Stealing Sorcery (40 page)

The scribe sat up slightly, moving his right arm to clutch at his left, which was still burning with agony. He could see blackened veins within the arm, which showed no sign of recovering in spite of Aladir’s treatment. “Thanks, you’ve done more than enough.” It felt like a lie, but he felt the need to express his gratitude.

“It’s never enough. Ironic, given the words of my house.” Aladir shook his head. Jonan wasn’t familiar with the reference, so he failed to find an immediate reply.

Aladir stood on wobbling legs, turning to leave. “My healing is not the right solution here. I’ll see to it that we find you someone who has expertise at treating poisons in the morning.”

“Liarra Dianis.” Jonan spat out the name, which had been hovering near the front of his mind, waiting for an opportunity to escape. It occurred to him afterward that a bit of context might have been helpful to avoid suspicion.

“Hm?” Aladir turned back toward Jonan, resting his hands on the back of the chair where he had been sitting.

“Friend of a friend,” Jonan explained. It was easier for him to be deceptive while hiding within the shadow of truth. “Please go see her. I’ve heard she’s an expert at these things, and I’m not sure my arm is going to last until the dawnfire rises.”

The paladin raised a hand to his forehead, wiping away sweat. “I’m not sure that would be wise. Even ignoring the late hour, Liarra is – in spite of her talents – quite inexperienced.”

Hm, he already knows her. That could make this easier or harder.

“And, given her age, I’m not certain on how her father would react to my midnight arrival and request for her to help me with a potentially dangerous procedure.”

Jonan ground his jaw.
Playing mind games to get a life-saving procedure was not what I envisioned when Lydia asked me to help her with this.

Nevertheless, he put on his most charming, friendly tone. “Oh, come now, Aladir. You’re a handsome fellow, and from a well-respected family. At worst, her father might take this as being an overture of interest in his daughter – who would probably make an excellent match for you, given your mutual interests in healing.”

“That’s part of why I’m worried. Torian has approached me about taking Liarra as a research partner twice now. In Rethri society, that’s a thinly veiled way of trying to imply a romantic match.”

“I’m not sure I see the problem.”

Aladir tapped his fingers on the chair. “It would be discourteous to do something that could be construed as a false demonstration of romantic interest.”

Be patient, Jonan. Just because the paladin is bad at relationship talk doesn’t mean he’s not trying to help you.

Jonan unconsciously rubbed his forehead. “Okay, just tell them that I – as the patient – asked for her specifically because of her excellent reputation.”

Aladir stood up a little straighter. “And a friend told you about her?”

“Right.”
Shit. Did he put it together?
“Besides, House Dianis is as famous at sorcery in general as House Ta’thyriel is for healing. I even thought about going to the Dianis University when I was younger.”

The paladin nodded at that – it was a valid explanation.

“If I end up with a wife because of this, you’re going to owe me an apology.”

The paladin’s tone was so deadpan that Jonan couldn’t be certain if it was a joke. Nevertheless, he laughed – and kept laughing until Aladir turned to leave the room.

“Deal.”

***

Jonan was already awake when his next set of visitors arrived. This was not due to any improvement in his condition, but rather because the persistent nightmares that shredded his mind each time he slept had forced him into a wakeful state.

He had gradually managed to push himself into a seated position, his back pressed against the bed’s wooden frame, and he had rested his injured arm in his lap.

The dull agony within his limb had continued to spread gradually outward, and he watched with morbid fascination as the blackened veins within his arm continued to spread. Unable to avoid fixating on the wounded region, he was absently tapping his right hand in time with the pulsing of his heart when the door to the room opened.

“Oh,” said an unfamiliar voice. Jonan glanced in the direction of the door. “I was not expecting you to be awake, or I would have knocked. Forgive me.”

The intruder was a Rethri man, which made his age difficult to judge. From his carefully tailored trousers and silver-gilded overcoat, however, Jonan appraised him to be a man of wealth. His eyes were ocean blue, indicating a strong bond to the Dominion of Water.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t busy.” Jonan gave a weak smile.

“Nevertheless, I’ve been rude, so you have my apologies. Torian Dianis, at your service.” The man bowed formally at the waist, his right hand folded in front of him.

You’re not quite the Dianis that I asked for.

“Jonan Kestrian. I would bow, but given the circumstances…”

Torian chuckled lightly. “May my daughter and I come in? In spite of appearances, I’m somewhat practiced in treating injuries, and my daughter more so.”

Jonan nodded. “I would be grateful for any help you can provide.”

The man stepped inside, beckoning to an unseen figure outside of the room.

A demure figure followed, stepping into the doorway and inside. The young woman was bronze-skinned and lithe, her eyes the deep brown of Selyr’s trees. She wore a green dress lined with golden thread, which served to accentuate the green highlights in in her brown hair.

Her resemblance to Rialla was instantly apparent from the angles of her face, but her poise was antithetical to her sister’s. Where Rialla had the grace of a predator, this girl showed only the innocence of prey.

Perhaps it was the thought that she could bring relief to his pain, but Jonan found the brown-eyed woman instantly captivating.

“Master Dianis, Miss Dianis, thank you both for coming to my aid on such short notice. Please forgive my disheveled appearance. I would be most grateful for any help you can provide.”

“Of course.” Torian approached the bed. “Master Ta’thyriel already regaled us with tales of your selfless bravery on the way here.”

Selfless bravery? Do they think I’m Taelien or something? Maybe they’re in the wrong room. Maybe I’m in the wrong room.

Jonan stretched his arm out across the bed toward the approaching man. Torian visibly winced when he got a better look at it, beckoning for his daughter to draw closer.

“I can potentially slow the spread of the toxin with a stability effect,” Torian offered, “But unless Liarra can remove it, there will be little chance of saving your arm.”

