her.
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Alchemised • 329
It startled her, but she dropped her hands immediately, trying not to
breathe hard or seem as disoriented as she felt. Had he noticed her
resonance? She searched for signs of suspicion or anger in his expres-
sion.
His eyes were darker, and he looked significantly less composed with
his hair rumpled and falling over his face.
"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 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."
There was a pause.
He'd probably been expecting her to bite him.
Heat rose across her face. She wished she had, but his physiology
was so interesting. She couldn't just encounter something like that and
ignore it.
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, al-
most 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."
She inspected the ring. Mirrored entanglement was the way her call
bracelet from the hospital worked. It was a form of transmutation that
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330 • SenLinYu
was incredibly rare. Few alchemists had the ability to manage it. It made
the pieces very valuable, but they were only useful as long as the en-
tangled pieces were accounted for.
The Eternal Flame kept a strict tally of everyone who carried one.
She tried slipping it on the forefinger of her left hand since it was
her non- dominant transmutation hand but found it too small. She re-
signed herself, sliding it down her left ring finger.
"My resonance for silver is only passable, but I think I can manage a
temperature shift. Do I call you the same way?" she asked.
"No," he said sharply, his voice startlingly vehement. "You don't ever
summon me. You burn me, ever, and this deal is off. I'm not a fucking
dog. If you want me, you can come here and wait or leave a note, and I'll
get around to it when I have time."
The viciousness was startling after all his mocking calm. Crowther
was right: Ferron didn't want to be ruled by anyone. It was power he
craved.
"Well, I can't always come immediately," she said. "It could be no-
ticed if I'm going out at odd times. Barring emergencies, it'd be better if
we stick to a schedule."
"Fine."
"Every Saturnis and Martiday I go out for medical supplies just be-
fore daybreak. No one will notice if I come back a little later. Would that
work for you? I could do different days, if you'd rather."
He nodded slowly. "That's fine. If I can't make it for some reason,
come back again in the evening."
"What if I can't?" Helena asked, not understanding why he was so
averse to using the rings for more than basic signalling. The trek to the
Outpost was hardly short enough to be worth making unnecessarily.
"I'm sure I can figure it out."
He looked at her a moment longer before reaching into his cloak,
pulling out two envelopes, and selecting one.
"My first instalment then," he said as he held it out.
She took it from him. It was addressed to an Aurelia Ingram.
"Crowther has the cipher already," Ferron said as she stood, studying
the address. "I trust he has the sense not to use everything at once."
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Alchemised • 331
"Your service will be one of the Resistance's most carefully protected
secrets. We're not going to do anything that might risk compromising
you."
He gave a vague nod. "Then I'll see you on Martiday. Now get out,
and make sure you take a different route when you leave."
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CHAPTER 26
Februa 1786
"What do you mean your resonance felt wrong?" Crowther said
when Helena finished reciting all that had happened. He'd summoned
her to his office the moment she'd walked through the gates.
Helena crossed her arms, hugging herself.
"I assume it's because he's Undying. It was different than I expected.
I'm not sure if I can transmute him. He looks identical to his student
portrait; maybe he can't be changed. He doesn't feel like it's possible,
and even if it is, I'm not sure I can do this subtly enough."
"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 neces-
sary to reach their secrets. That is what you are a part of now."
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Alchemised • 333
Helena glared at him. "I know how to perform the physiological
aspects; it's the regeneration that I'm not sure about. Unless you have
one of the Undying on hand, a test subject isn't any use."
Crowther sat back and looked sour. "Not at present, but it's possible
if need be." His eyes narrowed. "Did he give you that ring?"
Helena slipped it off, sliding it across the desk. "It's entangled. He
intends to use it to summon me in emergencies. He was very specific
that the deal's off if I ever use it in reverse. You were right about him,
he's incredibly prideful. Just the idea of being called by me practically
threw him into a rage."
Crowther scrutinised the ring, rolling it between his fingers. "Is this
silver?"
"Yes."
