Page 56 of Alchemised

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 Helios, 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 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 surrounding countries until his right arm was paralysed.

He rarely spoke in the public meetings. He managed logistical matters, 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 was debating 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 preordained 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, corrupting 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 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 Undying 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 the 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 listing 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 peacefully 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 offering.”

Helena stared at him expectantly, but it was Ilva who spoke.

“He wants a full pardon for all of his wartime activities.”

That seemed an obvious demand, although entirely out of the question. 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 misunderstanding, but there was only silence.

“His information would be invaluable to us,” Ilva said without meeting Helena’s eyes.

Helena shook her 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 simultaneously. 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 academically 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 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 intelligence 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.”

Helena’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 irreversible 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 struggled 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 conversation. 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 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 official records or acknowledgement of any kind,” Crowther said. “And under absolutely no circumstances are Luc or any other friends or acquaintances you may possess to have any idea of this. Do you understand, 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.