On the third morning, Raymond turned the cabin into a torture chamber and called it medicine.
Two rails made from unfinished pieces of the Sierra ran across the center of the room. Delo had fixed them into holes cut through the floorboards, then reinforced each post with rope and iron clamps. They were ugly. Uneven, too.
Raymond approved.
If Elisabeth could stand between them, she could stand on the deck of a flying ship.
The cabin smelled of boiled linen, bitter herbs and the venom dripping from her right hand into a clay basin.
Elisabeth sat at the beginning of the rails with both feet planted on the floor. Her poisoned hand rested inside a thick sleeve of treated hide. The sleeve ended in a narrow stone cup tied beneath her palm, allowing any discharge to collect without touching her skin again.
It made her arm look like a badly designed weapon.
Xavier knelt beside her with two fingers pressed against her left wrist.
"Count," Raymond said.
Xavier frowned.
"I am counting."
"You stopped moving your lips."
"I don't need my lips to count."
"You apparently need them to remember that you're doing it."
Xavier glanced toward him.
Raymond occupied Marduk's old chair beside the cold hearth. His chest was bound from ribs to shoulder, and his left arm remained strapped against his body. He had insisted on walking from the bed that morning.
He had managed four steps.
The fifth had ended with the old woman catching him by the back of his trousers before he struck the floor.
Now a cane rested against his good knee, though everyone in the cabin knew he could not use it without reopening the wound in his side.
Xavier returned his attention to Elisabeth's pulse.
"Seventy-eight."
"Again."
"I counted correctly."
"I didn't say you hadn't."
"Then why again?"
"Because patients have a regrettable habit of changing."
Elisabeth's mouth twitched.
Xavier noticed.
"Are you enjoying this?"
"Immensely."
"You're the patient."
"And you're terrible at this."
Xavier pressed his fingers harder against her wrist.
Elisabeth winced.
Raymond clicked his tongue.
"You're checking a pulse, not blocking an artery. Lighter."
Xavier loosened his grip.
The beat vanished beneath his fingers.
"I can't feel it."
"Move toward the thumb."
"I know where the artery is."
"Then perhaps it moved out of disappointment."
Delo hid a laugh behind his hand.
He sat near Saraounia's pallet, replacing the wet cloth on his sister's forehead. She had awakened twice since dawn and managed a few spoonfuls of broth. Her eyes followed everyone in the room, though speaking still exhausted her.
Xavier found the pulse again.
"Seventy-six."
"Better. Now count her breaths without telling her."
Elisabeth looked at Raymond.
"He just told me."
"Yes. A tragic flaw in the lesson."
"You could have started with that."
"I wanted to see whether he possessed subtlety."
"And?"
"Another disappointment."
Xavier rose.
"I've carried both of you through enough blood to earn a little respect."
"You dropped me against the doorframe," Raymond said.
"The doorway was narrow."
"My ribs remain unconvinced."
Elisabeth leaned forward, preparing to grip the rails.
Raymond's expression changed.
The humor vanished first.
"Not yet."
"You said we would begin after he checked me."
"He hasn't finished."
Xavier looked at Raymond. "What else?"
"Pupils."
"I already checked them this morning."
"Check them again."
"She's awake and insulting me. Her brain works."
"Some would argue those facts contradict each other."
Xavier crouched in front of his sister and raised the oil lamp.
Elisabeth turned her face away.
"That's too bright."
"Look at me."
"Don't order me."
"I need to see your eyes."
"Ask."
Xavier inhaled through his nose.
"May I examine your eyes?"
"No."
He stared at her.
She held his gaze for two seconds, then turned back toward the light.
"But I appreciate the improvement."
Xavier moved the lamp from side to side. Her pupils tightened evenly. No delayed response. No strange violet color. He lowered it.
"Equal. Both react."
"Good," Raymond said. "Now the hand."
Elisabeth's shoulders stiffened.
Xavier reached for the leather sleeve.
She pulled her arm against her stomach.
"I can remove it myself."
"The straps are behind your wrist."
"Then turn around."
"I need to inspect the skin."
"You don't need to watch me struggle."
Xavier sat back.
The old woman, who had been sorting dried leaves near the window, looked up.
Elisabeth used her left hand to loosen the first strap. The knot refused to move. She tried again. Sweat gathered near her hairline.
No one helped.
Not because they enjoyed it.
Because she had asked them not to.
The second attempt opened the knot.
The third strap took longer. By the time the sleeve came free, her left arm was trembling.
She lowered the treated hide into the basin.
Her right hand emerged.
The dark violet color had faded near the fingertips, but the silver lines beneath her skin had climbed farther up the forearm. Her nails remained darker than before. A thin layer of clear fluid coated her palm.
Xavier leaned closer.
"Is that venom?"
"Don't touch it," Raymond said.
"I wasn't going to."
"You were thinking with your fingers."
The old woman placed a narrow glass rod in Xavier's hand.
"Use that."
Xavier touched the fluid with the tip.
The rod smoked.
A hairline fracture raced through the glass.
He withdrew it.
Elisabeth watched without blinking.
"Wonderful."
"Less concentrated than yesterday," Raymond said.
