"Once, there was a world...

"Covered in blue oceans and green forests.

"She was so beautiful all the other worlds longed for her.

"One day, she saw another world, more beautiful than she.

"Consumed with jealousy, she burned up the other world's air with nuclear fire and boiled its seas.

"As the water vanished, the other world disappeared.

"As the world lay asphyxiating, she realized the other had only been her reflection in the ocean.

"'The mirror shows us who we truly are,' gasped the world."

--Excerpt from Terran Myths Reconstructed, by Daonial Ollstrent Pellnias

----

17 Rising Withering, 1886 CE

Highkirk

The Sodality Chapterhouse in Acerbia had a well-stocked chirurgery. Its doctors were, if not world-class, at least highly skilled, and the facilities were, if not world-class, at least capable of repairing wounds and curing the most common diseases.

Rosabella had spent very little time in it.

She was an Ambassatrix. It was her place to oversee, to entertain, and to engage in diplomacy and matchmaking with the Gentes in the hopes of bringing about new genetic lines in humanity. That way lay Apotheosis.

So much had changed. Rosabella was surely an Ambassatrix of the Sodality no longer, since she'd escaped with Dorsin, the man who slew the Half-father in the Nameless City. Oralie had claimed Apotheosis, or something approaching it, despite being no more than a strong Maga; certainly not the strongest, not like Tvorh or the mad princess.

And Rosabella, chirurgeon or not, was now playing that role.

"Drink this." She held up the cup in one hand and with the other helped the young casualty to raise his head. Blood glistened all over Rosabella's fingers. Head injuries bled a great deal, and this boy's was worse than most.

But not all of the blood that stained his hair was his, nor was all of it red.

The young man groaned, and his lips twisted in a grimace of pain. It wouldn't be easy for Rosabella to pour the water down his throat. His chest rose and fell with wet, stuttering breaths. "Come now," Rosabella pleaded. "Just a little sip."

The young man's struggling rose to a peak of quivering tension, then hung there like a bird at the peak of its climb. His eyes cleared, grasping for Rosabella's gaze.

She met his look. "Strong man," she murmured, forcing herself to smile for her benefit. "So strong."

"Hear... O... Salem..." The tension in the young warrior's body vanished, and his eyes went unfocused.

Rosabella let his limp head gently down to the pillow. They'd be by to remove his corpse soon enough; for now, his shell could rest a little longer.

Earlier in the day, when she'd been tending her first fatal casualty and he'd been approaching the moment of death, she'd squeezed her arms slightly to enhance her cleavage. She'd thought to at least give him a glimpse of something pleasant while he'd died. It had seemed to send the young man into deeper distress, and she hadn't tried it since.

It would have been a silly idea anyway, even if these Adonist men didn't have positively Nethressian attitudes toward women and sex. What sort of woman sought to heal wounds with decolletage?

The sort of woman Rosabella was, apparently. The sort of woman she'd always been. Her body and her pheromones had always been her sources of power, but now, here, they were worthless.

Since that first death, she'd instead given the poor boys smiles, stroked their hair, and whispered sweet endearments as they passed. Those acts, at least, had seemed to comfort them. So far she'd held the hands of seven as they approached the dark bridge. It didn't seem fair that they had to let her go before they crossed it.

She would keep holding these young hands, keep stroking these strong jaws, keep whispering her pride to them for as long as the battle raged. Afterward, she would probably find a dark corner of the town and have herself a good cry, but not now, not here. Not while the dying looked to her for strength.

Even if the Sodality disavowed her, this was the obligation of the Ambassatrix. If she could not be their advocate to Imperatrix Death, then at least she could be their gentle escort into Her dark imperium.

Rosabella rose, and was surprised to find Rab Zakiel next to her. "Tomas Mordkan," he said, looking down at the boy. "He was due to wed next week."

"You have my deepest condolences," Rosabella said, and meant it. "As does his fiancée."

"He was a hunter." Zakiel scratched idly at his own cheek. His eyes were tired. "And a frontiersman. He knew the risks, as do we all."

"I hope your god grants him peace," Rosabella said. Though she didn't believe in the Adonist deity--or deities; it was hard to tell exactly what they thought--an unexpected upwelling of emotion surged within her. Surely, if there was a hereafter, a man who died defending his family against monsters deserved it.

