Rex blocked the cabin door.
The manticore stood broadside beneath the sagging roof, six paws planted in the mud and rain sliding through the ridges of his dark fur. One red eye fixed on Xavier. The other watched the trees.
Xavier stopped three steps away.
"It's me."
Rex didn't move.
"I live here."
The beast's lips peeled back.
Xavier looked down at himself.
Blood on his coat. Mud to his knees. Smoke embedded in his hair. Raymond's scent all over his sleeves from leaning beside the healer's table.
"Fair," he muttered.
He raised both hands.
"Mira."
A blue shape appeared behind Rex.
The smaller manticore squeezed beneath his chest, sniffed Xavier's boots, then headbutted his shin hard enough to make him stumble. Sparks jumped between her ears.
Xavier crouched and pressed his forehead against hers.
"I'm fine."
Mira made a low grinding sound.
"I know. I'm lying."
Rex finally stepped aside.
Warm, sour air met Xavier inside the cabin. Burned herbs. Damp wood. Old blood. The sharp mineral scent of the lightning apparatus Raymond had used to restart Elisabeth's heart still clung to the walls despite the rain that had blown through every crack.
Delo sat beside the bed.
Saraounia lay beneath two blankets, her face turned toward the wall. Someone had cleaned most of the blood from her hair. A bandage crossed her temple and disappeared behind one ear. Her breathing came shallow but steady.
Elisabeth was on the floor beside her.
Not in the chair Raymond had built.
On the floor.
Her back rested against the bedframe, one leg stretched out awkwardly and the other folded beneath a blanket. She wore one of Raymond's shirts because her own clothing had been cut away during treatment. The sleeves swallowed her arms.
Her right hand was wrapped from fingertips to forearm in gray cloth.
The cloth had turned black around the palm.
Xavier stopped breathing.
Elisabeth looked up.
"You took your time."
He crossed the room in two strides and dropped beside her.
She barely had time to lift her left arm before he pulled her against him.
"Careful," she hissed.
He released her so quickly she nearly fell sideways.
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
"I'm sorry."
"You're crushing my ribs."
"I said I'm sorry."
"You're still holding me."
Xavier looked down.
One hand remained locked around her shoulder.
He let go.
Elisabeth studied his face.
"You look awful."
"So does everyone."
"No. You've made a special effort."
Delo lowered his head.
A laugh escaped him. Small. Unwilling. It cracked halfway out and became something else.
Elisabeth's expression softened for a moment.
"How is she?" Xavier asked.
"Alive."
"Did she wake?"
"Once. Maybe. Her eyes opened, but she didn't know where she was."
Delo rubbed his thumb across his knuckles.
"She said my name."
"She made a sound," Elisabeth corrected. "It might have been your name."
"It was."
Elisabeth didn't argue.
Xavier looked at her wrapped hand.
"What happened?"
She tucked it beneath the blanket.
"Nothing."
"That cloth wasn't black when I left."
"You weren't here when I wrapped it."
"Lisbeth."
Her eyes sharpened.
"Don't."
He knew that tone.
It was the same one she had used as a child when court physicians spoke over her bed as if her fever had made her deaf. The same one she used when their mother ordered attendants to carry her instead of waiting for her to stand.
Xavier lowered his voice.
"What happened?"
Elisabeth stared at the floorboards.
"I tried to give her water."
Delo's eyes moved toward the clay cup near the bed.
Its rim had melted.
Not shattered. Melted.
The clay had sagged inward where four fingerprints had touched it.
Xavier picked it up.
A bitter smell crawled into his nose.
The skin beneath his fingernails prickled.
Flow stirred.
He felt a residue clinging to the cup—a thin, oily pressure that made the currents around it recoil.
He dropped it.
The cup struck the floor without breaking.
"What did you do?"
"I held it."
"That's all?"
"That was enough."
Xavier reached for the wrapped hand.
Elisabeth pulled it away.
"Don't."
"I need to see."
"No. You want to see. There's a difference."
"You could be hurt."
"I am hurt."
"Then let me—"
"Xavier."
The cabin changed around her voice.
Not because it was loud.
Because he finally heard what she was saying.
