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“Amputation.” The word felt like poison.

Master Ostrum nodded. “I think here,” he said, indicating a spot on Cyntha’s leg above the knee, where there was no blackness creeping under her skin.

The two aides returned to the surgical stage, wheeling a cart of tools toward Master Ostrum. The professor ignored us, using ink to mark where the girl’s leg was going to be amputated mid-thigh. We all watched silently. No one expected this on the first day of surgical observation. This was far more intense than any of our other hands-on training.

Master Ostrum positioned his scalpel.

“Sir?” I asked, hoping no one else heard the quiver.

Master Ostrum paused.

“Sir, where is the alchemist?”

In surgeries, alchemists used the gold crucibles to cipher pain from the patient into a lesser creature, such as a rat. But there was noalchemist here to help with Master Ostrum’s surgery, no golden crucible. No pain relief for the girl’s amputation.

“As you have learned from your books,” Master Ostrum said, “the alchemist must filter the pain between the patient and the crucible. An amputation is obviously a very difficult process, and the pain is immense.”

“But you also taught us that the alchemist feels the pain only temporarily as they push it into the crucible,” I protested. I shoved aside my notebook, my hands trembling. Grey reached out for me, but I shook him off as I stood.

Master Ostrum waved his hand dismissively. “The patient has entered a sleeplike state; I’ve seen it with other late-stage victims of this disease,” he said. “This won’t wake her.” He pressed the blade against the girl’s leg, and red burst through her skin.

“Sir!” I shouted.

Master Ostrum didn’t look up from his work as he sliced the girl’s skin. “If you cannot restrain yourself, you can leave.” He paused. “Unless you’d like to be acting alchemist on this surgery?”

“Nedra, don’t,” Grey whispered, but I ignored him. I had only used rats in my experiments with Master Ostrum, but I knew that I had a high tolerance for pain. This, however, would be excruciating.

But brief.

I marched to the stage, stopping in front of Master Ostrum, bloody scalpel still in his hand. “Where is your crucible?” I asked.

“A medicinal alchemist is never without her own crucible,” Master Ostrum said, his voice low, just for me, as one of the aides fetched a generic golden crucible and pressed it into my hands.

“I won’t make that mistake again,” I promised my master.

There was a scrabbling, squeaking noise inside the vessel; a rat already curled up at the bottom of the vase, awaiting the pain that would be pushed into it.

I sat down on the floor beside the patient, one hand wrapped around the sleeping girl’s palm, the other clutching the golden crucible. The vase lit up with runes as the power connection was established.

Master Ostrum ignored me for the rest of the surgery. He sliced away at the sleeping girl’s flesh as if he were bored and wanted to be done with the task. Her body didn’t move—the sleep stage was deathlike—but the aides held her leg steady when Master Ostrum reached for the bone saw.

The girl on the gurney slept through it all, and she didn’t feel a thing.

I felt it for her.

•••

After a long, long time, Master Ostrum touched my shoulder, removing the blood-soaked apron he’d donned before the surgery.

“It’s done,” he said.

I shook my head, not understanding. Part of the girl’s leg was still attached; the amputation was incomplete. Master Ostrum bent down, prying my fingers from the girl’s and helping me to stand. I dropped the golden crucible on the floor, and the rat that had been inside it thudded lifeless onto the tiles. Master Ostrum held my arm politely, leading me to my seat and making sure I was settled there. Then he turned back to the girl on the gurney.

The amputation had become an autopsy.

TWELVE

Nedra