"He will." Zakiel knelt down and closed Tomas's eyes. "He gives us peace that Tellus cannot, and His lovingkindness is more than we deserve. It's always been thus, even before the Heavenfall, even before the Exodus." Zakiel looked past the rows of injured laid out on cots or blankets on the floor toward the door, where there was a commotion. "He gives peace enough for all of us."

Oralie staggered in, and Rosabella's breath stuttered. Blood oozed from an injury in Oralie's temple, and she could barely put one foot ahead of another.

Even more surprising, Oralie was clinging to her daughter Senrii's arm.

Rosabella forgot herself. She took up the waist of her dress in bloody fingers and swept across the room. Whatever she had done to Oralie, however she had betrayed her beloved friend, she would not stand by while Imperatrix Death hovered. Rosabella had almost caused Oralie's death once; never again would she forsake Oralie.

Then massive Piotr came through the door bearing a broken Dorsin in his arms.

Rosabella stopped dead a few feet away from the entourage. The wicked regia puella was there, too, in a dress made of her own hair, her lovely azure face looking dazed and lost. A nearly-naked Aoife walked in next to a clothed Tvorh, but Rosabella hardly noticed them long enough to be disappointed at the fact that Tvorh was fully dressed, which probably meant he'd not yet deflowered Aoife as they both deserved.

Even Rosabella's once-lover Eztli barely warranted a glance. For a moment, there were only Dorsin and Oralie.

Oralie turned eyes tight with pain on Rosabella. Rosabella's insides twisted like a constricting snake at the sight of Oralie, wobbly but protective, standing between Rosabella and Dorsin.

Oralie was a guardian, and Rosabella was the monster. "I will go," Rosabella whispered. Then she lowered her eyes and made for the door.

Perhaps she could find that dark place and have that nice cry over these poor dead boys.

Cold fingers clamped on her arm. "Don't be a fool, Rosabella," Oralie said. "We need you."

Rosabella drew a deep breath, then pulled herself upright and became the Ambassatrix once again. "Of course, Uxor Principis. You're injured, and the princeps even more grievously. Let us tend to you. This way." The cots were all taken, so she led them to a pair of blankets on the floor.

"Want me to stick around?" Senrii asked as she helped Oralie down. "I know we've mind-melded recently, but we haven't really, you know, talked."

"There will be time for that," Oralie said, glancing toward Piotr as he laid Dorsin on the blanket. "Captain Cornartis should be nearby."

Senrii raised an eyebrow. "That's a neat trick."

"I spoke to him after you and I first talked." Oralie grimaced and shifted, obviously unable to find a comfortable seated position on the floor. "Hallard was evacuating the Strathlic dig as I did so. I asked if they could detour."

Senrii looked confused. "You talked to him? How?"

Oralie ignored the question. "He'll be involved in coordinating the pursuit of the Chimeras. I'm sure you can all be of service." Oralie looked around at the group, and her eyes lingered on Piotr's bloodstained face. "Or stay and be treated." She laughed, a strained sound. "But I, for one, could use some rest."

"All right," Senrii said. "Hey, kid, you're with me. Aoife--um. Maybe get some clothes on before the guys die of embarrassment?"

Rosabella seriously doubted that the men throughout the room who were staring at Aoife were feeling embarrassed. Still, Aoife chortled. "Don't worry. If any of them get close, I'm sure the stink will put them off." Now that she mentioned it, there was a ripe scent wafting about the whole group. "But yeah, clothes are good. Sometimes." She looked at Tvorh. "Most of the time. And I'd like to say hi to my mom, too."

"I can run to your family's place," Tvorh said quickly. "If you've got clothes there you want to wear."

Ah, the boy was smitten. Rosabella smiled despite the misery all around her.

He needed to get Aoife alone, and fast, before some other strapping young man snatched her up.

"I left home for the Sodality six years ago, so unless you think I've got the body of a twelve year old... you pervert." Aoife smiled. "Anyway, you'd have a hike from here to home. Though if you find a stunningly beautiful woman in town, feel free to ask her if I can borrow a dress, or maybe some hunting leathers."

"And why stunningly beautiful, my dear?" Rosabella asked.

Aoife's sparkling smile made Rosabella glad she'd decided to play the straight woman. The acolyte stretched her arms out wide. "Because who else would have clothes worthy of me? Anyway, you could ask Mrs. Lazarna."

"Is she stunningly beautiful?" Tvorh asked doubtfully.

