The infirmary swells with the fresh flood of injured soldiers. Men spill out from the two sick bays into the main room, lying on the examination table, on cots, on the floor. The thick tang of copper and the acrid sting of smoke hang heavy in the air. Maids bustle among the men, along with the two physicians, fixing bandages, administering medicine, pulling sheets over closed eyes...

I weave through, shoving out into the cool and quiet of the hall. The door swings shut behind me, and my heart thrums in my ears. They've been at it since I came home for dinner last night, wave after wave of survivors from yesterday's battle pouring in. I know it's not the same, I know, but the crowded room, the moans and screams, the frantic doctors knowing they can't save everyone—or maybe anyone—throws me back into Karsix. I'm staring through a glass window at dying patients, there to observe and hypothesize. I'm testing blood sample after blood sample in the research lab, begging the test tube to give me a result. And then I'm fleeing through a district of the dead, muffler pulled over my mouth, afraid to breathe.

No matter what world you live in, death is inescapable.

I push against the ground with long strides, leaving the infirmary behind. You have another job to do. It still feels like running away, and my chest stings with shame.

The castle is quieter today. Courtiers glance out ceiling-high windows at the barren courtyard, and the deadness there infects us all. It's strange after yesterday, when spirits were high and people laughed and planned and complained like nothing was happening. Now that their soldiers sit quiet among the crenellations rather than fight, the people's steps are shuffles and their voices murmurs.

I think they believed the fight would end in triumph and glory. Instead, all they earned was blood and fear.

In a quiet, inner drawing room, I pass a note to a Lady and wait for her response. Instead, she tears it in half and slaps it onto the small table beside her. I freeze, not wanting to draw her anger to me instead of the paper.

"What is it, Valaecití?" asks the woman next to her.

Valaecití sighs. "All of this is insane! To think, he wants a full coronation in the middle of a war. A full coronation!"

I consider edging out, but it wouldn't be the first time I've been ignored only for the recipient to turn around and suddenly expect me to be there.

The second woman blows on her tea. "The times are a bit inconvenient. But you did agree to help arrange—"

"Ah, don't remind me, Misanette." Valaecití leans back into the couch, twisting a ring around her finger. "I'm regretting it already." The ring spins and spins again. "I mean, no matter how well we do, it's going to be the shabbiest coronation in a thousand years' history, and we'll be the ones blamed for it."

"Oh, it can't be as bad as all of that. Keep courage. We'll do our job, and we'll do it well."

Misanette smiles, and as she turns to take a sip of her drink, the other woman rolls her eyes. "Well, no one's set a date yet, have they?"

"No. So we have plenty of time!" Misanette exchanges her teacup for pen and paper. "Who knows? We might not even hold it until after the barbarians tuck tail!"

"You mean like they did yesterday?" Valaecití gives her a reproachful look, and Misanette's cheery smile disappears. "No, what we need is someone who's more interested in winning this war than throwing himself parties. Or rather, making us throw them." She huffs, reaching again for the torn note, and her eyes catch me. "Wait. Are you eavesdropping, brat?"

"Excuse me?" This whole time, I've been standing five feet away in plain view.

"I should think a page has ears. Come here, girl."

I'm frozen, face hot. I was waiting for her to dismiss me.

"Now," she demands.

Lips pressed together, I approach.

Her hand shoots out to grab a fistful of my hair, and I call out. She twists, pulling me down to her level yet tilting my head so I can't meet her eyes. "Look, Misanette," she croons. "The poor girl's mother must have kept her locked in the house as a child. She's whiter than my morning milk."

My head stings, and humiliated anger burns my face red. "Let go of me."

"Was that an order?" She yanks me closer, voice dropping. "You're lucky you're not one of mine. I've had girls' mouths washed with lye for less." Her fingers twine tighter, pulling out strands of my hair. "If you've any interest in keeping your job, or"—she tugs on my hair again—"this ugly black mop, you'll keep your ears closed and your mouth shut. Do you understand?"

I grit the answer out between my teeth. "Yes."

"Yes what, brat?"

"Yes, Lady," I bite off.

My neck aches from its forced crane, but she doesn't let go. "I don't like your tone. Do you like her tone, Misanette?"

"Valaecití, don't we have more important things to be doing than disciplining pages? Let the poor thing go."

"Fine." She releases me with a shove. "On your way now."

I stumble but keep my feet. She turns toward Misanette, but I can't help but ask, "Will that be all, Lady? Or would you like to send a return note?"

She glares at me, her face contorted so she looks more like a snarling door-knocker than a beautiful woman. "You insolent little kadra—"

"I take that as a no." I curtsy and leave. I've been running notes for these kinds of women all day; she won't rise far enough from her couch to follow me.

My little rebellion can't make my head and neck hurt any less, though.

When I bring what little I have to report to Aster that evening, he goes over my notes quietly, and I remember this time to tell him about Jacin's predicament. Frowning, he agrees to send him clothes. "If he gets himself caught, though, there's little I can do for him."

"I understand. Thank you."

