Freda tried to sit up. Morgana helped her, one hand under her shoulder, the way she'd done when Freda was new to her training and got dizzy after complex castings. The familiar gesture from seventy years ago.
"My head," Freda said.
"You hit it on the fountain's edge," Morgana said. "The injury is healed. The headache will pass within an hour."
Freda looked around the room — the cots, the patients, the soft light of dawn coming through the single window. The smell of a medical space. The particular quiet of somewhere where people were recovering rather than functioning.
"Vael'kira," she said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"Cassius — did he—" She stopped. The look on Morgana's face answered the partial question. Freda closed her eyes for a moment. "He got out. He reached Lord Loki."
"Yes," Morgana said. "He did."
"Good." Freda's voice was thin but steady. "That's — that's what mattered. Did Lord Satou, How is everyone —"