"She's eighty." Aoife bounced with perky, nervous energy. "But she's really nice and she has thirteen granddaughters and nine great-granddaughters, so one of them probably has something that will fit me."

"Fifteen and twelve, now," said Candice, who was walking down the aisle between the injured. She had a carbine in one hand and was leading a few young children with the other. "And let that be a lesson to you about missing out on family life. You've become a big city girl."

"Mom!" Aoife bounded to her feet and threw herself at her mother, who leaned into the hug.

"And I don't mean that as a compliment," Candice added, looking Aoife disapprovingly up and down.

"Uh, sorry about the skivvies. Wow, this is becoming a habit, isn't it? Last year, dad, now you." She flushed and let go of Candice, whose face tightened at the mention of her late husband. "I, uh, it's not important," Aoife stammered. "About dad. That is, of course he's important, I just mean--"

"Aoife..." said Candice.

"Anyway, I had to go to space, and the suits are pretty tight, and I got all sweaty, and...what?"

"You went to space."

"Yeah. Long story, which I'll tell when I've found some real clothes. So..." She glanced around the room and smiled nervously. "About those clothes...?"

"I'll scare something up for you," Candice said.

"Hey, Piotr," Senrii called from the door. "You coming to report in to Cornartis?"

Piotr studied Dorsin. Poor, injured Dorsin, lying on the blanket on the floor, his chest rising and falling evenly despite the terrible head wounds he'd endured. His injuries were probably even worse beneath the skinsuit. "I will stay," Piotr said.

"Oooookay." Senrii frowned. "Suit yourself. How about you, Eztli?"

Eztli stood between Dorsin's group and Senrii at the door, in a halfway space belonging to nobody but herself. She met Rosabella's eyes and licked her lips nervously. "Yes. I will come. Someone must oversee the transfer of the healing tubs."

Rosabella's heart leapt into her throat. "What healing tubs, Ductrix Eztli?"

"The skywhale Captain Cornartis has brought here is a cutting edge Nxtlu vehicle. Its infirmary includes four tubs." Eztli gestured toward Dorsin. "We mustn't move the injured. We'll bring the tubs down for them." She turned to go.

"Eztli," Rosabella said. Eztli stopped in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder. Thank you, Rosabella mouthed.

Eztli nodded once, curtly, and disappeared into the night.

"Thiyyatt," Tvorh called from alongside Senrii. The azure girl flinched at the sound of his voice. "Why don't you come with us?" he asked more softly.

Was this the same madwoman who had thrown them all into such disarray? She looked timid, lost in her thoughts. She shrugged as if she'd forgotten how to speak.

"I'll protect you," Tvorh urged. He held out a hand.

Thiyyatt drew a deep breath and then crossed the room to him.

Aoife watched them go, then noticed Rosabella watching her. "It's all right," she said, though her tone called the words into question. "I know he's mine."

Rosabella turned back to Oralie and Dorsin as the newcomers spread through the room or left. Piotr placed himself at the wall opposite Dorsin, crossing his arms over his chest, and Aoife went with her mother, apparently "to find a bath, or maybe a nice mud puddle to wade in, since even that would be better."

In the empty moment between the vanishing of the others and the restored low murmuring of the injured and the medics, Rosabella and Oralie stared at one another. Guilts without names and wishes without form flitted through Rosabella’s mind like the shadows of clouds on a moonlit night.

What would be worse: Oralie's hatred, or Oralie's magnanimous forgiveness? Everything inside Rosabella wanted to curl up and hide.

But why was she leaving it all up to Oralie, anyway? If she had betrayed her friend, was it not up to her to make the first steps toward restitution? "Let me fetch my towel," Rosabella said.

"Thank you," Oralie said.

Oralie didn't shy away when Rosabella reached out with the towel toward her bleeding temple, though Rosabella's hands shook, and Oralie hissed at the touch of it.

"I'm sorry," Rosabella said, drawing back.

"Don't be. Raw wounds hurt when they're touched." Oralie gave her a shy smile that turned her into a twin of her younger self.

Rosabella cleaned Oralie's wounds more steadily after that.

"I fell," Oralie said after a time. "I wasn't able to catch myself."

"How terrible," Rosabella said, squeezing out red-stained water into her bowl, then scrubbing gently at a particularly stubborn bloodstain. "I'm truly sorry for the injury."

"Dorsin gave it to me," Oralie said. Rosabella's hand halted in midair. "To save me," Oralie clarified.