He nods, turning back to my notebook and copying what he needs. He's handing it back to me when down the hall, a woman screams, "Help!"

Aster vaults to his feet, dread drowning his expression.Concerned, I rise as well. "What was that?"I've not even finished speaking when he sweeps out the open door and down the hall, cloak flaring behind him. I hurry to catch up.We turn the corner, and he strides to a trembling maid standing outside an open door. "Maera, what's happened?"

"The Queen..." she stutters.

He pushes past her and through the living area into a bedroom. The fear-struck maid and I follow. "Go get Reyan and Sela!" he demands, and the girl rushes back out.

I move farther into the large, opulent room. A candle beside the canopied bed sallows its occupant's drawn face. With a high brow, full lips, and striking cheekbones, she might once have been a great beauty. Now, eyes closed, blonde hair plastered to her face, she is wasted and hollow, closer to a corpse than a courtier. On the other side of the bed, Aster takes her wrist, fingers against the inside. Sorrow and fear flood his face for a long moment. His head starts to dip.

I step forward. "Ast—"

Then his head snaps up. "She's alive." A startled and desperate look takes over his eyes. "Maybe I was wrong before," he murmurs.

"Wrong about what?"

He ignores me. "Pull off her blouse." 

"What?" I exclaim.

"Just do it, Leavi!" He's pulling out his bowl and powder, rushing frantically.

Shocked, I begin to comply, and then freeze, fingers clasped on the hem of her shirt. "What are you planning on doing, Aster?"

"I haven't got long to fix her, Leavi. Can you please just do it?"

Fear plunges into my stomach, and I grasp the fabric tighter. "No, Aster! There's no way I'm going to let you—"

"I'm not going to let you stop me." He finishes pulling his materials out. 

The corner of my vision catches two people hurrying into the room, but I still say, "You almost died last time! You would have died."

It's like he doesn't hear me. He continues, just as frenzied.

"Aster, what's going on?" Princesse Sela says, her controlled, calm appearance in the Auditorium Arbitrate now stripped away to a worried frown. The Captain stands behind her. Aster ignores them both and begins mixing his materials. My mind flashes back to him healing Bukki in the inn, and I feel sick.

"Please don't do this," I beg.

"Do what?" the Captain demands, stepping closer to the bed.

Aster starts to incant but then calls out, hand coming to his nose. As he wipes the blood away, his fist pounds the side table. Glass vials rattle.

"Aster..." Sela's voice is pained as she draws closer to the bed.

"What have you done?" the Captain says. I bite my tongue, angry.Aster growls. He yanks a small canteen from his cloak, dashing the water into his bloody mixture. Then he tosses the entire solution into a wastebasket. Relief washes over me until he pinches powder into the now-empty bowl, and I realize he's just starting fresh.He's going to kill himself. I stare at the woman on the bed that he's risking his life for. She's so still.Far, far too still to be breathing.My heart jumps its rhythm. What happens if you try to heal a dead woman? Anxious, I jam my fingers to her neck, searching for her pulse.

It's gone.

Aster calls out again, but he just dashes his solution and starts the spell once more.

"Aster, stop." He slices his hand for fresh blood, and I wince. "Stop!" Deaf to my words, his hands raise for the fourth time. "Aster, she's dead!"

The room goes still.

"No," Aster says. "No, she had a heartbeat. It was there!" His eyes are wide. A smudged trickle of blood makes its way down his lip. "I'm not going to let her die!"

He's grabbing another pinch of powder when the door opens once more, and Illesiarr enters, his clouds of white hair wisping around his head. Behind him, Maera hovers in the entry, holding onto the doorframe.

I turn back to Aster as the spell breaks yet again. He sways.

"Boy, what are you doing?" The physician's voice is kind yet tainted with sadness as he shuffles to the bed and futilely takes the dead woman's pulse.

I move out of his way, murmuring, "He was trying to heal her, sir."

"I've got—there's got to be a way, Illesiarr..." Aster's eyes are red with exhaustion and sorrow.

Sela comes around the bed, putting a hand on his arm. "Aster. It's done."

The feeling that I'm not supposed to be here overwhelms me, as though I'm intruding on something private.Illesiarr shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry, to all of you." He pauses. "She's gone."

The finality of the declaration rocks the room like a silent explosion. Something breaks in Aster's eyes. As he slowly straightens, his face relaxes into that all-too-princely look, but the haunted fracture lingers in his gaze. Sela swallows and nods faintly.

The Captain also seems shaken but solid, like an oak tree after weathering a fierce storm. He clears his throat. "We'll send her off with the respect she deserves."

Sela glances up at him, expression soft. "Can we afford that right now?"

"It can be arranged." Aster's voice is ice.

"It must," Reyan says. "As must Sela's coronation." Reyan faces the Princesse, dropping to one knee, voice slow and heavy. "Glory to our Lady Queen."

Aster's descent is slower and words softer. "Glory to our Lady Queen."

Illesiarr kneels as well, and I copy the actions, only a moment behind him.

"Glory to our Lady Queen," we echo.