Eleven days after the beast died, Xavier learned that sewing flesh was nothing like sewing cloth.
Cloth stayed where it was placed.
Cloth did not breathe, bleed, flinch or insult him.
"You're strangling it," Raymond said.
Xavier glared across the workbench.
"I'm stitching dead hide."
"And somehow it appears distressed."
A strip of boar skin lay stretched between two iron clamps. Xavier had already pierced it twelve times. Six stitches were too loose, four too tight, and the last two had crossed each other like drunken roads.
Raymond sat on the opposite side with his left arm still bound against his ribs. His face had regained some color, though the bruising beneath his shirt had spread from purple to a sickly yellow. A cane rested beside his chair.
He hated the cane.
Everyone knew because he had threatened to burn it three times.
The old woman had responded by carving his name into the handle.
Xavier cut the thread with his knife.
"You could show me."
"I have shown you."
"With your good hand."
"Yes. A feature I recommend."
"Your fingers shake."
"Only when I'm tired."
"You're always tired."
"A cruel consequence of being surrounded by young people."
From the center of the cabin came the scrape of wood against wood.
Elisabeth stood between the rehabilitation rails.
She had progressed from three steps to fourteen. Today she had reached nine before her right knee began to tremble. The treated leather sleeve covering her poisoned hand rested against the rail without gripping it.
The silver lines beneath her skin had stopped at the inside of her elbow.
For now.
She moved her left foot.
Then the right.
Ten.
Delo walked beside her, close enough to catch her but wise enough not to touch.
Saraounia watched from the bed. Her fever had broken two days earlier. She could sit without help and eat solid food, though sudden movements still made her dizzy.
"Eleven," Delo counted.
"I know how to count," Elisabeth said.
"You stopped yesterday at eleven."
"Then remain quiet and watch history."
She took another step.
Her right leg nearly folded.
Elisabeth locked the knee and held herself upright.
"Twelve," Delo whispered.
Xavier glanced away from the boar hide.
Raymond struck the table with two fingers.
"Your patient just died."
"It's a dead pig."
"Your future patients will find the distinction comforting."
Xavier returned to the stitch.
He guided the needle through the hide, curved it beneath the cut and pulled until the edges met.
Not crushed.
Not gaping.
Met.
Raymond examined it.
"Acceptable."
Xavier leaned back. "That sounded painful."
"It was."
"Can I write it down?"
"Don't become greedy."
A clay jar hissed near Elisabeth's feet.
One drop of venom had passed through the narrow channel beneath her leather palm guard. It struck a bed of crushed limestone inside the jar and dissolved into dull violet smoke.
Elisabeth stopped walking.
She closed her eyes.
Her breathing slowed.
The silver channels in her forearm faded.
No second drop fell.
"Thirteen," she said.
Delo looked at Raymond.
Raymond gave no instruction.
That was deliberate.
The choice belonged to her.
Elisabeth moved again.
Fourteen.
Her legs failed together.
Delo caught her beneath the arms, keeping her right hand away from both of them. She cursed as he lowered her into the chair.
"I had fifteen."
"You had the intention of fifteen," Raymond said.
"The intention counts."
"Only in religion and attempted murder."
Elisabeth leaned her head back, breathing hard.
"Tomorrow, fifteen."
"Tomorrow, rest."
She looked toward him.
"That wasn't a request."
"Neither was mine."
Xavier smiled over the ruined boar skin.
Elisabeth saw him.
"You've stabbed that thing enough."
"I'm learning."
"You've turned it into lace."
"It's more useful than your walking."
She raised her poisoned hand.
Xavier lifted both palms.
"A poor choice of words."
Saraounia laughed from the bed.
The sound stopped abruptly.
Her face emptied.
Delo turned.
"Sara?"
She stared at the wall behind Raymond.
Her pupils widened.
Then her body jerked.
The cup slipped from her hand and struck the floor.
Xavier was moving before it broke.
Saraounia folded sideways. Delo caught her shoulder, but her head snapped back against the bedding. Her jaw locked. A harsh sound scraped through her throat.
"Don't hold her down," Xavier said.
Delo had already seized both her arms.
"What's happening?"
"Move your hands."
"She's shaking!"
"You'll hurt her. Let go."
Delo didn't.
Xavier struck his wrist.
"Let go!"
Delo released her.
Xavier pulled the blankets away from Saraounia's face and turned her onto her side. He slid a folded cloth beneath her head, then watched her breathing.
Too shallow.
Too fast.
The lessons came back in Raymond's voice.
Airway.
Breathing.
Pulse.
Pupils.
Do not treat panic as information.
Treat the body.
Xavier placed two fingers against her neck.
The pulse hammered beneath them.
"Twenty breaths," he said.
"No," Raymond answered from behind him. "More."
