Page 108 of Alchemised

“Atreus used to make Kaine swear he’d take care of his mother, because he blamed him for Enid being sickly afterwards. She wouldn’t leave Paladia, though, and eventually the torture caught up with her. She died at home, but there was nothing natural about it.”

There was no sound but the crackle of fire.

Perhaps Crowther already knew all that. She had no idea how much he and Ilva had lied to her, choosing to present Kaine’s motive as power because that was how they’d wanted Helena to perceive him.

She closed her eyes, wanting to sink into the floor. “He wants to know what you want. You and Ilva. What proof of loyalty you expect from him.”

The air shifted and then Crowther’s fingers grasped hold of Helena’s shoulder, pulling her to her feet and turning her to face him. His eyes swept from the top of her head and slowly down, catching on various points along the way.

“What did you do?” he finally said.

She met his eyes, lifting her chin. “I completed my mission. I made him loyal.”

She was used to Crowther being unfazed by nearly everything, but he looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. Then he pulled her over to the window where the light was strongest, pushing her cloak off with his right hand, so he could get a good look at her.

Her braids had been pulled loose, the sections hanging haphazardly.

His fingers dropped down to her neck, brushing against a spot that made her flinch.

Before she could stop him, he flipped the clasp on her cloak; heavy with rain, it slid off her shoulders and to the floor with a wet thud, revealing her torn clothes, and all the bruises from the training that she usually healed before she got back.

She recoiled, shrinking back towards the shadows. She wanted to say it wasn’t what it looked like, but she didn’t think he’d believe her.

“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice shook. “I only came here to clean up. You said not to go back to Headquarters if I wasn’t put together.”

Crowther’s mouth was pressed into a hard line, and he started to speak—but then his eyes swept over her again and he slowly let go.

Helena twisted free, shoulders hunching inward.

There was a small bathroom through the next room.

She locked the door and stared at the reflection in the mirror; she was so pale that she was nearly grey, but her lips were red and bruised.

Her hair looked like a bird’s nest, only made worse by the rain.

She turned away, rummaging for a cloth, anything to clean herself up with. Stripping off her underclothes and trying to scrub them clean. The cold, stinging wet between her legs had her feeling almost hysterical.

Her hands were shaking as she threw the rag into a bin under the sink, barely steady enough to remove the hairpins tangled in her hair.

Her lips were trembling, eyes burning as she braided her hair.

She bit down on her lip as she coiled the long braids carefully at the base of her neck.

Her fingers were trembling too hard to make her resonance stable, so she left the bruises.

Calm down. You only have one chance to convince Crowther.

But the more she thought it, the more unsteady her breathing became. She crouched on the floor, pressing her hands over her face until she was quiet.

She looked at her reflection again. She was thinner now than she’d been when she first saw Kaine last spring. Her cheeks had hollowed, there were craters of exhaustion under her eyes, and her collarbones jutted out. Stress had carved her away like water cutting through sand.

She rummaged through her satchel and found a salve for bruises, spreading it across her lips. Eventually her hands were steady enough that she could conceal the bruises with a tingle of resonance, watching the only colour in her skin slowly fade.

She pulled on a fresh shirt and walked out. The rooms were silent.

“Crowther,” she called, her voice hollow.

There was no answer. She went to the front room; the fire had dimmed to embers, and he was gone.

She swallowed hard, trying not to cry. Of course he’d gone. He wasn’t going to listen. No one would. He’d picked up whatever he’d come for and left again.

A pit of despair opened in her stomach.

Your failure was always the plan.

The room seemed to stretch as she reached the door. Her hands were shaking too much to manage the knob.

It swung open, Crowther reentering. He was dripping wet, his thin hair plastered against his scalp. He looked like a wet cat.

“What are you doing?” he said as he came back in. “Sit down.”

He had a paper packet in his hand, already tearing from the rain. He ripped it open, and several bottles tumbled out.

“I wasn’t sure what was needed,” he said.

She looked at the vials. He must have gone back to Headquarters and taken them from the hospital. The drop point kept basic medical supplies but nothing too valuable or prone to supply shortages. She recognised her own handwriting on the labels.