"Of course he did," Rosabella said. That was Dorsin. Her Dorsin. Oralie's Dorsin. Their Dorsin? Rosabella hated herself for the night they'd shared, yet she wouldn't take it back for all the world.

Rosabella shook those thoughts away. "You seem to have been busy since you awoke." She allowed herself a slight grin as she worked at the wound. "Plumbing the depths of minds near and far, I take it? I think the Symbiont is already closing up this injury..."

She drew back and let Oralie touch the slice in the side of her head. Her nose curled with pain, but she gave no other indication that it hurt her as she drew her fingers to look at the blue droplets glistening on them. "You do good work."

"Sometimes," Rosabella allowed. "And sometimes, good things happen despite me."

"Dorsin," Oralie said.

Rosabella winced.

"Let's clean him up."

"Together?" Rosabella asked.

Oralie touched Rosabella's hand. "I'm so angry I can't even find the words, Rosabella, but he's my husband, and you're my..." She trailed off. Rosabella didn't blame her. She had always relied on the word 'friend,' but she knew that it was an inadequate term.

"Very well." Rosabella found another towel and basin, then knelt down on the other side of Dorsin. "We may need to remove his skinsuit," she said. "At least in part."

"It's nothing either of us haven't seen before," Oralie said.

They worked their way down from Dorsin's head. His Bond was far weaker than Oralie's, and he was unconscious. His healing was barely faster than a red-blood's.

They cleaned his head, then his neck, working in silence. Rosabella said nothing, did nothing, when they pulled open the skinsuit to reveal his chest and Oralie put a hand on it.

Rosabella simply worked.

This wouldn't heal everything. Indeed, it would barely restore anything. Nonetheless, if this was all Rosabella could do--to sponge off the lovers and friends whom she had wronged--she would do it gladly.

Rosabella noticed the scent of lavender, and her defenses went up. The lovely, wicked regia puella slipped into the room, her dress of purple hair shimmering around her. She walked uncertainly, like a lost ingenue, and the eyes of man and woman alike were drawn to her like moths to the moon.

Where was Tvorh? Wasn't he supposed to be looking after her, or perhaps protecting them all from her?

Thiyyatt came toward Rosabella and Oralie. As arousal set in, Rosabella let out a puff of anti-pheromone. Her mind cleared, and she took quick stock of her STIGMOS, trying to decide how best to defend Oralie and Dorsin.

Oralie rose. "Stop," she ordered.

To Rosabella's surprise, Thiyyatt obeyed. She stood a few yards away, glancing about uncertainly.

Tvorh darkened the doorway. "Fathers of my fathers. Thiyyatt, I told you to lose the pheromones. Just do it like a regular person."

Thiyyatt cringed at Tvorh's voice. Her whole body tightened, and as seconds passed, the lavender scent faded, leaving behind nothing more than a lovely, if wounded, girl.

It wasn't that Rosabella's interest required anything more than a pretty girl, but she understood that the bred-in sapphism of her bloodline was unusual. Most of the women nurses in this room would surely be glad to be free of what seemed to them to be unnatural urges.

Thiyyatt swallowed and stepped cautiously toward Oralie, who didn't move. The girl took Oralie's pale hands in her blue ones.

"It's all right, Uxor Principis," Tvorh said from the doorway. "You should take what she's offering."

Thiyyatt and Oralie stood like that, unmoving, for a long minute. Then Thiyyatt pulled her hands free. "You have my apologies," she said quietly. Then she turned and made for the door. Tvorh followed her out.

Two pinpricks of blue blood stained the heels of Oralie's hands. She gazed at them. "She gave me the STIGMOS and the Stigmata code for the genophage-curing organs," Oralie said. She looked as if she didn't believe it herself. "We can permanently inoculate Gens Nethress."

A hubbub at the door caught Rosabella's attention. Men carried in healing tubs, just like the one they'd used to save Senrii; four tubs, one after another. More men bore dozens and dozens of nutrient canisters for the tubs. In moments, they had the tubs up and running, and moments after that, they were lowering Dorsin into one of the tubs.

As Oralie leaned over the tub containing her husband, her face an unreadable mask of emotions, Rosabella put aside the bowl and towel and slipped away into the night.

You have my apologies. So much meaning, so much benefit, in so few syllables. Thiyyatt had said it.

Rosabella doubted she could.