She sterilized each tip in candlelight and cool rice wine, then drove them into key points—Yin Spring, Great Abyss, Returning Current. Anywhere she could force the heat to move downward and away from vital organs, urge the blood to flow, the body to rise and remember how to heal itself. She watched skin flush red around each point. Saw their pupils constrict. Felt their pulses flicker.
No recovery was instant. As confident as she was in her healing skills, she was dealing with an uncharted territory. It would take time, but she had reasons to hope.
One girl retched black phlegm for a day and a night, but then she breathed easier and slept without fits for the first time. Another clenched her fists so hard her palms bled, but when JingYi checked her tongue, it had cleared—no longer purpled and swollen.
The oldest among them, a woman with silver threads in her dark hair who hadn’t spoken a word since JingYi arrived, suddenly grasped her wrist during a pulse check.
“The ringing,” the woman confided, her voice cracked from disuse. “The ringing in my ears . . . it’s stopped. I can hear my thoughts again.”
It was a small thing, but in the deep, dank misery of their captivity, it felt like a miracle. Small victories, one step at a time.
She noted every change in a small notebook she kept inside her medicine chest, tracing the patterns of decline or recovery. Her sleeves stayed damp with sweat and draughts. She had no more salves to soften her own cracked fingers, no time to rest. She kept moving.
Adelise did her best beside her. The work was clearly foreign to the Tremorian princess, but every time she fumbled, she righted herself, jaw set. Sometimes they tried to laugh, to insert joy in this grey stone world, but mostly they knew: this was what healing looked like. Blood and bile.
And still, beneath the herb-scented steam, the metallic tang of limyerite lingered. She could smell it on her skin. Feel it in the air. No matter how clean the needle, the poison sang. She’d never hated anything more, but she couldn’t show it. Even now, there were eyes on her, always watching.
At least one guard was stationed inside the room during treatments. She could never tell if it was the same person, for they had the same height and build, clad in identical dark uniforms and a full mask concealing even the curve of a jaw. They were all Betas, that much she knew. None spoke, not even to Tedric, their presence as constant and impersonal as shadows.
One day, closer to dusk, Tedric summoned her to the same chamber where they suppered. But tonight, he had no plates nordinner, only a glass vial between his fingers. The liquid inside shimmered a garish purple.
“You’ve done well,” he said. The warmth in his voice did nothing but chill her. “The Omegas are stabilizing. Iknewyou were the right choice.”
JingYi’s gaze stayed fixed on the vial as it rolled between his fingers.
“The final entries in the tome are clear,” he said. “With the right patient and the right care, there’s a path forward. Liberation, even. You’ve already succeeded where others failed. All that remains is to see it through.”
His gaze met hers. “Administer this to Princess Adelise. Now.”
Her stomach dropped. “You want me to administer purple limyerite to Princess Adelise?” she parroted. “Haven’t you learned anything? Even your most successful vessel died.”
He smiled. “She didn’t have you.”
JingYi backed away. “I’m a healer, not a butcher.”
“And I respect that,” he said, almost kindly. “If you won’t do it, I’ll ask someone else. Perhaps one of the guards.” His eyes flicked toward the door. “They’re not trained, of course, but how difficult can it be?”
Her insides balked at the thought.
Tedric’s tone remained even. “Or I could do it myself. You’ve seen how I am with the blade, how accurate I can puncture someone’s jugular or chest cavity. Assuming you’d prefer that?”
She swallowed, the back of her neck hot with rising panic.
“She may live,” he said softly. “Or she may not. But in your hands, at least, she has a chance.”
He placed the vial on the table between them. “You choose.”
He left.
Her first instinct was revulsion, then anger. And beneath that—worse than both—a surge of helpless understanding. Tedricwas right about one thing: in her hands, at least, Adelise might live.
She hated the logic of it. Hated the truth in it. Hated that he’d placed the burden squarely in her lap and walked away, confident her conscience would sort out the matter for him. It was a healer’s curse—she couldn’t bear the idea of someone else doing it blindly. Without preparations, Adelise would succumb to the same ailments as the others.
Two guards entered without knocking. One gestured. JingYi picked up the vial and placed it on a tray of tools, its weight far heavier than it should’ve been. They walked her down the narrow hall to the cell she’d shared with Adelise, her limping gait forcing them into a sluggish procession, but she didn’t care a whit. The key turned in the lock with an echoing click, the door swinging inward on protesting hinges.
Adelise bolted upright the moment they entered. Her gaze dropped briefly to the tray in JingYi’s hands—the purple shimmer of limyerite, the gleam of the infuser needle, its slender body carved from polished glass and capped in brass. When her eyes lifted again, there was no question in them.
“If it’s for their sake,” she said, rising slowly, “then do it. I would rather it be me.”