Elisabeth shifted against the bedframe. The movement dragged pain through her; it showed in the tightness around her mouth. She waited for it to pass before continuing.
"I woke up in a body I don't understand," she said. "My legs won't hold me. My chest feels packed with broken glass. Every sound is too close, and this hand burns whenever I'm frightened."
Her wrapped fingers twitched beneath the blanket.
"You weren't here. Raymond wasn't here. Saraounia started choking, so I tried to help her drink. The cup softened in my hand."
Xavier glanced at Delo.
"Why didn't you come get us?"
"I was holding her," Delo said.
His voice sounded scraped hollow.
"She started shaking. I thought she was dying. Elisabeth told me not to move her."
"Because her neck might have been injured," Elisabeth said.
"You don't know that."
"No. But neither did he."
Xavier looked between them.
"You should have sent Rex."
"Rex doesn't take instructions from me."
"He barely takes them from Raymond."
"Then you understand the problem."
Xavier sat back on his heels.
Outside, rain drummed against the leaves. Rex's claws scratched once across the porch, then stopped.
"Raymond is alive," he said.
Elisabeth's gaze lifted.
"Alive how?"
"What does that mean?"
"Walking? Speaking? Bleeding on expensive furniture?"
"He's speaking."
"So bleeding, then."
"He can't walk yet."
"Did the creature die?"
"Yes."
Delo looked up sharply.
"You're certain?"
"I saw what was left."
That was not quite true.
He had seen Raymond fall. He had seen the transparent head collapse into dark meat and glassy tissue. He had seen the pendant in Raymond's fist.
He had not watched every fragment burn.
Flow crawled along his skin at the memory.
"Raymond killed it," he said.
Elisabeth leaned her head against the bedframe.
"Of course he did."
There was no admiration in the words.
Only tired acceptance that Raymond had once again survived an event which had shown every intention of correcting that mistake.
Her eyes narrowed.
"What did it cost?"
Xavier didn't answer quickly enough.
Elisabeth noticed.
"What did it cost him?"
"Ribs. Shoulder. Lung, maybe. His mana channels are damaged."
"His what?"
"I'm repeating what the healer said."
"And you understood none of it."
"Most of it."
"None."
Xavier decided not to argue.
Elisabeth looked at her wrapped hand again.
"Did he say what he did to me?"
"No."
"You never asked?"
"You were alive."
"That wasn't my question."
"I was a little occupied keeping you alive."
"You weren't the one cutting me open."
The words came colder than she intended.
Xavier flinched.
Elisabeth closed her eyes.
"I know," she said. "I know what you did. I know you carried me. I know you begged him. I know you didn't sleep."
Her voice softened, but only a little.
"And I know you would let him replace every bone in my body if he promised I'd wake up afterward."
Xavier looked away.
Delo became very interested in adjusting Saraounia's blanket.
"You were dying," Xavier said.
"I'm not blaming you."
"It sounds like you are."
"I'm asking what happens next."
"I protect you."
"No."
The word landed without anger.
That made it worse.
Xavier turned back.
Elisabeth met his eyes.
"You help me," she said. "You don't decide for me."
"I'm your brother."
"Yes."
"I nearly lost you."
"And now you're trying to hold so tightly I can't move."
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
"You sound like him."
Silence.
Xavier's jaw tightened.
Elisabeth immediately regretted it. He saw that too.
But she did not take the words back.
A wet cough came from the bed.
Delo stood so fast his stool overturned.
"Sara?"
Saraounia's body pulled tight beneath the blankets. Her eyes opened, unfocused and red-rimmed. She dragged in a breath, then another, each one catching high in her throat.
Delo bent over her.
"It's me. I'm here."
Her gaze moved across his face.
For a second, relief loosened her expression.
Then she saw Xavier.
Then the manticores at the door.
Then Elisabeth on the floor.
Panic returned.
"Where is he?"
Delo frowned. "Who?"
"The outlander."
"Raymond's with the healer."
Saraounia tried to sit.
Pain folded her back down.
"No. No, he'll come here."
"Sara—"
"He brought it."
Delo froze.
Xavier felt the current in the room change.
Not magic.
Fear.
Saraounia's pulse hammered. Her mana—faint, ragged, but present—jumped through Flow in broken bursts.