"It broke glass."
"Yesterday it softened clay."
"That doesn't sound less dangerous."
"It is less active against stone-based materials and more active against refined silica."
Xavier looked at him. "You learned that from one cracked rod?"
"I learned that the rod cracked."
"That isn't the same thing."
"No. Which is why we test rather than declare ourselves geniuses after one observation."
Xavier's gaze hardened.
Raymond noticed but continued.
"Color near the fingertips has improved. Silver channels are expanding."
"Expanding where?" Elisabeth asked.
"Toward the elbow."
Her eyes moved down to her arm.
"What happens when they reach my shoulder?"
"I don't know."
Xavier stood.
"You knew they were expanding?"
"I saw the first signs yesterday."
"And you didn't tell us?"
"I am telling you now."
"You waited."
"I needed to know whether it was temporary inflammation."
"It is her body."
"And an incorrect conclusion would still be incorrect inside her body."
Xavier stepped between Raymond and the rails.
"You don't keep information like that from us."
Raymond looked up at him.
"I withheld an unconfirmed possibility for one night."
"You decided we didn't need to know."
"I decided panic would not improve her circulation."
"You keep deciding."
Elisabeth struck the rail with her left palm.
The wood cracked sharply through the room.
Both men turned.
"I'm sitting here."
Xavier's jaw tightened. "I'm trying to protect you."
"Then stop discussing me as if I'm somewhere else."
"I'm talking to him."
"About me."
Raymond lowered his gaze first.
A small concession.
Elisabeth looked at him.
"If you observe something changing in my body, you tell me."
"Even if I'm not certain?"
"You say you're not certain."
"Fair."
Xavier turned toward her. "You shouldn't have to negotiate for that."
"I just did."
"That doesn't make what he did right."
"No. It makes the next part clear."
She slid the poisoned hand back into the treated sleeve.
Then she gripped the left rail.
"I'm standing."
Raymond glanced at her feet.
"Not with that position."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Your right foot is too far forward. Your hip will rotate before your knee can bear weight."
"I can't feel half my right leg."
"Then your eyes will do the work until your nerves remember their employment."
He pointed with two fingers.
"Move the foot back. Two inches."
Elisabeth dragged it into place.
"Xavier, stand behind her."
He did.
"Hands near her ribs. Don't hold her unless she falls."
"She will fall."
"Yes."
"Then why wait?"
"Because catching someone before they fail teaches them nothing except dependence."
Xavier's face darkened again.
Elisabeth tightened her grip on the rails.
"He's right."
"You don't know that."
"I know you've been holding me since we were children."
"Because you couldn't stand."
"And now I'm trying."
Xavier moved behind her, close enough to catch but no longer touching.
Raymond watched Elisabeth's shoulders.
"Lean forward until your nose passes your knees."
She did.
Her arms shook.
"Push through the left heel."
"What about the right?"
"Let it carry only what it can."
Elisabeth pushed.
Her body rose an inch from the chair.
Then dropped.
The impact rattled the wooden frame.
Pain crossed her face.
Xavier's hands closed around her shoulders.
She shoved them away.
"Again."
Raymond looked at her breathing.
"Wait."
"No."
"Your pulse has jumped."
"You're sitting across the room."
"I can see your throat."
"I said again."
"And I said wait."
She glared at him.
"Ten breaths," Raymond said. "Then you may ignore me with better oxygen."
Elisabeth counted.
The first three breaths were shallow and furious.
By the seventh, her shoulders loosened.
At ten, she leaned forward again.
This time she rose halfway.
Her right knee folded inward.
Xavier caught her beneath the arms before her face hit the rail.
The sleeve around her poisoned hand struck the wood.
Liquid splashed inside the stone cup.
Everyone froze.
None escaped.
Delo exhaled.
Xavier lowered his sister into the chair.
"That's enough."
"No."
"Elisabeth."
"I stood."
"You nearly broke your face."
"But I stood."
"For one second."
"One more than yesterday."
Raymond hid his approval behind a cough.
The cough tore through his chest.
He bent forward, pressing his good hand against the bandages. A metallic taste filled his mouth. When he lowered the cloth, a small red stain marked it.
The old woman noticed.
"You're finished."
"I'm sitting."
"You're bleeding while sitting."
"A talent."
She crossed the room and reached for his bindings.
Raymond caught her wrist.
The motion sent a flash of pain through his shoulder.
His fingers weakened.
She removed his hand easily.
"Use that skill again," she warned, "and I will tie your eyes shut."
Xavier looked toward him.
"You used Chessmaster?"
"Briefly."
"You were told not to."
"I was told many things."
Elisabeth watched the blood beneath his nose.
"Were you analysing me?"
"Your balance."
"Without asking."
Raymond met her gaze.
The room tightened.
"It observes movement," he said. "It does not enter your thoughts."
"That wasn't my question."
"No."
"Then answer it."
He leaned back against the chair.
"I used it without asking."
Elisabeth waited.
"And?" she said.
"And I should have asked."
Xavier stared at him.
The apology had not been elegant enough to be false.
That almost made it worse.
Elisabeth considered Raymond, then nodded once.
"Ask now."
