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“Then my answer is also no.”

Osric sighed. “I’d rather not have to kidnap you. That would be a bother.”

“Oh?” Fairhrim sat up, if it was possible, even straighter. “You’re going to kidnap me, are you?”

“Yes.Andnot give you the money.”

Fairhrim’s right hand twitched. On her palm, the tacn of the Haelan Order glowed: a white swan. “You’re rather bold if you think you can kidnap me.”

“You’re rather stupid if you think I can’t.”

“Whoareyou?”

“Someone in desperate need of your help.”

There was scepticism in the set of Fairhrim’s mouth. “That would’ve been more moving if you hadn’t just threatened to kidnap me. Show me your palms.”

“No.”

“You want me to heal you, but you won’t show me your palms?”

“Correct.”

“If you’re hiding them, it’s because you know I’ll refuse to heal you.”

“Precisely,” said Osric.

Fairhrim’s hand inched towards the panic button again.

“Don’t,” said Osric. “You’ll be sentencing whoever comes to a violent death.”

“You think you can take on the Wardens?” asked Fairhrim.

Osric did not—not one-on-one, anyway—but he said, “Do you really want to gamble with their lives?”

“Leave,” said Fairhrim.

“I’m leaving with either an agreement between the two of us…or you, stuffed into the bag of onions. You decide.”

“I don’t even know what’s wrong with you,” said Fairhrim. “Even if I were to agree—which I won’t—I don’t know if I could heal you.”

“I’m asking you to try.”

“Can I run some diagnostics?” asked Fairhrim.

“No. Agreement first.”

“It must be bad.”

“It is.”

“Fatal?”

“For all intents and purposes.”

“What if I can’t heal you?” asked Fairhrim.

“I’ll die. And perhaps I’ll take you with me,” said Osric.