Elisabeth's wrapped hand jerked beneath the blanket.
A black stain spread across the cloth.
"Elisabeth," Xavier said.
"I know."
Smoke curled from between her fingers.
Delo saw it.
"What is that?"
"Move away from her," Xavier said.
Elisabeth's face hardened.
"Don't order him."
The cloth gave a soft hiss.
A drop of dark liquid gathered at the tip of her smallest finger and soaked through the wrapping. It fell toward the floor.
Xavier caught Elisabeth's wrist before it landed.
Pain bit into his palm.
Not from her grip.
From contact through the cloth.
His skin went numb.
The numbness raced to his thumb.
He released her.
"Damn it."
Elisabeth stared at him.
"I told you not to touch it."
"You were leaking poison."
"Yes, Xavier. I had noticed."
Saraounia struggled beneath the blanket.
The sight of the blackened hand pushed her further into panic.
"What did he do to her?"
"Nothing that concerns you," Delo said.
Saraounia turned on him.
"He stood over the serpent and the air died around him. I warned you. I warned all of you. Then that thing came through the forest wearing faces."
Her eyes fixed on Elisabeth.
"And now she's changing."
Elisabeth's breathing grew faster.
The stain spread.
Xavier saw it happen through Flow: mana rushing from her chest, down the right shoulder, into pathways that should not have existed. The current compressed near her wrist.
"Slow down," he said.
She laughed once.
A brittle sound.
"What excellent advice."
"Elisabeth, your mana is moving into your hand."
"My what?"
"I can feel it."
"How do I stop it?"
Xavier opened his mouth.
He had no idea.
"Useful," she said.
Another drop formed.
Saraounia twisted toward the wall, trying to get away. Her elbow slipped off the mattress.
She began to fall.
Delo grabbed for her shoulders.
He caught blanket, not body.
Elisabeth moved first.
Her right hand started toward Saraounia.
She stopped it in midair.
For one bad second, her whole arm shook.
Then she shoved the poisoned hand beneath her own thigh and reached with the left.
Her fingers caught Saraounia's wrist.
Delo caught her back.
Together they kept her from striking the floor.
Saraounia stared at Elisabeth.
Elisabeth's face had gone gray with pain.
"Stop moving," she said. "You'll tear the bandage."
The venom continued soaking through the cloth trapped beneath her thigh.
But it did not touch Saraounia.
Xavier saw the choice.
So did Delo.
Saraounia did too.
Her breathing remained ragged, but some of the panic drained away.
Elisabeth released her slowly.
"Better?" she asked.
Saraounia gave the smallest nod.
Then her eyes closed again.
Delo settled her against the bedding.
Xavier knelt beside his sister.
"Your hand."
"I'm aware."
"The cloth needs to come off."
"No."
"It's holding the poison against your skin."
"And where would you prefer I put it?"
He looked around.
The cabin did not contain a surface he wanted coated with unknown venom.
Elisabeth gave him a humorless smile.
"Exactly."
A shadow crossed the doorway.
Rex rose.
The old woman entered first.
Rain gleamed across the shoulders of her patched cloak. Behind her, two villagers carried a narrow litter.
Raymond lay on it beneath three blankets, one arm strapped across his chest and murder in his eyes.
"This," he said, "is humiliating."
The old woman stepped aside.
"Drop him if he complains again."
The villagers looked uncertain.
Raymond turned his head toward them.
"They won't."
They carried him inside.
There was not enough room.
Delo dragged the table sideways. Xavier moved the overturned stool. Mira leaped onto the shelf, dislodging two bundles of dried herbs and a knife.
One litter handle struck the doorframe.
Raymond inhaled sharply.
The villagers stopped.
"No," he said through his teeth. "Please. Take your time. My ribs have become terribly attached to suspense."
They placed him on the second bed near the cold hearth.
The old woman pulled the blankets aside and checked the bandage across his chest.
Fresh red had seeped through.
"I told you."
"And I ignored you with admirable consistency."
"You tore the stitch."
"Then stitch faster."
She raised a fist.
Raymond looked past her.
His gaze found Elisabeth's wrapped hand.
The humor left him.
"What happened?"
Elisabeth straightened against the bedframe.