“I understand. Please, do what you need to do.”

And I’ll watch closely to make sure you don’t make things worse. Where’s Aladir? I could use his extra set of glowy green eyes about now.

Torian nodded gravely and pressed both of his hands against Jonan’s arm, closing his eyes for several moments. His lips tightened into a line. “The poison has spread beyond the arm. There is also a spell effect of some kind still in place around the injured area – it is already slowing the spread of the poison and attempting to filter out the poison, but with little success. I take it this was Master Ta’thyriel’s work?”

Jonan shook his head. “No, I believe it was – uh, my friend Vorianna.”

“It is a clever effect, but one that will need to be undone for Liarra to work. Ice sorcery would prevent her curative spells from spreading in the same way it is attempting to slow the poison.”

Well, uh, that’s bad.

Aladir arrived in the doorway a moment later. “Apologies for the delay, I needed to advise the ladies of the house about the situation. Lady Nakane wishes to visit at some point, but I told her that now would be an impertinent time.”

Liarra never turned her head toward Aladir as he spoke – in fact, she seemed to be deliberately looking away from him. Jonan would have been quite intrigued by the implications if he wasn’t currently embroiled in worry about both his arm and the next necessary step.

“Ah, Master Ta’thyriel.” Torian lifted his hands from Jonan’s arm and turned. “Can you summon the sorcerer who cast the ice spell on Master Kestrian’s arm? It needs to be undone for Liarra to work.”

Aladir quirked an immaculately groomed eyebrow. He looked about as skeptical as Jonan felt. “Vorianna is resting – she exerted herself significantly in the battle. Is reversing the spell strictly necessary?”

“I’m afraid so. Liarra utilizes nature sorcery in her curative techniques – and, as I’m certain you are already aware, that interacts poorly with ice sorcery.”

Aladir scratched at his chin, in spite of it lacking any growth. “Very well, I will seek her out and return shortly. In the meantime, I would advise making any necessary preparations.”

“Of course.”

Nature sorcery – that’s interesting. Explains her beautiful – I mean brown – eyes. Attempting to restore the body to its natural state is a logical way to treat poison, but it’s probably not going to be pleasant.

He had expected Liarra to be a water sorceress, since water sorcery was much more common and frequently used to treat poison. Water shaping – manipulating the composition of liquid – could be used to separate the poison from the blood and remove it from the body, most likely by draining it directly through the exit wound. He had never experienced that kind of treatment before, but he had seen it performed by a Thornguard friend in Selyr.

Nature sorcery, on the other hand, would not separate or expel the poison – it would attempt to force the body to break the poison down into something harmless.

Both forms of sorcery could potentially make certain maladies worse – specific toxins reacted differently to sorcerous intervention. This was, Jonan believed, why Rialla had insisted on her sister examining and treating the wound. If Liarra had created the poison, she would be aware of the proper treatment to use.

Of course,
Jonan considered
, Rialla probably assumes her sister would want to undo any damage to innocent victims like myself. It’s probable that Rialla is being hopelessly naïve, and there’s a good chance I’m about to be murdered by her uncomfortably attractive sister.

I suppose there are worse ways to die.

“I – can I examine your wound, Master Kestrian?” The girl turned her head in Jonan’s general direction, but neither directly toward his eyes nor his wound.

Adorable. Yes, of course you can, murder-mistress.

“I would be much obliged if you did so, Miss Dianis.”

The brunette scurried closer, still never meeting his gaze, but finally turning her attention toward the injured limb. To her credit, her look on inspecting the wound was one of curiosity, rather than the abject horror her father had displayed. She reached down, lifted his arm slightly, and gingerly turned it over, inspecting the exit wound. Frowning, she leaned closer and sniffed it.

“The ice sorcery has been effective at slowing the poison’s ability to cause damage, but the water key used as a filtration agent has been completely ineffective. If Master Ta’thyriel had not been working to undo the internal damage, the necrosis would have already spread beyond your arm. His efforts have been…impressive.”

She took a deep breath. “I will need to reopen the wound once we begin the process in order to make direct contact with the poison. This will be uncomfortable, especially once the numbness from the ice spell fades. Do you have any questions?”

Liarra raised her head to look directly at Jonan. He turned his head away.

“No, that was, uh, quite clear. Thank you.”

She nodded and looked back down at the wound. “I will begin as soon as the sorceress arrives and undoes her spell. Father, please bring me a chair.”

Huh. She’s vastly more assertive when she’s working.

Torian dutifully moved one of the nearby chairs next to the bed, and Liarra sat, continuing to inspect the wound. She prodded at the areas where the blackened veins were visible, appearing entranced with the damage.

He wasn’t sure if she was practicing some kind of silent sorcery like his own or just prodding at his skin out of boredom. He suspected the former, but it was the more disturbing answer – Assassin’s Sorcery had its name for a reason.

Even as a practitioner of the same style of spellcasting, he had no way of detecting silent spells unless they were of a dominion that he was personally capable of using. Nature and life were not among those dominions – and neither was poison. If she was a poison sorceress, putting her in direct contact with his wound was a suicidal prospect.

But he was no longer in a position to refuse – sounding the alarm now would have been a dangerous complication, and one that could easily cost his arm. It was easier, if not necessarily safer, to trust Rialla’s judgment of her sister.

Instead, he focused on the problem that Rialla had been trying to avoid, constructing a new image of her in his mind.

When Rialla began to come into view, he made an assassin’s move of his own.

Disguise.

He shaped the sight sorcery spell carefully, only capturing Liarra, Torian, and himself in its effect. The alterations to Rialla’s appearance would be subtle ones – changes to the structure of her face, the musculature in her arms and legs, and her apparent age.