My head – my head aches. A slow throbbing, swelling. Corpses often develop a buildup of gas in the intestines and belly. Am I dead? Bolor could fix me, couldn't he? I try to speak, to say something, but my words crawl through my throat like shards of glass. My tongue is thick and stupid against my teeth.

Just hold still. Bolor's soothing voice, his cool hands on my bare body. But something's wrong – his touch isn't gentle or teasing but sharp, painful in pinch after squeeze after pinch. And the taste in my mouth, chemical and dead –

You can be free with me, Dust. No rules, no fears. Just hold still. Flashes of sensation. A needle slipping in and out of torn flesh, burning, astringent liquid poured down my throat, glassy, feverish orbs of eyes dangling above me. No, no, I won't drink it, I won't, I want to live –

You didn't let them live, another voice, my mother's in a cold, low hiss like I'd never known it. Your father and his little secret. You poured their drink, after all. You should have known –

But now you'll never need to die, not like they did –

Like you deserve –

"No!"

I jerked awake screaming, cringing and panting for breath as everything swam into view. The world seemed bright, far too bright and loud compared to the deadly silence and cruel hisses of my dreams. Another voice reached through the fog, wavering.

"It's alright, Dust. You're safe."

"Tar-Meena?" Blankets. I'm in a bed. I groaned, gingerly reaching up and cringing at the throb of protest from my head. "Where am I?"

"The infirmary. Thank Mara you're awake." I whimpered as Tar-Meena caught me in a sudden hug, smiling half-heartedly at her mumbled apology. She pulled away to meet my gaze, eyes clouded, cupping my hands in her own. "I was so worried."

"I don't…" I blinked grit from my eyes, the remnants of a bitter dream still tainting my throat. Bolor. Mum. But that was a dream. I shook my head slowly, trying to drive the memory back as long as I could. A nightmare.

"Jolga said you might have problems remembering." Tar-Meena seemed to speak softly for my benefit. Why does everything hurt? My head felt as though it might roll off my neck at any moment, and I would have been grateful for the relief. 'What can you remember? From yesterday?"

"I remember…" I pursed my lips, squeezing my eyes tight and grimacing at the resounding ache. Traven. Traven's orders. The announcement, the emperor… "The emperor, I remember – the emperor is dead."

A rasping sigh. "What else?"

"I think…" Bolor. His name stuck to my tongue like a burr, and I couldn't shake the sickly dread from my gut. The memory crept slowly from inside me, swelling until it tumbled from my lips in a gasp. "Bolor. He – and that, that thing -"

"He used an illusion spell to knock you unconscious, we think. You fell and hit your head, bleeding when I found you." Tar-Meena gave a shuddering breath. "I was looking for you downstairs when Bolor pushed past. He didn't even look at me, kept walking when I asked where you were." She clenched her fists, eyes flashing with sudden ferocity. "I saw you on the floor, and the undead - " A shake of her head, as though trying to throw off the memory. "The undead thing looking over you. By the Nine, Dust, I had hardly blasted it to ash before I ran to you. I thought you were dead."

Bolor. Bolor is gone.

He hates me.

"Oh." A simple murmur of understanding, calm and emotionless. "What happened to him, then?"

"He left. No one stopped him, they didn't know. I sent word to the Arch-Mage, but by the time I was able to find him after getting you help..." She sighed, eyes drifting shut. "He'll be… long gone, by now."

"I see." Why can't I feel this? My own mind raged at me, trapped under a blank, stiff mask. Cry, laugh, scream, something!

"Dust?" Tar-Meena nudged gently, voice soft and sweet. "You shouldn't bottle this up. I know you're being strong, but I'm your friend. You can talk to me."

No sense in keeping it all bottled up.

"I should have known better." The pain in my head blossomed, throbbing with each syllable. I squeezed my eyes shut. "It was too good to be true."

"Dust." Tar-Meena frowned, brow furrowed.

"I think - I think I need to be alone."

One final, sad whisper. "Dust."

"Please."

I listened to her footsteps, soft whispers against stone until the creak of a door and click of a lock left me alone, in silence. I gazed at the ceiling, watching as the colours of sunset bled through the window, staining it gold. I raised my hand, curling my fingers in a dim beam and playing with the floating specks like I did when I was small. Only half-awake, until at last sleep took me again.

I don't remember much, from those days. Tar-Meena by my side when I was awake, the bitter taste of potions forced down my throat. I'd managed a concussion from the fall and my thoughts were strange, spotty. I remember thinking in a daze of how to make those foul remedies taste better.

When I recovered I learned that my aphrodisiac was already selling well. Julienne had found them and taken the initiative, and soon had me brewing up more. I worked in a daze, never daring to look at the label, the smell of strawberries still laughably bitter. Cruel irony, but even through that I walked in a fog.

It was only after – a week? Two? That I finally really awoke, rubbing grit from my eyes and wincing at the sudden sharpness and clarity of the world.

Dear Maman,

Much has happened since I last wrote. Bolor is gone.

The quiet scratch of my quill and the sputter of my candle whispered together, tracing secrets in the shadows along the walls. I sighed, gazing dumbly at my curled parchment before dragging a scar of ink across it in disgust. I crumpled it, tossing it aside with the rest of the letters I couldn't seem to complete.