"You tell me."
Raymond looked at the melted cup.
Then Xavier's reddening palm.
Then the black cloth trapped beneath Elisabeth's thigh.
His eyes narrowed.
"Move your leg."
"No."
"You're compressing the wrist."
"It's keeping the poison off everyone else."
"It's also forcing it backward through the tissues."
Elisabeth held his gaze.
"Then give me somewhere safe to put it."
Raymond looked toward Delo.
"Stone basin. From the workbench outside."
Delo hesitated.
Saraounia's hand shifted weakly across the blankets.
"I'll stay," Xavier said.
Delo ran outside.
Raymond glanced at the old woman.
"Clean cloth. Boiled water. Bone forceps."
She did not move.
"You're my patient."
"Then consider this an excellent opportunity to compare failures."
"You're bleeding."
"She's secreting venom in a wooden house."
The old woman muttered something about letting both of them die from stubbornness, but began collecting what he asked for.
Elisabeth watched Raymond.
"You knew this could happen."
"I knew many things could happen."
"That means yes."
"It means your body was dead, your mana channels had collapsed, and I had one viable source of regenerative essence."
"Manticore."
Raymond looked at Xavier.
"You told her?"
"She worked that out herself."
"I woke up vomiting black fluid," Elisabeth said. "There are two magical cats outside, and my right hand can dissolve pottery. It wasn't a difficult investigation."
Despite the fever dulling his face, Raymond almost smiled.
"Good."
"Don't sound proud."
"I'm relieved you can still reason. Pride requires affection."
"Charming."
"I make an effort."
Delo returned with a shallow stone basin.
He placed it on the floor beside Elisabeth.
Raymond nodded toward her leg.
"Move it."
Elisabeth removed her thigh from the wrapped hand.
The cloth beneath it had become wet and glossy.
A chemical odor filled the cabin—metal, bitter almonds, and something animal beneath both.
The old woman covered her nose.
Raymond's expression sharpened.
"Keep the hand over the basin."
Elisabeth lifted her arm.
Pain struck before she reached it.
Her shoulder spasmed. The hand dropped.
Xavier caught her elbow without touching the wrapping.
She glared at him.
"Helping," he said.
"Barely."
Together they positioned her wrist above the basin.
Raymond held out his good hand.
"Forceps."
The old woman placed them between his fingers.
They shook.
Only slightly.
Enough for Elisabeth to notice.
"You can't do this."
"An observation, not a diagnosis."
"You can barely hold the instrument."
"I only need to remove cloth."
"Then tell someone else how."
Raymond stared at her.
Elisabeth stared back.
The cabin waited.
He handed the forceps to the old woman.
"Cut from the elbow. Don't touch the inner layer."
The old woman began.
The first strip peeled away cleanly.
The second clung.
Elisabeth's breath hitched as the cloth pulled at her palm.
"What did you use to wrap it?" Raymond asked.
"Linen."
"Before that."
"Nothing."
"No oil? Ash? Powder?"
"No."
"Good."
"Why?"
"Because we don't know what it reacts with."
"That would have been useful an hour ago."
"I was unconscious."
"Convenient."
Xavier almost told her to stop.
Then he remembered the conversation before Raymond arrived.
He kept his mouth shut.
The last layer came away.
Delo swore.
Elisabeth did not look down immediately.
Her right hand no longer matched the rest of her body.
The skin from fingertips to mid-forearm had darkened—not black, not exactly. Deep violet under brown skin, as though bruising had formed beneath every vein. Thin silver lines branched from the wrist and vanished under the sleeve.
Her nails had sharpened.
Not into claws.
Not yet.
But the edges were too dark and too smooth.
Small beads of venom emerged from the pores in her palm and rolled toward the basin. Each one struck the stone with a faint hiss.
Elisabeth looked.
Her face emptied.
Xavier felt her fear before she spoke.
The flow of mana surged down her arm.
More venom gathered.
Raymond's voice cut across the room.
"Look at me."
She didn't.
"Elisabeth."
Her eyes lifted.
"Breathe through your nose."
"I know how to breathe."
"Evidence suggests otherwise."
Her glare returned.
The venom slowed.
Raymond noticed.