He nodded. "He must have inherited it from his mother. She was a
silver alchemist here at the Institute. Minor noble family but passable
talent. Atreus was quite taken with her for a time."
"You knew them?" Helena stared curiously at Crowther.
"Of them. The sentiments among the guilds towards sponsored stu-
dents were no different then. Everyone assumed it was a brief infatua-
tion. A Ferron would hardly stray outside his resonance to that degree.
It was a shock when Atreus quietly married her, obviously out of obliga-
tion. I can't imagine how an ambitious man like Atreus chafed from his
entanglement, but he could hardly afford the social and religious con-
demnation of putting her aside."
Anyone who studied metallurgy knew that silver and iron were in-
compatible elements. They couldn't be alloyed. Silver was a noble metal,
however, which would have placed the wife above her husband in sta-
tion if not fortune.
"Kaine was conceived out of wedlock, then?" she asked hesitantly.
Crowther shook his head. "No, he came sometime later. Enid had—
difficulties. There were miscarriages, clearly an unfortunate combina-
tion of resonance. When Enid was brought to the hospital, pregnant,
the doctors had reason to believe her condition showed clear signs of
vivimancy in the child. The Ferrons were warned of what she carried,
and advised, but Atreus was desperate for an heir. They disappeared to
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334 • SenLinYu
their country estate. A few months later Atreus was caught employing
vivimancers to help manage the pregnancy and arrested for several
weeks. By the time he was released, Kaine had been born."
Crowther set the ring on his desk.
"They lived very quietly at their country estate after that. The birth
was said to been so traumatising for Enid that she never went into so-
ciety again. Atreus rarely spoke of her. Rumours sprang up among the
guilds that Kaine was a Lapse and the family was endeavouring to hide
it. Eventually the belief grew so widespread, Atreus had no choice but
to present him to guild society, but he was controlling of the boy. Like
a dog on a chain. He knew that if there were any signs of vivimancy, the
Eternal Flame would act. Atreus had paid so dearly for his heir, he
could hardly afford to lose him. It was something of a surprise when
Atreus enrolled him in the Institute, but what else could he do? If Kaine
couldn't disprove the rumours about his abilities and earn the certifica-
tion, the family would have lost control of the guilds."
"How do you know all this?" Helena asked, slipping the ring back
on.
Crowther raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think I was brought onto
the faculty and made Kaine Ferron's academic advisor?"
Helena's eyes went wide. "You were watching him for signs."
Crowther gave a short nod. "Yes, he was one of the students I was
asked to observe. Unfortunately, I was reassigned to investigate rumours
in the city. If I'd been here, I would have noticed something was amiss
when he returned after his father's execution. Everything might have
been quite different then."
When Helena arrived at the tenement the next week, she pulled
her gloves off and paused, pressing her hand against the door, using her
resonance to sense the mechanism inside. Even though the unit looked
abandoned both inside and out, she could tell the door contained an
intricate lock.
The best locks were a mix of metal and rare elements, often tailored
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Alchemised • 335
to the owner's particular resonance, and usually included some inert
elements as well, all intended to create blind spots. To unlock it, the
alchemist had to know how the movement of the mechanisms was sup-
posed to feel, and which ones to manipulate.
She left her fingers on the panel as she knocked. She was tracking
how they spun, so focused on the pattern they followed that she wasn't
prepared when a pale hand shot out, catching her by the wrist and drag-
ging her inside.
The door slammed behind her and Ferron had her backed against
the wall.
So much for his promise not to touch her.
He leaned in and pressed his palm against the side of her neck, fin-
gertips tracing the ridges of her spine. She forced herself tilt up her chin
as his head dipped forward towards hers.
She started to inhale but couldn't move. Her heart stalled as she
registered it.
Ferron drew back, studying her with flat, emotionless eyes.
Her lungs were already starting to burn as she tried to work out ex-
actly what he'd done to her. Experienced as she was as a healer, she'd
never had anyone use vivimancy on her.