with earth and mud and what might have been a bit of manure.
Lady Aquitaine alighted near her, landing neatly.
She was in time to be sprinkled with the blood of the Knight taken by the cloudbeasts. Amara had beat it to the ground.
Lady Aquitaine stared up in shock, bright beads of blood on one cheekbone and one eyelash. “Countess?” she breathed. “Are you all right?”
The coach descended as well, and Bernard all but kicked the door off its hinges in his hurry to exit and run to Amara. He knelt with her, his expression almost panicked, staring at her for a breath, then examining her for injuries.
“I managed to slow her fall,” Lady Aquitaine said. “But she’s been badly bruised and may have cracked some bones.”
The words sounded pleasant to Amara, though she could not remember what they meant. She felt Bernard’s hand on her forehead and smiled. “ M all right, my lord,” she murmured.
“Here, Count,” Lady Aquitaine said. “Let me help you.”
They fussed over her, and it felt nice.
Fear. Pain. Terror. Too much of it for one day.
Amara just wanted to rest, to sleep. Surely things would be better after she rested.
“No broken bones,” Lady Aquitaine said.
“What happened up there?” Bernard asked, his voice a low growl.
Lady Aquitaine lifted her eyes to the red skies above.
Droplets of blood still fell, tiny beads of red that had once been a human being.
She frowned and murmured, perplexed, “I have no idea.”
Chapter 23
The next morning, Isana woke when Lady Veradis opened the door. The pale young healer’s dark-circled eyes were even more worn than the day before, but she wore the colors of her fathers house in a simple gown. The young woman smiled at Isana and said, “Good morrow, Steadholder.”
“Lady,” Isana said, with a nod. She looked around the room. “Where is Fade?”
Lady Veradis entered the room, bearing a tray covered with a cloth napkin. “Being bathed and fed. I’ll have him brought in once you are ready.”
“How is he?”
“Somewhat disoriented with fever. Weary. Otherwise lucid.” She nodded at the food. “Eat and ready yourself. I will return presently.”
Isana pushed worry from her mind, at least long enough to wash herself and partake of the sausages, fresh bread, and cheeses Veradis had brought. Once some of the food had touched her tongue, Isana found herself famished, and ate with abandon. The food would be necessary to keep her strength up during the healing, and she should take as much as she could.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door and Veradis asked, “Steadholder? May we enter?”
“Of course.”
Veradis came in. Three guards bore a healer’s tub readied with water. The tub wasn’t as large as the one from the day before, and it bore spots of rust and wear that marked it as a well-worn member of its breed. It had probably been stored in a closet somewhere, forgotten until the sudden attack on the city demanded the use of every tub that could be found. The guards set it down on the floor, then one of them drew a low chair over to sit beside it.
A moment later, Giraldi came in, supporting Fade with one shoulder despite his limp and his cane. Fade wore only a long, white robe, his face was flushed with fever, his eyes glazed, and his wounded hand had swollen up into a grotesque mockery of itself.
Giraldi grimly helped the scarred man over to the tub and had to help Fade remove the robe. Fade’s lean, wire-muscled body showed dozens of old scars Isana had never seen before, especially across his back, where the marks of the whipping that had accompanied his branding stood out from his skin, as thick as Isana’s littlest finger.
Fade settled weakly into the tub, and when he laid his head back against the wooden rest, he seemed to fall asleep instantly.
“Are you prepared?” Veradis asked quietly.
Isana rose and nodded, without speaking.
Veradis gestured to the chair. “Sit, then. Take his hand.”
Isana did so. The low chair put her head on a level with Fade’s, and she watched the scarred slave’s features as she reached down to take up his healthy hand and grip it between hers.
“It isn’t a terribly complicated crafting,” Veradis said. “The infection has a natural tendency to gather at the site of the wound. So concentrated, his body cannot drive it out. You must dilute the infection, spreading it more thinly throughout his body, where he will have a chance to fight it off.”
Isana frowned and drew in a slow breath. “But that will spread the sickness throughout his whole body. If I stop, the infection could take root anywhere. One site is bad enough. I could not handle two at once.”
Veradis nodded. “And it could take his body days to fight off the infection.”
Isana bit her lip again. Days. She had never maintained a healing furycraft for more than a few hours.
“It isn’t a very good way to help him,” Veradis said quietly. “It is, however, the only way. Once you begin, you cannot stop until he has won through. If you do, the garic oil will corrupt his blood entirely. He’ll die within an hour.” She reached into a pocket and drew out a soft, supple cord, offering it to Isana. “Are you sure you wish to attempt this?”
Isana studied Fade’s scarred face. “I can’t tie that with one hand, lady.”
The young healer nodded, then knelt and, very carefully, bound Isana’s hand loosely together with Fade’s. “A very great deal will depend upon him, Steadholder,” she murmured as she worked. “Upon his will to live.”
“He will live,” Isana said in a quiet voice.
“If he so chooses, there is hope,” Veradis said. “But if he does not, or if the infection is simply too great, you must end the crafting.”
“Never.”
Veradis continued as if Isana had not spoken. “Depending on the progress of the infection, he may become delusional. Violent. Be prepared to restrain him. Should he lose consciousness altogether, or if he bleeds from the nose, mouth, or ears, there is little hope for his life. That’s how you will know when it is time to break away.”
Isana closed her eyes and shook her head, firmly, once. “I will not leave him.”
“Then you will die with him,” Veradis said, her tone matter-of-fact.
“I strongly urge you not to throw away your life in vain,” Veradis murmured. “In fact, I beg you. There are never enough skilled healers during war, and your talents could prove invaluable to the city’s defense.”
Isana looked up and met the young woman’s eyes. “You must fight your battle,” she said quietly. “And I must fight mine.”
Veradis’s tired gaze focused elsewhere for a moment, then she nodded. “Very well. I will look in on you if I can. There are guards in the hall. I have instructed them to serve as attendants, should you need food or any kind of assistance.”
“Thank you, Lady Vera-”
Isana’s words were suddenly drowned by a titanic booming sound, so loud that it shook the stones of the citadel and rattled the glass in the windows, cracking it in several places. There was a second boom. Then, much more faintly, a rumble of drums, a series of clarion calls of military trumpets, and a sound like wind rushing through thick forest.
Lady Veradis drew in a sharp breath, and said, “It’s begun.”