Xavier counted again.
The movements were small enough to miss.
"Thirty-two."
"Pupils."
Xavier reached for the lamp.
Saraounia's spasms slowed. Her limbs went loose.
Delo knelt beside the bed, pale and useless.
"Sara. Sara, look at me."
"She can't," Xavier said.
He brought the light near her eyes.
The left pupil tightened.
The right barely moved.
His stomach dropped.
"They're uneven."
The old woman crossed the room.
She examined the bandage near Saraounia's temple, pressed lightly around the wound, then smelled her fingers.
"No fever," she said.
Raymond pushed himself upright.
Pain tightened his face.
"Did she complain of headaches?"
Delo swallowed.
"This morning."
"How bad?"
"She said it was nothing."
"People say that when they don't want treatment or attention. Which was it?"
"I don't know."
Saraounia dragged in a sudden breath.
Her eyes opened.
The right one drifted toward the side.
She tried to speak.
Only air emerged.
Delo reached for her again.
Xavier blocked him.
"Give her room."
"You don't tell me to move away from my sister."
"I'm trying to see her."
"And I'm trying to—"
"Delo."
Saraounia's fingers twitched toward him.
He stopped arguing.
Raymond gripped the arms of his chair.
"Bring the lamp closer to the wound."
Xavier moved it.
The cut near Saraounia's temple had closed poorly. The skin was swollen beneath the bandage, but there was no fresh blood.
Something dark showed below the surface.
Not a vein.
A splinter.
Xavier activated Flow.
The world deepened.
Heat moved through Saraounia's skin. Blood pulsed beneath it. Mana came in weak, uneven waves.
Near the wound, the current bent around a cold point.
A residue remained there.
The same wrong pressure he had felt around the dead creature.
"There's something inside," Xavier said.
Raymond's eyes narrowed.
"How deep?"
"I can't tell."
"Then don't guess."
Xavier forced himself to breathe.
He changed the angle.
Flow caught the disturbance again. A narrow object sat beneath the swollen tissue, perhaps the length of his smallest finger. Every pulse pushed energy against it. The current returned distorted.
"It moves when her heart beats."
The old woman's face hardened.
"A fragment."
"From the beast?" Delo asked.
No one answered.
Raymond reached for his cane.
The old woman kicked it away.
"You are not standing."
"I need to examine her."
"You need your ribs to remain inside your body."
Raymond tried anyway.
His legs took his weight.
For half a second.
Then his right knee buckled.
The old woman caught him under the shoulder and forced him back into the chair. Raymond's breath vanished in a grunt. Blood darkened the bandage beneath his shirt.
Xavier looked at him.
Raymond looked back.
Both understood.
He could not perform the procedure.
Delo understood a moment later.
"No."
Raymond ignored him.
"Xavier. Wash your hands."
"No," Delo repeated. "The old woman does it."
"She can manage wounds," Raymond said. "She cannot see the fragment's energy."
"She has more experience."
"And he has Flow."
Delo stood between Xavier and the bed.
"My sister isn't a lesson."
"No," Xavier said. "She isn't."
Raymond's voice remained level.
"She is also running out of time."
Delo turned on him.
"You don't know that."
"The pupil response is worsening. Her speech is affected. The fragment is either pressing against something important or poisoning the surrounding tissue."
"Either?"
Raymond did not soften the truth.
"We don't have enough information."
Delo's hands closed into fists.
"You want him to cut into her without knowing?"
"I want him to remove the object before ignorance becomes irrelevant."
Saraounia moved.
Barely.
Her left hand searched across the blanket until it found Delo's wrist.
He bent toward her.
Her mouth worked twice before sound emerged.
"Xavier."
Delo stared at her.
She looked toward the prince.
Fear remained in her eyes.
But so did a decision.
Xavier crouched beside the bed.
"You understand what he's asking?"
A small nod.
"It may make things worse."
Another nod.
"I haven't done this on a person."
Saraounia's mouth shifted.
It might have been an attempt at a smile.
"Better… than him."
Raymond looked offended.
Even Delo gave a broken laugh.
Then Saraounia's eyes rolled back.
Her body began shaking again.
"Do it," Delo said.
Xavier moved.
The old woman brought boiled cloth, a shallow metal tray and two narrow instruments from Raymond's workbench. Xavier washed his hands until the water turned cold.
His fingers did not feel like his own.
Raymond watched him from the chair.
"Tell me the order," Raymond said.
Xavier knew it was a test.
He hated him for making it one now.
"Clean the skin. Expose the wound. Find the fragment before trying to remove it. Control bleeding. Check breathing throughout."
"What do you avoid?"
"Pressure against the object."
"And?"
Xavier looked at Saraounia's temple.
"Following it if it moves too deep."
Raymond nodded.
"Good."