"May I use Chessmaster to examine your weight distribution and mana movement during the next attempt?"
"For how long?"
"Seven seconds."
"What will it cost you?"
"A headache."
The old woman struck the back of his chair.
"A lie."
Raymond sighed.
"Possible bleeding. Temporary loss of focus. Further irritation of my channels."
Elisabeth looked at the old woman.
"Could it kill him?"
"If he forces it."
"Everything can kill him if he forces it," Xavier said.
Raymond smiled faintly. "At last, medical insight."
Elisabeth tightened the straps around her hand.
"Five seconds."
"Seven would be better."
"Five."
"Agreed."
Xavier stepped forward.
"No."
Elisabeth turned.
He shook his head.
"You don't need his skill to stand."
"No. But it may show us what is failing."
"He's injured."
"That is his choice."
"And when he collapses?"
"We catch him."
Raymond looked offended.
"No one is catching me."
All three ignored him.
Xavier faced Elisabeth.
"He treats pain like information."
"Pain is information."
"He treats people the same way."
Elisabeth glanced toward Raymond.
"So do kings."
Xavier went still.
She softened the words only slightly.
"You were raised to look at a battlefield and count soldiers. He looks at a body and counts what can still function. Neither is kind. Both can save lives."
"That doesn't mean there's no line."
"No. It means I draw mine."
She pointed to the floor beside the rail.
"You stand there. If I say stop, you stop him. If I fall, you catch me. Not before."
"And if the poison leaks?"
"Then move Saraounia and Delo outside."
Delo started to object.
Saraounia spoke from the bed.
"I can move."
Her voice was weak, but clear.
Delo turned.
She pushed herself onto one elbow.
The effort left her shaking.
"I'm not leaving," she said. "She kept me from falling yesterday."
Elisabeth glanced at her.
Saraounia still feared Raymond. That fear had not disappeared. But when she looked at Elisabeth's altered hand, she no longer saw only a monster.
Delo moved her farther from the rails and placed a damp cloth over her shoulders.
Xavier took his position.
Raymond closed his eyes for one breath.
Then opened them.
Chessmaster came alive.
The cabin drained to lines and pressure.
Elisabeth's body became a structure under uneven load. Her left arm pulled too much against the rail. Her right hip rotated backward. The poisoned channels in her arm brightened whenever fear tightened her breathing.
More importantly, her mana did not simply flow into the hand.
It responded to imbalance.
When her right leg failed, mana rushed toward the poisoned arm as though her body were replacing physical support with a defensive reaction.
A shield built from venom.
Cold pain drilled behind Raymond's eyes.
One second.
Elisabeth leaned forward.
Two.
Her left heel drove into the floor.
Three.
Her hips rose.
Four.
The right knee began to collapse.
Five.
"Turn the right foot outward," Raymond said.
Chessmaster vanished.
The room slammed back into him.
Blood ran warm over his upper lip.
Elisabeth rotated her foot.
Her knee aligned.
She stood.
Not straight.
Not comfortably.
But she stood between the rails, both legs trembling under her weight.
Xavier's hands hovered behind her ribs.
He did not touch.
"One breath," Raymond said.
She took it.
"Another."
Her poisoned hand tightened around the rail. The stone cup beneath it began to hiss.
"Open the fingers," he ordered.
"I'll fall."
"Use the left."
She shifted her weight.
The right hand opened.
Venom dripped harmlessly into the cup.
Elisabeth remained upright.
Her face twisted with pain. Sweat rolled down her neck. Every muscle in her legs shook hard enough to rattle the floor.
But she remained standing.
"One step," Raymond said.
Xavier looked at him.
"You said standing."
"I changed my mind."
Elisabeth smiled through clenched teeth.
"So did I."
She dragged her left foot forward.
The right followed badly.
Her knee held.
A second step.
Her fingers whitened around the rail.
The silver lines beneath her poisoned arm glowed once, then faded as she breathed.
A third step.
Her right leg failed.
Xavier caught her exactly as instructed—beneath the ribs, keeping the poisoned hand away from his skin.
He did not lift her.
Together, they lowered her into the chair.
Elisabeth's chest heaved.
Pain and triumph fought across her face.
"Tomorrow," she managed, "four."
Raymond wiped the blood from his mouth.
"Tomorrow, we examine the swelling."
"Four."
"Two if the knee worsens."
"Four."
"Three, and you learn to check your own pulse."
She looked at Xavier.
"Is he negotiating my recovery?"
"He negotiates with weather."
"Three," Elisabeth said.
Raymond nodded.
A bargain.
Xavier remained crouched beside her, one hand still supporting her back.
He looked across the room at Raymond.
The anger had not disappeared.
Neither had the question beneath it.
Where did treatment end?
Where did experimentation begin?
Raymond had no clean answer.
Perhaps there wasn't one.
The old woman retied the bandage beneath his nose while he studied Elisabeth's arm.
Everyone else was watching her breathing, her legs, the three steps she had stolen from a body that had once refused to move.
Only Raymond saw the thin silver line that had crossed the inside of her elbow.
The poison had advanced during the exercise.
Not because the training had failed.
Because her altered body had learned from it.