She stared at them, and considered taking the laudanum, something to smooth down the razor-sharp edges of her emotions, but she needed to stay clearheaded.

She inspected the next option. A contraceptive.

Her throat worked as she set it down. “You know I don’t need that.”

The only useful thing he’d brought was a valerian tincture, which the hospital used to calm patients who were in shock.

“What happened?” Crowther asked as she unscrewed the lid and swallowed it.

“You know what happened,” she said. “Exactly what you expected when you sent me there. I’m just a bit slow.”

“Marino.” His voice was sharp but then he seemed to catch himself and softened it. “ What happened?”

She’d planned to go to Headquarters and make her report without any explanations about exactly why or how, to be calm and assured, but Crowther had caught her before she was ready. Her jaw began trembling uncontrollably.

She felt so used. She understood rationally that it had to be like that. The war was larger than any one person. Even Luc, whether his family legacy was real or not, was a figurehead, an idea greater than himself.

She knew that and she was willing to follow orders, knowing the consequences, understanding the sacrifice. She didn’t need any promises of reward or acknowledgement or eternity; she would do what was necessary because it was necessary. They knew that, and they had still lied to her.

“I told Ilva that all I needed was more time,” she said simply. “It was just—abrupt. We’d been training. The bruises were from that.”

Crowther said nothing, but she could feel him watching her like a hawk. She could only wonder what he was noticing, dissecting her behaviour, organising all the details of his observations into a mental file.

Helena pressed her hand against her sternum, trying to make the warmth from her palm seep into her, to speak calmly so that Crowther would believe her, not write her off as hysterical.

“He was so upset afterwards that he told me everything. He started crying after he told me about his mother. He always knew you were going to betray him. It was part of his plan. That’s why he’s kept climbing rank; he figured the more important he was, the greater the blow—when it happened.”

There was a long silence after that.

Crowther gave a low sigh that sent Helena’s heart skyrocketing.

“If he’s such a suicidal martyr, why would he cooperate now?”

Her throat closed. Her fingers twisted at the loose fabric of her shirt.

“Well, now that he can’t deny the obsession to himself, I don’t think he knows how to let go.

Like you said, the Ferrons are self-destructively possessive.

The array made it worse. He regards me as—” She swallowed.

“—as his. I think that’s what changed things.

He still doesn’t care about survival, but he also doesn’t know how to let go. ”

Crowther’s lips pursed. He ran his thumb slowly against them, considering.

Helena watched him, twisting her fingers, squeezing until her knuckles ground together. “Will you—will you tell Ilva? I know you both think I’m compromised, but I did what I was told to. He said he’ll do whatever you want. I did it—I did—”

Her voice failed, and she started shaking uncontrollably. She gripped her arm, using her resonance to force the valerian to take effect. Calm down.

“Yes,” Crowther said, “I’ll speak with Ilva. You—did do as instructed.” He cleared his throat. “If he’s prepared to prove himself, that changes things.”

Helena nodded, glancing blindly around the room, unable to feel relief. “Thank you.”

She started towards the door, although she wasn’t sure where she was going to go. She didn’t think she was calm enough to return to Headquarters, but she couldn’t stay here.

“Marino.”

She winced. Crowther was still watching her. There was an odd look in his eyes, like he was seeing more than she wanted him to.

He swallowed several times and pressed his fingertips together. “I was about the same age you were when the Holdfasts brought me to Paladia.”

Helena drew back. She knew that Crowther had been one of the Holdfasts’ sponsored students, but he’d been brought in as an orphan after the Holdfasts had saved him. Helena had never considered their experiences as similar.

“My family and village were murdered at the hands of a necromancer. They crawled up from the ground and left me in the snow to die. When the Eternal Flame came, there was no saving them, only lighting the fires to erase the atrocities they’d become.

I chose to distinguish myself with my willingness to do what is necessary.

Not for glory or for the Faith, but because someone must do whatever it takes to stop the rot. I’ve never regretted my choice.”

He looked down at his right hand, slowly opening and closing it. It was thinner than his other hand—the muscles had wasted over the years.