A blanket of soft wool. An open window. The room is small, with just enough space for a sleeping mat and a stack of books. Hallon tries to sit up, but dizziness overcomes her.

###

Hallon dreams that she’s tied up while rats eat at her stomach, burrowing their way through her organs and under her ribs. The pain is far away, but she still struggles to get free. The ropes are too tight though, and a panic rises as the rats begin to chew on her heart.

She wakes to the sound of two people training outside. “Hup. Hup.”

“Not like that. Shift your weight to the left, then come around.”

A weapon swings through the air.

A dream, she thinks. Nothing but a dream. Had she been unconscious? Hurt while training? Accidents happen. Even Master Zhang had gotten hurt once, and he’d been the embodiment of the Way of the Soft Fist.

“Better, but not well enough. Once more, young Safi, and this time—”

###

Next to Hallon, a spoon clacks as it circles a wooden bowl. The sound is interesting, almost musical. A hand tilts her head and another brings the bowl to her lips. Instead of music though, she drinks a bitter medicine. Her eyes open in surprise.

The woman sitting beside Hallon nearly drops the bowl. “You—you’re awake!”

She’s slim with short, dark hair and almond eyes. Fine white scars cover her hands. They’re too regular to be accidental. Someone used a knife on this woman. Someone professional.

“Who did that?” The words slur in Hallon’s mouth. She shakes her head to clear it and tries again. “Who did that?”

The woman sets the bowl aside and puts on a pair of thin gloves. She uses the time to compose herself. “It—it’s impolite to ask those kinds of questions. Not a rule, mind you, but asking questions is just as likely to cause trouble than solve it.”

“Then I’m going to be getting into a lot of trouble,” Hallon says, “because I can’t help asking questions.”

“You’ve already been in trouble,” the woman says, “and just barely survived it.”

Hallon groans as she remembers the fight. Eratosthenes had warned her not to take the giant lightly, and he’d been right. Again. He’s going to be insufferable for at least the next month. She tries to sit up, but her arms feel like they’re coated in iron.

“Easy, easy,” the woman says. “You’ve been in a coma.”

“What? That can’t be right.”

The woman—the innkeeper at the Standing Goat—what was her name? Dr. Rugaam says, “It’s a miracle you’re even alive. How much do you remember?”

“Enough to know I lost the fight. Where’s Era—ah, where’s Milo?”

“At work,” Dr. Rugaam says. “He’ll be here when his shift’s over.”

“Milo is working?”

“For about a year and a half now. He’s a supervisor at Groud’s Factory and Metalworks, although he won’t tell anyone what he’s working on. He likes keeping secrets, the rascal.” Dr. Rugaam smiles, faint but affectionate. Her eyes focus on Hallon and become more serious. “As for you, I told you—you’ve been in a coma. We weren’t sure you would ever wake up.”

Hallon wonders if this is a trick of some kind. She can’t have been unconscious for that long, not with the way the spirit lines in her body are organized.

Eratosthenes? Are you there?

The dragon doesn’t answer. Is he traveling? But that can’t be right—Eratosthenes would never leave while Hallon is injured. She knows the truth of that in her bones, in the bridge they’d built between them.

Into the silence, Dr. Rugaam asks, “How do you feel?”

Hallon says, “Heavy, dizzy, a little sick to my stomach.”

Dr. Rugaam checks her eyes and takes her pulse. “I’m surprised you can move at all. Your neck and back were broken. Five ribs, your left ulna, right femur, and so many bruises and contusions, we lost count. No internal bleeding though. For that we can be grateful. You’re a lucky girl. Foolish, but lucky.”

“I’m well trained and well prepared,” Hallon says, correcting the doctor who also happens to be an innkeeper. There’s a story there, Hallon thinks, but it’s not a priority. First is contacting Eratosthenes.

“Sab’s killed more people than you can count on two hands. I’ve seen him—seen him cave a man’s head in with just his fists, so you’ll excuse me for thinking you’re lucky.”

Hallon scowls. She’s spent a decade with Master Lichtenaur and three with Master Zhang. She may be foolish—she’d be the first to admit that—but she won’t tolerate the implication that either were poor teachers. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Dr. Rugaam says, her eyes sparking. “I’m the one who fed and cleaned up after you for the past seventeen months.”

“I—well, yes—thank you. I’m grateful. But I’m also—” Hallon’s defense is cut short when a surge of pins and needles rushes through her legs straight into her brain. “Ow! Ow! Ow!”

Dr. Rugaam leans forward. “What’s wrong?”

“Feeling’s coming back in my legs,” Hallon says through gritted teeth. “Ow.”

“Oh, oh, that’s good.” Dr. Rugaam moves from anger to surprised laughter. “That’s very good!”

“Is it that unexpected?”

“You don’t seem to understand the severity of your injuries,” Dr. Rugaam says, shaking her head, still laughing.

“Apparently not.”

“Wait here, and I’ll get my instruments. We need to test how much mobility you still have in your arms and legs. Once we know, we can start talking about therapies.” Dr. Rugaam surprises Hallon by hugging her and kissing her forehead. “It’s good to see you awake. I’ll be right back.” She pulls herself to the door and climbs into a wheelchair waiting for her in the hall.

This is ridiculous, Hallon thinks afterward. I don’t have time for tests and therapies. There’s work to be done and a Calamity to avert. She throws off the blanket, intending to storm out of the room, but the sight of her body stops her cold. They’d covered her in a white shift, but it can’t hide how thin she’d become. It really has been seventeen months. Hallon’s been hurt before—you can’t live as long as she has without injuries—but this is the first time she doesn’t recognize herself. Eratosthenes!

The dragon doesn’t answer. Maybe he really is traveling? If so, then he probably left a message behind. Of course, he would. He’d be concerned about her and want her to know what’s happening. Hallon reaches for her Place of Power, but pain spikes through the back of her head. Her stomach tumbles like she’s falling, and her eyes blur and ears start to ring. She vomits the bitter medicine up into her mouth.

Hallon swallows the medicine down. She focuses on her breathing until she regains her senses. “What?”

She reaches for her power again, more slowly this time, but the pain and nausea return. Alarms ring through Hallon, louder and louder, as she realizes that she can’t connect with her spirit body.

Eratosthenes!

There’s no answer from the dragon. Worse—she can’t feel the connection to him. Hallon falls back stunned. What’s happened to me?