Page 77 of Adam, Mine

“So, even the most . . . wicked among you participates in ritual selflessness—”

Brogan took her hands off him immediately.

“No,” she said, firm. “Even the most wicked among us understands that they are not impervious to weakness and helplessness. That they are a part of a community and have responsibilities to that community, whether it is aiding any of us at need or turning from shameful acts. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Victor said, chastened.

Brogan went back to tending to him, her mouth in a twist of distaste.

“I’m sorry,” Victor whispered.

“With time, you may have been able to unlearn your natural selfishness. I can see that you are trying. But I don’t think you’ll have enough time to manage it. I cannot save you, Mr. Frankenstein.”

Victor buried his face in his thin arms.

“That’s okay,” he murmured, for the first time believing it. “I have woven this tapestry. If it is not enough to keep me warm through the winter, so be it.”

Brogan pushed a hand through Victor’s hair, smoothing the strands away from his face.

“You must be on your way, alchemist. If you find him, you may have a chance. I cannot save you, but you may be able to save yourself.”

“I might be too weak to make it. But that’s all right.”

Brogan shook her head. “We don’t know what happens if one of you dies. Turn over.”

Victor flipped onto his back obediently and lay there waiting. Brogan, without any need for streams or lightning, placed her hand in the center of Victor’s chest and scrunched her fingers together. The opposite of what Willem had done. Then she put one hand on his stomach and the other on his head.

A pulse ran through his body and a feeling of contriteness hit him; then a jolt of energy and strength returned to him. His joints ached less, and his chest loosened enough for him to take a deep breath. Victor’s heart rate slowed, and it immediately became easier to move.

Brogan let go of him and paused for a minute to pant with effort.

“There, that should last you to—”

Victor hurled himself into Brogan’s arms. He buried his face in her beard, using the health he just got back to tremble.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chanted, choking on sentiment.

“Hm. A gift of balance from the alchemist of balance,” Brogan said, patting his back politely.

Victor drew back and spit the talisman from his mouth. He curled around himself and felt the confusion and fear coming from Elias’s end. He pushed back a wave of thankfulness and apology twinned together, heavy and raw. Held that feeling close to his heart, held it strong until he could feel Elias’s emotions pricking over his own. Irritation, understanding, old anger, impatience, and something else that didn’t feel like it was for him.

Victor looked up at Brogan. “He says he loves you.”

Brogan looked horrified. “You’re hearing his voice?!”

“No.” Victor stood up and stretched. “He hates me so he sends me negative emotions when he sends them on purpose. There was a sliver of something else, and it didn’t feel like it belonged to me. So he must have guessed that I am here, and it must be for you.”

Brogan cocked her head to the side. “What did it feel like?”

“Fond. I feel fondness on the right side of my chest close to my throat. Elias feels it like a cloak draped over his heart.”

Brogan sucked her teeth in contemplation. “If you live, seek out Amhorea in Salamanca. She can be your mentor, if you ask kindly enough.”

“What is she the alchemist of?”

“Time and feelings.” Brogan climbed to her feet and began walking toward the door, so Victor followed her. “It’s not the most powerful of magics, but it should suit you, and it’s far enough from your original sin that you would be allowed.”

Victor bowed his head. “Thank you again, Brogan.”