longer.
And maybe to deflect at least a tiny portion of Tezzeret's fury.
Jace hadn't taken more than three steps through the door when Tezzeret was before him. Two hands, one of flesh and one of metal, grabbed his shoulders and dragged him forward, until his face was inches from Tezzeret's own.
'You idiot!' Tezzeret hissed. Even through the lingering pain, Jace could feel the artificer's hot breath against his cheek. 'Do you have any idea the money you've cost me? The operations you've ruined?'
Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was still the lingering effects of the kalyola brandy. Maybe it was just panic. But whatever it was, Jace said exactly the wrong thing in his defense.
'You don't understand!' he protested weakly. 'You have no clue what you were asking of me! I don't think I could have stopped him even he hadn't distracted me-'
He knew the words were a mistake the instant he spoke, but he had no time to regret them. He felt the hands gripping him tense, and had barely drawn breath before they hurled him to the floor.
Tezzeret dropped to one knee beside him, grabbing Jace's hair in an etherium fist. 'I should kill you,' he whispered, his voice barely more than a gentle breath. 'You've opened me up to all manner of problems and reprisals- but so help me, I've put too much effort into you to just throw away. So I'm going to give you one more chance. One.
'But I'm also going to make damn sure you learn from this debacle.'
Without releasing his grip, Tezzeret reached out with his other hand. 'Paldor? Your blade, if you'd be so kind.'
Jace looked up, dizzy, his brain refusing to settle on any one detail. He saw Kallist still standing in the doorway, jaw clenched, his hand hovering near his sword. Jace was grateful for the thought, but equally grateful that Kallist hadn't been foolish enough to actually draw steel.
Then he saw Paldor hand over the black, steaming dagger, and blind panic erased all other emotions. He felt the edge of the blade on his back, and knew what was coming, knew that he couldn't do a thing to stop it.
And then he knew only pain as the dagger sliced open his flesh and his soul.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
None of the Consortium healers would touch him, not this time. Everyone knew just how he'd been injured, and nobody was willing to interfere with Tezzeret's discipline. For almost two days, Jace tossed and turned in agony, unable to sleep, barely able to move. His sheets and mattress were stained with dried blood. The cuts along his back and his arms were shallow but long. The pain was excruciating, but not nearly so much so as the pain within.
Jace felt as though he'd been burned from the inside out. The very notion of spellcasting made him queasy, and he'd been unable to absorb so much as a sliver of mana, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate.
By the evening of the second day, he knew that he could take no more of it. Staggering out of bed, he pulled on the first tunic he found, wincing with every move, every bend. He slowly made his way out of his chambers and down the hall, heading for the nearest exit.
If nobody in the Consortium would help him, he'd go to someone who would.
He'd made it as far as the first main corridor when someone appeared from the shadows off to the left.
'I was wondering if you were going to try something like this,' Kallist said.
'Have to. No choice. Hurts too much.'
'Jace,' his friend told him, voice ripe with worry, 'you can barely stand. How do you plan to get out? I don't think the guards would hurt you, but they're certainly not going to let you leave without permission, not until they're sure your punishment's up. Go back to bed. I'll bring you something, some brandy maybe, to help you sleep.'
'No. Kallist, please. You've no idea what it's… I need your help.'
Kallist frowned, and then sighed deeply. 'You owe me,' he said softly. 'How long do you need to get to the exit?'
Jace took a moment to picture the halls, thought about his current state. 'Ten minutes.'
'All right. Get close and be ready.'
Jace never did find out exactly what Kallist did to trigger the magical alarms that protected the complex from unauthorized entry-but he did so, and clear on the other side of the building. By the time the chaos was sorted out, and the patrols returned to their standard routes, Jace had slipped out the nearest door and onto the streets of Rubblefield.
What should have been a five-minute walk took him fifteen, but he finally found himself in the next district. It took another twenty minutes, given the lateness of the hour, to flag down a coach-for-hire.
'Where to?' asked the centaur who was both driver and hauler.
'Ovitzia,' Jace gasped, all but collapsing into the seat.
'Hrm. I don't know, sir. That's an awfully long trip for this late at night. Maybe-'
Jace groaned, reached into a pouch and dropped a handful of gold coins on the shelf before him without even bothering to count.
'Ovitzia,' the centaur announced, standing suddenly straight. 'Right away, sir.'
The jostling of the carriage over the cobblestones, though agonizing, almost managed to lull Jace to sleep with the promise of relief to come.
'You sure I can't get you anything, Berrim? You really need to keep your strength up.'
'Just my shirt,' Jace said, shuddering slightly-and not just from the chill-as Emmara's fingers softly, gracefully traced the newly healed scars across his back. 'It's pretty cold in here.'
'You'll get dressed when I'm satisfied these are healing properly, and not one second before. And Berrim,' the elf added, 'if you make one snide remark about me touching you like this, I may just heal your mouth shut.'
Jace clamped his teeth together, swallowing the comment he was about to utter like a half-chewed dumpling.
They sat together, not at Emmara's dining table downstairs, but at a small desk in her library-'library' being defined as 'that bunch of pillars with the bookcases between them.' It and the guest quarters were the only areas Jace had seen in the two days he'd been here. He'd slept a great deal as his body recovered from Emmara's magic, and tried to pass the rest of the time perusing those shelves. Unfortunately, the only books that were written in any script he could read were either cloying romances or high adventure fiction for which, thanks to recent events, he was very much not in the mood.
'All right,' she said finally, standing up and handing him his wadded tunic. 'I think I'm done. It looks like the physical damage is mostly healed. How about…?' Jace hadn't given her much in the way of details, of course, but he'd had to explain the nature of the manablade to ensure she could heal him properly. He frowned briefly, turning his attention inward, flexing muscles that weren't at all physical.
'I'd feel better if I could get near the water,' he said finally, 'but I think I shouldn't have any trouble once I do. It feels like everything's working.'
'I'm glad.'
'Are you sure you won't let me pay you something?' Jace asked. 'I really feel like I owe-'
'Berrim, no.' A shallow smile, then. 'Although, if you find yourself in possession of another shipment of fruit…'
For a time, they sat in silence. Then, 'I think he's losing it, Emmara,' Jace said softly. 'Tezzeret?'
He nodded. 'He's always been a hard man, but now he's getting cruel. Or maybe… Maybe he always was, and it just wasn't aimed my way.' Jace shook his head miserably. 'I knew from day one he wanted power. It's part of what drew me to him; I thought I could share in it. But now I think he's honestly going mad with it. He may have just started a war with a competing mercantile interest, for no better reason than he got overconfident in his abilities. His and mine both, actually, but he's only interested in my mistake, not his.'
'And was your mistake so very awful?'
