Page 7 of Alchemised
Helena tried to lift a hand, but the shackles on her wrists were too short. “What happened?”
Grace looked confused, and then—following Helena’s stare—reached up to touch her face. “Oh, the cuts? We all have them.”
“What? Why would the liches—”
Grace shook her head sharply. “Keep your voice down.” She glanced around quickly, sniffing at the air before looking back at Helena again, her eyes angry. “They use the greys for listening sometimes. There’s one in here, can’t you smell it? You can’t call the Undying liches.” The word came out barely a whisper. “If they hear—there’ll be—consequences.”
Helena nodded quickly, afraid Grace might flee if she wasn’t careful.
Grace crept closer.
“The Undying didn’t do this.” She gestured at her face. “We did it ourselves. The Undying can do anything they want to us—to anyone labelled Resistance. It’s the thing nowadays to keep greys instead of staff. Other times—they just want something to play with. At a party or—after a night out.” Her face twisted. “No one interferes. Even the ones who aren’t Undying or in the guilds will go along with it because they all hope it’ll give them a better chance of earning immortality, too.”
Grace gave a jerky, stilted shrug. “But if you’re messed-up looking, they won’t keep you for long.” She drew a shaky breath and then peered hard at Helena. “Where have you been?”
Helena shook her head, trying to absorb everything Grace had said. “They took me to a warehouse—after—”
Grace’s eyes narrowed.
Helena stared at her searchingly. “Is the Eternal Flame still—”
“No.” Grace shook her head violently, and her expression turned angry. “They’re all dead. Every one of them. After Luc was dead, they sent the rest of us out to the factory Outpost below the dam. Most of us can’t leave. Takes months of good behaviour to get permission, and we have to wear these.” She held up a wrist cuffed with a copper band, brighter and more fitted than Helena’s. “We have to check in morning and night. There’s a curfew. If anyone’s missed for more than twenty-four hours—” She swallowed. “If they don’t turn up, the High Reeve’s sent to hunt them down, and they’re always dead by the time he brings them back. The Warden likes to string them up, leaves them hanging for days sometimes, and then when they’re starting to rot, she’ll reanimate them and have them ‘work’ with us for a while before they go to the mines. Says it’s so we don’t forget the rules.”
“Who—” Helena forced herself to ask, even though she was afraid to know.
Grace hesitated, eyes softening slightly. “Lila Bayard was the first one he brought back.”
Grace was saying something else, but Helena couldn’t hear her. All she heard was “Lila Bayard was the first,” over and over.
Not Lila …
Grace’s voice came slowly back. “The Warden had her put into paladin armour and stationed at the gate. She’d been dead awhile already. Must’ve gotten pretty far. More than half of her face was missing, and she didn’t have the prosthetic leg anymore, so they welded a steel bar on to keep her upright. She—It can’t really move. Just stands there. We go past every day.” Grace seemed to finally notice Helena’s expression; she looked down. “She’s mostly bones now. The Warden thinks it’s—funny.”
Helena shook her head, struggling to accept it, but of course Lila was dead. For Luc to be captured and killed, his paladins had to be killed. That was the oath they took, to die for the Principate.
Helena swallowed hard. “But surely somewhere—the Resistance—”
“There’s no Resistance!” Grace said in a harsh whisper. “You think the rest of us were going to keep fighting, with everyone in the Eternal Flame dead? There’s no point. The High Reeve kills everyone. Any hint, even whispers get people killed. He has this—this monster he uses for hunting. There’s no point in running away or resisting or organising unless you want to be the next corpse.”
Helena fell silent. Grace watched her warily, fidgeting and seeming ready to bolt at any moment.
“Who’s the High Reeve?” Helena hoped it was a safe question to ask. She didn’t remember the title.
Grace shook her head. “I don’t know. He still wears a helmet the way the Undying did during the war. The High Necromancer’s too important for public appearances, so he sends the High Reeve instead. He’s some kind of vivimancer, but not like the rest. He kills people without even touching them.”
“Resonance doesn’t work like that,” Helena said, correcting her reflexively. “Without an array, a stable channel has to be formed through contact, and then—”
“I know how resonance works,” Grace said sharply. “But I’ve seen him do it. Last week—” Grace’s voice failed; her throat bobbed several times. “There was a smuggling ring. There’s been a grain shortage. Most of what we get on the Outpost is rotten. A few people were bringing in extra food. It wasn’t even a lot, but the Warden heard rumours about the prisoners organising. Ten people in all. Public execution. The High Reeve did all of them at the same time. Did it ‘clean’ so they’ll last longer in the lumithium mines.”
Grace seemed to shrivel as she spoke, as if the memory were enough to paralyse her. “All there is now is surviving. That’s all that matters.” She whispered the last words as if they weren’t for Helena, but for herself.
“Why are you here, Grace?” Helena asked, glancing half-blindly around. “This isn’t—we’re not at the Outpost, are we?”
Grace shook her head. “No. They call this Central now. Houses all the Undying’s experimentation. I—” She choked. “I have three brothers. They’re littler than me. None of them were old enough to enlist, so they weren’t in the Resistance rosters. My brother Gid, he’ll be old enough to work soon, and he can come off the Outpost. He’ll get real wages when he does. We—we just have to make it till then.”
“Grace …”
“They’re offering really good money for eyes. Just one, and it’d cover us for months.”
