Her eyes narrow. “I offer no payment.”

“Then I offer no healing. You ordered this done, not me.”

Behind her, the resignation slips from Iisak’s expression. His eyes are fixed on me.

“Please,” Lia Mara gasps from behind me. “Please, Grey. Please save him.”

The desperation in her voice tugs at my chest, and it takes everything I have to keep from dropping to a knee to press my hands to his wounds. I lock the emotion away, into the dark corner of my mind, until I feel nothing. He could die at my feet. I could pull my sword and finish the task.

No. I could not. For the first time, those thoughts fight their way loose.

I stand my ground. Karis Luran stands hers.

Finally, Nolla Verin says, “What payment do you ask?”

I consider saying, my freedom. Freedom from this dance, this charade, this delicate balance. In a way, I feel as chained as Iisak.

I glance at the man on the ground. His hair and beard are sandy brown, and he’s built like a soldier, though he’s not dressed like one. “A life for a life, I should think.”

Nolla Verin meets my eyes, and she smiles. “Who would you like to kill?”

“I don’t want to kill anyone. I would like the scraver’s debt to be erased.”

“No,” says Karis Luran. Her voice is flat and level and offers no room for negotiation.

“Very well.” My tone is exactly the same.

“Grey!” shouts Noah.

“Please,” cries Lia Mara. My gut clenches.

“The scraver’s debt will be erased by one year of service,” says Karis Luran.

“Fine. Transfer his one year of service to me.”

She regards me coolly. “You are not in a position to make demands from me. I have offered sanctuary to you and your people.”

“I have made no demands. You have. And you offered sanctuary to me and my people because you hope to secure an alliance with the future King of Emberfall.”

“Grey,” calls Noah, “that guy’s got maybe five minutes. If that.”

“Is five minutes enough time for your magic to work?” says Karis Luran. “Or will you waste it negotiating?”

I don’t take my eyes off her. “You are the one who requested that he be healed. Will you waste it negotiating?”

Her mouth turns downward slightly. “The scraver’s debt must be paid. I will not turn him over to you if you will release him from his oath.”

“So if I maintain his year of service, you would be willing to hand me the chain.”

Her expression is so shrewd. In a way, she reminds me of Rhen. “Yes,” she says. “If you can heal this man, this creature’s year of service will be yours. I will indeed hand you the chain.” She gives it a jerk, and Iisak growls at her but does not move. “And once we have come to terms on an alliance, you will allow me access to the scraver’s”—she glances at the man on the ground—“talents as well?”

That seems a little too open-ended for my taste. “At my discretion.”

“Three minutes,” Noah calls. “He’s lost a lot of blood, Grey.”

Karis Luran smiles. “I truly do like you better than your brother. Yes, at your discretion. Heal Parrish for us all to see, and you will have your scraver.”

Parrish. The name pulls at me, and I try to remember why. The memory won’t come, and he’s dying anyway. I put the thought away for later and drop to a knee in the blood. There’s so much damage that I have no idea where to start. His breath makes a rattling sound.

Maybe my indecision is visible, because Noah says, “You’ve got to stop the bleeding. Everything else is secondary if he keeps bleeding out.”

I glance at the guards blocking Noah. “Release him.”

“No,” says Karis Luran. “You alone. If the healer speaks again, silence him.”

“Mother, please!” cries Lia Mara. “Please. Parrish followed my order.”

Then I understand. I remember who Parrish is. Her guard. The one who accompanied her to Ironrose the night Rhen took her prisoner. A cold fury takes a seat in my chest.

“This man knows what he did,” says Karis Luran. “If his life ends here, everyone else will know it, too.”

The longer she talks, the closer this man moves toward death. I press my hands right to the worst of the damage, hoping it’s the source of most of the bleeding. Blood and viscera slide beneath my fingers, and I close my eyes, looking for the sparks that have helped me before. It’s easier now, like the early stages of swordplay, when it’s all simple footwork and arm movements. A step here, a thrust there.

My eyes remain closed, but the flesh begins to re-form under my hands, muscle and skin pulling together. Blood no longer flows around my fingers. People nearby gasp. I hear murmurs in Syssalah.

I open my eyes and move my hands farther up, to his chest, which barely moves now. His skin has a ghastly pallor, and I’ve seen enough men die at the hands of a monster to know this is not a good sign. I force my magic across the bond between us, those sparks seeking the damage and healing it. These marks close, too, and Parrish’s chest rises and falls rapidly. His one good eye opens, and he lets out a low groan of pain. His gaze meets mine, and he tries to throw up an arm to fight me off.

I lift my hands, which are coated in his blood. “Be at ease,” I say to him. “Allow me to help you.”

He does not move. His expression is full of fear, and he speaks in rapid Syssalah.

“Parrish,” calls Lia Mara. Her voice breaks on a sob. But whatever she says next makes him lower his arm.

“She will kill me,” Parrish says.

“She tried. Now I will try to save you.” Though I’m not sure I can save his eye. It’s a shredded ruin above his cheek.

He doesn’t move his arm, but I press a hand to his bloody cheek. He hisses in pain and tries to jerk away, but the skin begins to knit together, and his good eye widens in surprise.

The murmurs around us grow louder.

The damaged eye re-forms, the iris and pupil swimming up through the white. It’s simultaneously the most disgusting and fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.

Then it’s done. He’s healed and I’m exhausted, and we’re both sticky with blood and sweat and probably worse things.

He’s staring up at me in wonder, and he’s breathing as hard as I am. “This feels like a dream.”

No. It feels like a nightmare. I force myself to my feet and look at Karis Luran. I hold out my blood-slick hand. “My payment.”

The expression on her face is a combination of fury and irritation and approval. “Very well.” She presses the taut chain into my hand. Her fingers slide through the blood on my palm.

My muscles feel primed for a different kind of battle, making my breathing shallow and my focus very narrow. I wish I could draw a sword and execute her right here. “If you’ll forgive me, I should return to my rooms to change.”

“Of course,” she says smoothly. I cannot tell if she has lost face here or if I have. “You should not forget your jacket.”

I go still. My jacket.

“Here.” Lia Mara’s voice is barely a whisper at my side. “Go. Please. Before this grows worse.”