"No, I can't start it like that..." I muttered, reaching for an apple on my desk. I don't want to scare her, worry her. Shaking my head I tossed the fruit hand to hand, biting my lip in thought. Bolor always scolded me, when I did that. Laughing, purring. It's my job to be tasting your lips, dear.

My potions, my room, my memories – I was surrounded by him. And yet as much as I just wanted to give up, go back to sleep, I was too awake now to go back. I could only keep going forward. Even the apple reminded me of the day I first really met him. Still, no sense in wasting it. I went to take a bite and -

That smell.

I froze, pulling away and gazing at the harmless little fruit in my hand. It came with my evening meal, as one often did this time of year. Bright red, firm, sweet and tart - all for the world the same as the ones I'd enjoyed all season. But this...

An alchemist's work centers around her mouth, her nose and her gut. Julienne had told me that once, wrapping a blindfold around my head for her test on wortcraft. It isn't pretty, it isn't delicate like the other crafts, but it's true. You need keen senses to do well in this field, and we're going to find out if you have them.

According to her, I did. A sensitive nose and the sense to trust my instinct in my work. And something here felt wrong.

I frowned, sinking my nails into its flesh and carefully watching. Normal. Utterly normal. But beneath the sweetness that made its way to me another scent lingered, bitter and faint and deadly.

Poison.

Who would want me dead?

I knew immediately, and the thought lingered in my heart more bitter than any poison. Bolor. He – it must be. Who else would want this?

He hates me. Enough to want me gone. But he left, how could he have…?

I caught my breath, the hairs on my neck prickling. Movement. I knew I heard movement, however slight, however indistinct. I let my held breath tremble out.

"Bolor?"

No answer. Was that a shimmer by the door, or just a trick of the light?

I dared a glance over my shoulder, watching my candlelit, flickering shadow -

And that of the man behind me.

Bolor's invisibility – it wouldn't have cast a shadow. But a lesser spell…

It happened in an instant, in the flick of my wrist and crash of my chair to the floor. I snatched my letter-opener, twisting towards the door and lurching forward. My heart pounded, my throat squeezed out a scream and some part of me void of pride prayed for help from gods I'd never cared about.

Oh gods oh gods let me out please don't let me die -

"A pity. I wasn't certain you'd take the bait, but it was worth a try, was it not? A cleaner death for you, at least." Not Bolor. Who - I yelped as a hand clenched me by the hair, shoving me back from the door. Footsteps. I crawled backwards, trapped between cold stone and the faint silhouette of my killer.

A slow, creeping smirk materialized from the shadows.

"Not that I mind."

He approached without hurry, closing in with the confidence of a wolf on a wounded fawn. I shrunk low to the wall, unable to think, my fingers white-knuckled around the little blade that was my only protection. I kept it behind my back as he approached, drawing out his sword in a single fluid motion.

I'm going to die here. Right here and now. No – I clutched the hilt even as I cringed away from his approach.

"Don't... d-don't..."

"I'm not a monster, pet. I'll be quick. Now, be still - "

I didn't. I leapt at him like a wildcat, not knowing what to do except to try to strike, try to fight. A grunt as he collided, then low laughter – it was the work of a moment for him to grapple me against the wall, to cinch my wrist in a spot that made all my fingers scream in pain then go numb, my own blade now in his hand, instead.

In his hand, up against my neck. Sharp, almost too sharp just for parchment, kissing the flesh of my quivering throat. I closed my eyes.

"...Where did you get this?"

"W-what?" I stared, watching him as he examined the blade he had pushed against my throat, his sword lengthwise against my stomach to keep me firmly in place.

"Where did you get this." I caught my breath as he tickled beneath my jaw with the very tip of the blade. "I will not ask again, pet."

Maman? No, it couldn't have been hers before. Toltette. "My stepfather. Please." I hated myself for begging. "Don't kill me."

"What is his name?"

"H-his..." I dared to meet his gaze and flinched. "Davide. Davide Toltette. He lives in High Rock, home, I…"

I don't want to die I don't want to die, not like this, please, gods – his distraction with the letter opener and my own terror gave me new strength for a moment. I wrestled and squirmed under him, ducking under his grasp to race for the door again –

And stopped, dead in my tracks. It wasn't a sudden drop, not like with Bolor's spell. Instead, one by one starting with my legs, I went numb. Stiff, unable to scream, to fight, to raise even a finger in my own defense. Above me the man chuckled, darkly amused.

"No experience with paralyzation, my dear?" He knelt over me as I lay prone, the expression of shock I'd held still glued onto my face. "You having that blade makes things a little – complicated, but never fear. We'll have all of this sorted out, soon enough." Without missing a beat he picked me up and slung me into his arms. I felt the shimmer of Illusion pass over us both - no one would see us leave.

No, no - I am not going to die, not going to be dragged away!

Instinct, fuelled by anger and terror, took over. Fighting the spell I sank my teeth into his shoulder, smiling inwardly at his grunt of pain. A curse became a snicker, sending a shudder through me as I knew I'd regret what I'd done.

It didn't take long. He pulled me back and I caught a glimpse of his features, thin lips pressed into a crooked smile, before the heel of his palm came at my temple. A ragged tear of pain split through my skull before the world crumpled in on itself and fell still.