"So. Anger is cleaner than fear."
"That's your conclusion?"
"It's a beginning."
"What did you put in me?"
The question silenced everyone.
Raymond rested his head against the folded cloth beneath him.
"Manticore heart essence. Marrow extract. Silver lichen catalyst. Diluted storm salts. Your brother's mana to stabilize the first reaction."
Xavier frowned.
"My mana?"
"The apparatus used you as a grounding path."
"You never said that."
"You were screaming."
"I was helping."
"You were conductive."
Elisabeth's eyes remained on Raymond.
"What else?"
"A fragment of Mira's venom gland secretion."
Xavier looked toward the shelf.
The blue manticore flattened her ears.
"You used her venom?" Elisabeth asked.
"In a quantity that should have broken down during regeneration."
"Should have."
"Yes."
"It didn't."
"No."
"What does that mean?"
Raymond looked at the altered hand.
"It means your body didn't merely survive the treatment. It incorporated it."
"Into what?"
"I don't know yet."
Elisabeth laughed.
There was no humor in it.
"You cut me open, filled me with parts from a magical predator, and you don't know what I am?"
"You are Elisabeth Duverger."
"That isn't what I asked."
"It is the only answer I can give without lying."
The reply stopped her.
Not because it satisfied her.
Because Raymond usually lied beautifully when the truth was inconvenient.
This truth arrived plain and ugly.
Elisabeth flexed one finger.
A bead of venom fell.
The basin smoked.
"Did I agree to any of this?"
"No."
Xavier's head snapped toward Raymond.
The answer had come too quickly.
Raymond didn't look at him.
"You had no pulse," he continued. "Your lungs had stopped. Your mana pathways were collapsing faster than I could repair them."
"That still isn't permission."
"No. It was triage."
"You decided."
"Yes."
"That I should live like this."
"I decided you should live long enough to complain about the method."
Elisabeth's jaw tightened.
Raymond's voice lost its edge.
Not soft. Never soft.
Just direct.
"If I had waited for consent, you would have died. That is not a defense of every consequence. It is the reason I acted."
"And now?"
"Now you're alive."
"So now you ask."
Raymond studied her.
Chessmaster stirred behind his eyes.
Xavier saw the moment it happened. Raymond's pupils narrowed. His breath slowed. The tendons in his neck tightened as the skill took hold.
Then pain crossed his face.
Fast.
He hid it badly.
A line of blood appeared beneath one nostril.
The old woman slapped a cloth against it.
"I said no mana."
"This isn't mana."
"It's killing you with a different name."
Raymond ignored her.
His gaze traced Elisabeth's shoulder, forearm, palm.
Cold calculation replaced ordinary sight.
But it did not give him everything.
The hand's new channels crossed and doubled back in places. Some fed the muscles. Others ended near the skin. The structure was neither human nor manticore. It had grown under pressure, using whatever paths kept Elisabeth alive.
The body did not care about elegance.
Only survival.
Chessmaster supplied fragments.
> Foreign glandular network detected.
Primary trigger: autonomic response.
Secondary trigger: mana circulation.
Output composition: unresolved.
Risk of systemic reversal under compression.
Raymond's vision blurred.
He released the skill.
The room returned with a jolt.
"Stop wrapping it tightly," he said.
Elisabeth looked at the basin.
"Why?"
"The venom isn't stored only in your hand. The new tissue runs to the elbow, maybe farther. Compression forces it back."
"Into my blood?"
"Possibly."
"Possibly?"
"Would you prefer I invent certainty?"
"I'd prefer you knew what you were doing."
"So would I."
The honesty irritated her more than arrogance would have.
Raymond pointed toward the basin.
"Try to make it stop."
Elisabeth stared at him.
"How?"
"You said the hand burns when you're afraid."
"Yes."
"And the output slowed when you became angry."
"I'm still angry."
"Excellent. Hold onto that."
"That's your medical treatment?"
"It has served me remarkably well."
She looked at Xavier.
"Is he always like this?"
"Worse when healthy."
Raymond raised one finger.
"Focus on the heat in your forearm."
Elisabeth closed her eyes.
"I feel pain."
"Beneath it."
"More pain."
"Beneath that."
"Do you have a fourth suggestion?"
