but drank too much of the wine they forced on her. When she woke into a silent world, she was alone. The shutters were closed and the bedroom was dim. Somehow she dressed, sliding her coat gingerly over her bandages. The burns still seared and her arms were stiff, besides, but she managed her boots, too. The air in the bedroom felt dense, unbreathable. All of her skin hurt. She had to get outside.
The parlor was empty. Sun streamed in through the windows and the edges of everything glittered. In Gavin’s room, Theron slept, his hands unnaturally idle on top of the blankets. Gavin, himself, was gone. Poor Gavin, out there somewhere hoisting a halberd. Swinging a sword. Bearing a bow. The pain was never quite as bad when it wasn’t truly yours, but still. Poor her, too. Creeping a corridor, lurching a lawn. It didn’t work as neatly. She needed more words. Through. Across. Words to carry her, to move her from one place to another. The crisp spring air was a cool balm on her face, but something was wrong with her mind. Was Gavin drunk again? No. There was no sober little boat bobbing on the tide. This was hers. When she passed courtiers and staff she made a special effort to stand up straight, and threw her feet out in front of her in something that maybe, perhaps, seemed like a purposeful stride. Nobody stopped her. Nobody spoke to her.
The palm of her hand itched.
The walled garden was empty and she spent some time resting on a bench. Then she spent some time resting on the ground next to the bench so that she could lay her cheek on its cool smooth surface. She wanted to crawl inside it, to wrap herself in the marble like a blanket. She wished she were made of marble: a cold, still, painless statue, withstanding the rain and snow, feeling only the slow scratchy embrace of ivy. The ivy was green and thick and glossy. She felt green and thick, but not particularly glossy. She wanted to be out in the open air, away from the walls and hedges, where the breeze could blow away the thickness in her head. The glitter. Because the thickness and glitter were strangling her, she was choking on them. Guttering like one of Elban’s gas lamps, right before it went out.
Elban. Elly was going to marry Elban. Fact. True.
Later.
She pulled herself up, brushed halfheartedly at the dirt on her dress, and resumed walking. Boots on the hard-packed path, one, two. From somewhere far above she watched them with great interest. It was marvelous, the way boots just kept moving. How did they do that? One scuffed brown boot into the dirt, then another. Gravel scattering beneath them. The hounds howled, but the sound soon faded. She heard a human voice. The snuffle of a horse.
The boots stopped. Something was blocking them. Other boots, like hers but larger. She heard her name. It took a moment for her to connect the word with the stifled thing inside her. A hand touched her chin, brought her head up. Darid, his brow wrinkled with worry. Somebody said, “She okay?” and at first she wondered how he’d spoken without moving his lips.
But it must have been somebody else speaking, because Darid answered. “No.” His fingers were as cool as the marble had been. “She’s burning up. Go to the House, tell them we need the magus.”
Magus. Arkady. Arkady had poisoned Theron. Fact. True.
Later.
The tiny stifled part of her forced air from her lungs into her throat, into words. “No,” she said. “No magus.”
“Judah, you’re sick,” Darid said.
Elban burned her. To prove he could. That nobody would stop him. Nobody had stopped him.
I’ll lock her away.
Fact. True.
Later.
“Not sick,” she said. “Hurt. No magus. Magus hates me.”
Darid made a noise. It sounded like the noises his horses made. “At least come inside. Let me do something for the fever.” He took her arm. She screamed. He jerked back as if she were made of fire. She felt like she was. He said something else, but she couldn’t answer, the pain had finally engulfed her, she was falling. She hoped somebody caught her.
He did.
Fact. True.
* * *
He made her drink something bitter that tasted faintly of hay. Not long afterward the glitter started to recede. It felt like she was coming out of a hole. She found herself lying on the bench in the tack room. Her coat was gone and