Eris remained upright, her knees trembling beneath the heavy wool of her skirts as a terrible, hollow lightness settled in her chest.
The air in the infirmary was warm, thick with the sharp smell of crushed nightshade and bitter salves, yet she felt entirely cold, a sudden, deep frost that had nothing to do with the weather outside.
"Is there no way to save him?" she asked again, her voice cracking on the final word.
Lord Aldwin stood near the head of the bed, his ancient, ink-stained hands suspended over the commander's bandaged torso.
He paused, the heavy silence stretching between them until the only sound left in the room was the shallow, rattling breath of the man on the mattress.
"The burns are not ordinary, Eris," Aldwin said, his voice dropping into a measured, solemn tone.