"Eventually."
Her mouth tightened.
A bead of venom struck the basin.
Then another.
"Don't command the hand," Raymond said. "Find where the sensation begins."
Elisabeth breathed through her nose.
The room grew quiet except for Saraounia's uneven breathing and the rain.
Xavier activated Flow carefully.
He sensed the currents around his sister. Mana pooled near her chest, unstable and thin. Each breath pushed a portion down both arms, but the right side pulled harder.
Not a river.
A drain.
"It starts near her shoulder," he said.
Elisabeth opened one eye.
"I didn't ask you."
"He's right," Raymond said.
"That doesn't improve it."
"Move the sensation backward."
"How?"
"The same way you move your fingers."
"I know where my fingers are."
"Then imagine this as a finger you haven't used before."
Elisabeth tried.
The silver lines beneath her skin brightened.
Venom poured faster.
The basin hissed.
Xavier reached for her elbow.
Raymond snapped, "Don't touch her."
Xavier stopped.
Elisabeth's teeth clenched.
"I'm losing it."
"No," Raymond said. "You're forcing it. Stop."
"I am trying to stop."
"Then stop trying."
She opened her eyes.
"I will poison you."
"Later. When your aim improves."
Something in her expression broke.
Not fear.
Not quite laughter.
A breath escaped her, sharp and unwilling.
The flow changed.
Xavier felt it.
The current toward her hand weakened.
One bead formed in her palm.
It trembled.
But did not fall.
Elisabeth stared at it.
The venom sat against her skin, black-violet and glossy.
"Again," Raymond said.
"I haven't done it once."
"You interrupted it."
"By accident."
"Most discoveries begin as accidents people are arrogant enough to repeat."
She breathed.
The bead shrank.
Not much.
Enough.
Delo leaned closer.
Saraounia woke again.
Her eyes opened to the sight of Raymond on the opposite bed.
Terror crossed her face.
"You."
Raymond looked at her.
"Saraounia."
"Don't say my name."
Delo stood between the beds.
"She needs rest."
"She needs answers," Saraounia whispered.
Her fingers clenched in the blanket.
"That creature came after him."
No one denied it.
Saraounia looked at Xavier.
"You felt it. You knew where it was."
Xavier remembered Flow screaming through his skull while the abomination tore through the forest.
"Yes."
"It followed him."
"I don't know."
She looked at Raymond.
"You do."
Raymond lay still beneath the blankets, pale from blood loss, one nostril stained red.
"No," he said.
"You expect us to believe that?"
"No."
The answer confused her.
Raymond continued.
"I expect you to believe that I recognized one of its faces. I expect you to understand that recognition and knowledge are different things. And I expect your fear to survive anything I say."
Saraounia swallowed.
"You brought ruin here."
"Perhaps."
Delo turned.
"Raymond."
He ignored him.
Saraounia's voice shook.
"People died."
"Yes."
"You saved us."
"Some of you."
"Was it your fault?"
The cabin held its breath.
Raymond looked toward the rain beyond the door.
"I don't know."
Saraounia stared at him.
"That isn't enough."
"No," Raymond said. "It isn't."
He offered no story.
No excuse.
No command that she forgive him because he had fought.
Something in Saraounia's face changed. The fear remained. So did the anger.
But she stopped trying to escape the bed.
Elisabeth's hand began leaking again.
Only a little.
She noticed before anyone warned her.
She looked down.
Breathed.
The flow slowed.
Raymond saw it.
"Good."
Elisabeth gave him a tired glare.
"Don't praise me."
"I was praising the result."
"Of course."
The old woman began rewinding clean cloth around Elisabeth's forearm, loose enough to leave gaps between the layers. She placed a thin strip of treated hide beneath the palm to catch any discharge.
Raymond spoke while she worked.
"For the next three days, no direct skin contact with the right hand."
"Three days?"
"At minimum."
"No metal tools."
"Why?"
"Until we know whether the venom reacts with them."
"No food preparation," Xavier added.
Elisabeth looked at him.
"I can hold a knife with my left hand."
"You can barely sit."
"I am sitting."
"On the floor."
"Still counts."
Raymond continued.
