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Nedra nodded. “We both can.”

The aide gave me an appraising look, but she didn’t ask me to leave. “Half of our alchemists didn’t show up today.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“They’re quitting.”

Behind us, the large mahogany doors opened, and a stream of people poured inside. The ferry had arrived.

“We can’t handle this many new people,” the aide said, a hint of panic in her voice as the mob of new patients streamed in. “There aren’t enough rooms, the next shift of workers hasn’t even shownup yet, and we’re almost out of tincture. We can’t do this.” She spun around to Nedra, as if she would have the answers.

Someone in the crowd from the ferry started shouting. Potion makers and alchemists rushed forward, hastily sorting patients.

Nedra grabbed the frantic aide by the shoulders. “Focus on one thing at a time,” she said. “You can’t do everything. So do what you can.”

“But—” the aide started doubtfully.

“It’ll be enough,” Nedra said, with such conviction that even I believed her.

THIRTY-ONE

Nedra

When i firstarrived at Yugen, I was flummoxed by the iron gates surrounding the campus. I didn’t understand why the students were caged like animals, a zoo of teenagers and books.

Now I finally understood: It wasn’t a matter of keeping the students in. The gates kept the rest of the world out.

As Grey and I made our way through the east wing of the hospital, helping where we could, praying when we couldn’t, I realized that despite the fact that Grey had been at Yugen longer than I had, he was overwhelmed. Yugen had kept him safe. It kept him ignorant. Patients in textbooks were made of ink and paper, their illnesses detailed on a chart.

I could see the weariness etched on his face. I wondered if Master Ostrum started out this way, and he only looked old now because he had seen too much of the darkness in the world.

“You there!” an authoritative voice cut across the hallway. Silence fell immediately. A broad man with white hair and pallid skin pointed at Grey and me. “Fetch your masters.”

I crossed the corridor to the man. “Our master isn’t here.”

The man glanced at the golden crucible in my hands. “You any good?” He was dressed stylishly and spoke with the quick, clipped tones of someone from the city.

“She’s the best,” Grey said, his voice icy. I wondered if he knew the man standing in front of us. Hedidlook familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him.

The man jerked his head toward a nearby suite of rooms that had clearly already been prepared for him. A potion maker stood to the side, a large bottle of tincture of blue ivy in his hands.

The man got into the bed in the center of the room. I blinked away my surprise—he spoke with such authority that I’d assumed he worked at the hospital, not that he was a patient. But then I noticed the black stain on the fingertips of his left hand.

“Do you have plague anywhere else?” I asked. “There are many more people outside who need immediate attention—”

“It isnotthat gods-forsaken disease!” the man roared, clutching his hand to his chest.

Grey moved protectively behind me. “Lord Anton,” he started.

The man barked with bitter laughter. “So, you recognize me.”

And I did, too—the man Master Ostrum had argued with in his office, who had a large gold crest on his hat.

“This isnotthe plague,” Lord Anton said, extending his hand past me and to Grey. “I do not interact with the filth of this city.”

My jaw set, and I stepped back. So. It was like that.

“Excuse me,” I said as Grey attempted to examine a man whose diagnosis was as visible as the nose on his face. “I have filth to attend to.” I left the room before Grey could protest.