Delo held Saraounia's hand.
Elisabeth remained in her chair near the rails, her poisoned arm resting across her lap.
Xavier cleaned the wound.
The dark shape beneath the skin became clearer.
It was not wood or stone.
A translucent shard had lodged beside the bone. Thin black fibers spread from it into the surrounding tissue.
The beast had left a piece of itself behind.
Xavier's mouth went dry.
"Raymond."
"I see it."
"It has roots."
"Not roots. Filaments."
"That distinction changes nothing."
"It changes how you remove it."
Xavier lifted the narrow forceps.
His hand trembled.
"Stop," Raymond said.
Delo's head snapped around.
"What?"
"His hand."
Xavier tightened his grip.
"I'm fine."
"No. You're frightened."
"Of course I'm frightened."
"Then use it. Don't pretend it isn't there."
Xavier stared at the instrument.
He could feel every movement through Flow. Saraounia's pulse. The old woman's breathing. Delo's hand crushing the blanket.
Too much information.
The reward became noise.
"Reduce your range," Raymond said.
"I don't know how."
"Choose one current."
Xavier focused on Saraounia's heartbeat.
The cabin receded.
One beat.
Then another.
The world narrowed to the shard moving with the blood beneath the wound.
His hand steadied.
He guided the forceps toward it.
The black filaments tightened.
The shard shifted deeper.
Xavier stopped.
"It's reacting."
Raymond leaned forward despite the pain.
"To the metal?"
"I don't know."
"Touch the outer filament."
Xavier did.
The black thread curled around the tip.
Smoke rose from the forceps.
He pulled back.
"It's eating the instrument."
Elisabeth spoke from behind him.
"My venom."
Xavier turned.
"No."
She lifted the leather-covered hand.
"It dissolved the residue from the cup."
"We don't know what it will do to Saraounia."
"We test it."
"There's no time."
"Then test quickly."
Raymond looked at Elisabeth's hand.
Chessmaster flickered behind his eyes.
The board assembled itself.
Saraounia: patient, unstable.
Xavier: operative, inexperienced.
Delo: restraint and consent.
The old woman: support.
Elisabeth: reagent.
The classification appeared cold and immediate.
Wrong.
Elisabeth caught the way he looked at her.
"I am not a bottle on your shelf."
The skill stuttered.
Raymond's vision sharpened.
His first arrangement had reduced her to a function. A useful one. An efficient one.
And incomplete.
"What are your conditions?" he asked.
Xavier looked at him in disbelief.
"You're considering this?"
"Elisabeth suggested it."
"That doesn't make it safe."
"No," she said. "It makes it my choice."
She loosened the leather sleeve with her left hand.
Delo looked between them.
"What would the poison do?"
"We don't know," Raymond said.
Xavier cursed.
Elisabeth extended her hand over the metal tray.
"One drop on a removed filament," she said. "Not on Saraounia. If it dissolves the thing without spreading, we continue."
"And if it doesn't?"
"We stop."
Raymond nodded.
Xavier did not.
"The fragment is moving."
"Then hold it in place," Elisabeth said.
"With what?"
"With Flow. You said you can feel it."
"I can feel it. I can't freeze it."
"You don't need to freeze it. Tell me when it moves."
Raymond almost smiled.
She was not a reagent.
She was designing the procedure.
"Do it," Saraounia whispered.
Her eyes had opened again.
Xavier looked at her.
Then Delo.
Delo's fear had become something harder.
"Do it."
Xavier caught one of the outer filaments and drew it away from the wound. It stretched like wet thread.
Elisabeth leaned forward.
Her legs shook from the earlier exercise. She ignored them.
A violet bead gathered in the center of her palm.
"Closer," she said.
Xavier held the filament over the tray.
The drop fell.
It struck the black thread.
The reaction was instant.
The filament curled into itself, hardened and broke apart into gray dust. Elisabeth's venom remained in one clear bead on the tray.
It did not spread.
Raymond exhaled.
"Again."
Xavier worked slowly.
He exposed each filament without pulling the shard deeper. Elisabeth released one drop at a time, never touching Saraounia's skin.
Three filaments dissolved.
Then five.
The venom output grew weaker.
Elisabeth's breathing became uneven.
"Enough," Xavier said.
"One remains," Raymond answered.
"I said enough."
The final thread ran beneath the fragment.
Removing it would free the shard.
Or push it deeper.
Raymond studied the angle.
"Lift from the lower side."
Xavier did not move.
"You can't see what I see."
"No," Raymond said. "I can see your wrist. You're compensating left because the shard moved right."
"That's not enough."
"It is the best information available."
Xavier looked at Saraounia.
Then at the last filament.
He made his own decision.
Instead of following Raymond's angle, he rotated the forceps and waited for Saraounia's pulse.