"Record every trigger. Fear. Anger. Pain. Hunger. Mana use. Sleep."
"With what hand?"
"Your left."
"My writing is terrible with my left."
"Then future scholars will have something to debate."
Elisabeth watched him.
"You're going to teach me."
"No."
Xavier frowned.
Raymond shifted beneath the blankets and immediately regretted it. His breath caught. He waited before speaking again.
"I'm going to prevent you from poisoning yourself, your brother, and anything we intend to eat."
"That's teaching."
"It lacks the optimism."
"You're still going to do it."
Raymond closed his eyes.
"You have mistaken my inability to walk away for agreement."
Elisabeth looked at his strapped shoulder, bloodstained bandages and bare feet protruding from beneath the blanket.
"You can't walk anywhere."
Delo coughed into his hand.
Xavier smiled.
Even the old woman's mouth moved.
Raymond opened one eye.
There was something almost approving in it.
Almost.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we begin with circulation."
Elisabeth leaned her head against the bedframe.
"Today."
"You're exhausted."
"So are you."
"I'm injured."
"So am I."
"You don't know what mana feels like."
"Then explain it."
Raymond glanced toward Xavier.
"Take the water bowl."
Xavier fetched a clean one from the shelf.
"Set it in front of her."
He did.
The water trembled from the movement.
Raymond nodded toward Elisabeth's left hand.
"Place two fingers in it."
She obeyed.
"Close your eyes."
"I prefer seeing my mistakes."
"Humor me."
"No."
"Close them."
Elisabeth kept them open.
Raymond sighed.
"Fine. Feel the temperature."
"Cold."
"The weight."
"It's water."
"The pressure against your skin."
She became still.
Xavier watched the current around her.
This time, Raymond did not tell her to push.
"Your body has been moving mana without your permission," he said. "Don't seize it. Notice it."
For several breaths, nothing happened.
Then the surface of the water quivered.
Not from her fingers.
A faint violet thread moved beneath the skin of her left wrist.
Elisabeth inhaled.
The water warmed.
Only a little.
Steam did not rise. Light did not burst from her hand. No system window congratulated her.
The chill simply lessened.
Elisabeth removed her fingers.
Her expression held more fear than triumph.
"I did that."
"Yes," Raymond said.
"Was that poison?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
"The bowl is intact."
A fair point.
She looked at her right hand.
The bandage remained clean.
For now.
"What happens if I can't control it?"
Raymond answered without pause.
"You learn to live without touching anyone."
Xavier's face hardened.
Raymond kept speaking.
"Or we remove the hand."
The room went still.
Elisabeth looked at him.
"You'd cut it off."
"If the venom begins circulating toward your heart and cannot be stopped."
Xavier stepped forward.
"No."
Elisabeth raised her left hand.
He stopped.
She did not look at him.
"Would that save me?" she asked.
"Possibly."
"And if I learn control?"
"You keep it."
"Possibly?"
"Yes."
She considered the answer.
Then placed her fingers back into the water.
"Again."
Xavier stared at her.
"You need rest."
"I've rested for months."
"You were dying."
"Exactly."
She looked at Raymond.
"Again."
The old woman shook her head.
Delo returned to Saraounia's bedside.
Mira jumped down from the shelf and curled near Elisabeth's left leg, careful not to touch the bandaged hand.
Raymond watched them all.
His own body throbbed with every heartbeat. Chessmaster remained quiet, but its assessment had not changed. He was still compromised. Still unreliable. Still the weakest link in any plan requiring him to stand.
And yet the board had shifted.
Elisabeth was no longer merely the sick sister Xavier had dragged through a storm.
She was a problem.
A patient.
A possible weapon.
A person who had heard the risks and demanded the lesson anyway.
Raymond understood such people.
They were usually dangerous.
"Again," he said.
Elisabeth placed two fingers beneath the water.
This time, the surface warmed faster.
Her poisoned hand twitched once beneath the loose wrapping.
But nothing leaked.
Not yet.
For the first time since waking in Raymond's cabin, she smiled.
It was a small smile.
Mean around the edges.
Raymond recognized that too.
The sister who had been carried into the cabin had survived.
The woman sitting on its floor had no intention of remaining someone else's burden.
And she had just found her first weapon.