The shard rose slightly with the beat.
Xavier moved then.
He caught the filament at its narrowest point and drew it outward.
Elisabeth released the final drop.
Gray dust scattered across the tray.
The shard loosened.
Xavier removed it in one smooth motion.
Saraounia convulsed once.
Delo shouted her name.
"Breathing," Raymond said.
Xavier checked.
Nothing.
His chest went cold.
"No breath."
The old woman moved beside him.
Xavier tilted Saraounia's head, cleared her mouth and began the emergency rhythm Raymond had drilled into him. His hands pressed, released, pressed again.
Delo stood frozen.
Elisabeth watched with her poisoned hand hanging empty over the tray.
"Again," Raymond said.
Xavier continued.
His arms burned.
"Again."
Saraounia coughed.
Air tore into her lungs.
Delo nearly collapsed across the bed.
Xavier rolled her carefully onto her side.
She coughed again, weak but alive.
The right pupil tightened beneath the lamp.
Not fully.
More than before.
The cabin remained silent for several breaths.
Then Raymond said, "Your angle was wrong."
Xavier turned slowly.
"My angle worked."
"It nearly stopped her heart."
"The fragment was tied to her mana. Any removal might have done that."
"You deviated from the plan."
"There was no plan. There was your guess."
Raymond's eyes hardened.
"And yours."
"Yes."
Xavier stood.
His hands were covered in sweat and medicine. They had stopped trembling.
"I made the decision because I was the one holding the instrument."
Raymond stared at him.
Xavier expected anger.
Instead, something quieter passed across Raymond's face.
Recognition, perhaps.
"Good," he said.
Xavier frowned.
"Don't patronize me."
"I'm not. You had information I didn't. You chose, and now you own the result."
"Saraounia is alive."
"For the moment."
Delo looked up.
Raymond continued before he could speak.
"She needs observation through the night. Uneven pupils, vomiting, confusion, weakness on one side—you wake us."
"I know," Xavier said.
Raymond leaned back.
"Then my usefulness here has declined dramatically."
The old woman pointed at his blood-soaked bandage.
"Yours has been declining since morning."
Elisabeth tried to retie her sleeve.
Her left hand missed the strap twice.
Xavier crossed to her and waited.
She looked at him.
"May I?"
After a moment, she nodded.
He fastened the leather around her poisoned hand.
Neither spoke.
Across the room, Delo bent over Saraounia and pressed his forehead against hers.
Raymond watched them.
Chessmaster returned in a quieter form.
No blue trajectories. No cold declarations.
Only positions.
Xavier had ceased being merely an extension of Raymond's plans.
Elisabeth had refused the role assigned to her and created a better one.
Delo had chosen trust while afraid.
Saraounia had chosen risk while weak.
The board had moved without Raymond's permission.
And improved.
That was irritating.
It was also necessary.
---
At sunset, Elisabeth walked from the cabin door to the first tree.
Seventeen steps.
Delo carried the stone jar beneath her poisoned hand. Xavier stayed behind her without touching. Saraounia slept inside under the old woman's supervision.
Raymond stood on the porch with his cane.
He had managed nine steps that afternoon before his injured side forced him back.
Elisabeth reached the tree and placed her left palm against the bark.
"Eighteen," she said.
"You're leaning," Raymond replied.
"I arrived."
"Badly."
"Still arrived."
Xavier watched her turn.
Tomorrow she might manage twenty.
Or five.
Recovery refused straight lines.
Raymond descended one porch step.
The cane sank into the wet earth.
Pain crossed his face, but he remained standing.
Xavier walked toward him.
"You taught me because you knew this would happen."
"I taught you because eventually something always happens."
"You expected to be unable to help."
"I expect to be unavailable at the least convenient moment. It's one of my more dependable qualities."
Xavier glanced toward Saraounia's window.
"I froze."
"Yes."
"I nearly dropped the forceps."
"Yes."
"I ignored your instruction."
"Yes."
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
Xavier folded his arms.
"What comes next?"
Raymond looked at him.
At the stronger shoulders beneath the stained shirt. At Flow moving restlessly around him, still too broad, still drinking every disturbance in the air.
The prince had learned to keep someone alive.
Now Raymond needed to discover whether he could make decisions while someone tried to kill him.
"At dawn," Raymond said, "bring your sword."
Xavier's expression changed.
"My sister still needs—"
"Delo knows the observations. The old woman knows more medicine than she admits. Elisabeth has discovered the intoxicating pleasure of ordering everyone around."
From near the tree, Elisabeth raised one finger.
The left one.
Raymond continued.
"You asked what comes next. Tomorrow, we find out whether Gaia gave you a weapon…"
His gaze settled on the invisible currents twisting around Xavier.
"…or merely a more expensive way to die."