I awoke to the noonday sun spilling through the balcony doors, a pounding throb at my temples, and a terrible taste in my mouth.

Before I even swung my feet to the floor, the door opened. I lifted my head, expecting to see my errant handmaiden. I started to speak, to give Parthenia a piece of my mind for her extended absence, but she was not the figure shadowing the doorway.

“Elysa,” I said, voice sounding like gravel.

She stood, back ramrod straight, dressed in a silvery gown cinched at the waist with a matching sash. Her colorless eyes moved over me once before she turned on her heel and retreated into the hall. She didn’t bother to shut the door.

Groaning, I tried to summon the will to stand. To cross what my spinning head took to be an impossible distance from my bed to the open door. I had just wrestled my legs beneath me when Elysa reappeared, a steaming mug held between her pale, long-fingered hands.

She gestured toward my messy sheets with a jerk of her sharp chin.

I didn’t need to be asked twice. I plopped back down on the mattress with a sigh.

She perched on the bed. “Drink it,” her flat voice ordered as she held the beverage out to me. “It’s mulled wine. The only decent remedy for your . . . overindulgence.”

I took it, grimacing at the acrid smell of alcohol wafting towards my face with its steam. “How did you learn that particular bit of wisdom?”

The corners of her red lips lifted in something approaching a smile. “If you’d not spent the last several years mooning over Varian, perhaps you’d know.”

The dig twisted in my gut. And although I could’ve thrown her words right back at her, this moment was the most peaceful one we’d shared in months. I tried not to think of our last few conversations. Of the frost-tipped fire in her eyes during our fight just a few days before. Then, she had insinuated that she was a better match for Varian. I tried not to think of that either.

I took another drink of wine. I already felt a fraction better. The world seemed to spin more slowly, at least. “What have I missed, then? Maybe you’ve been sneaking out to play cards with the city guards?”

She shrugged, that tiny grin growing. “I’ve had a dalliance with a guard or two.”

I nearly spit out my wine. Solara was no stranger to flirtation, and a stolen kiss or ten, as her smeared lipstick and Lux’s own ruffled appearance the other night proved. But Elysa, who spent just as much time mooning over Varian as me? My curiosity was piqued. “Do tell.”

She chuckled, a curtain of white-blonde hair drifting over her pale shoulder. “There was onerecent Imperial who was delicious.” Her cold features warmed. Turned a bit hungry. “But alas,” she sighed, and the look was gone. “I have my eyes on a bigger prize.”

That was no surprise. She had no intention of giving him up without a fight. And, despite how much wine I’d had, I remembered every word that had passed between Varian and me. It certainly hadn’t been pretty. “After last night . . . Perhaps he will prefer you, Elysa.”

“No,” she said, voice low and hard. “I’m not like you, Aurora. Nothing ever comes easy to me.”

She sat in silence and down the bond she felt . . . far away. She stood then as if to leave, but her attention passed over my dressing table and her shoulders tensed. Crossing to it, she asked softly, “What’s this book?”

“A gift,” I said as her hand traced the strange flowers stamped upon the cover. “From one of my mother’s priestesses. Apparently, it was written by a Livonian. Someone she called a Watcher.”

Slowly, almost reverently, Elysa lifted the book and flipped it open. A spark of fascination rolled down the bond, then . . . nothing. “May I . . . may I borrow this for a few hours? It seems there are some passages about my mother.”

My heart ached. My mother had visited me from time to time, at least, though it’d been years since I'd seen her. And Solara’s mother was a human. She lived in the city still. But Elysa . . . Selene had never deigned to visit Elysa. Yet still, Elysa clung to her mother with unwavering pride.

“Of course.”

She held the book to her chest, glancing at me one last time. “Drink your wine. It helps.”

And with that, her silver skirts rustled against the marble floor as she fled from the room.

I sat for a long time, legs crossed on my bed. I thought over Elysa’s visit as I sipped the wine she’d been kind enough to bring me. But behind her, she’d left only a reminder of the wall that stood between Varian and me.

Elysa was right about one thing; after the first mug of spiced wine, I felt less like a human on their deathbed and more like the God-Blooded I was.

I poked my head into the hall and discovered Eryx had pilfered a gracefully carved dining chair from somewhere and dragged it to sit before my door. He lounged there, long scrawny legs outstretched.

The hinges creaked as I pushed it open further and he looked up. He took in my wine roughened appearance and offered a grimy grin. “Morning, my lady.”

That smile . . . it sent the creeping feel of insect legs across my skin. “Please call to the kitchens for more mulled wine. And perhaps a slice of fresh bread. And some fruit.”

He cocked his head to the side, an unkempt brow raised. “Do I look like your handmaiden? Shouldn’t she be the one fetching your breakfast?”

I stood impassive, unwilling to reveal that Parthenia was still gone. When I didn’t waver, he rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

I gave him a tight nod of thanks before slamming the door shut. When I returned to the room, I noticed the open wardrobe. And the linen work dress that hung there, standing out amongst all the finery. I sighed. There was one patient who needed me desperately, and he was the one patient I had no way to reach.

The thought of Aidon was a knife to my heart. My last image of his face—skin bleached deathly pale, eyes growing dull—filled my mind. The venom I’d sensed in his wound was unlike any spider bite or accidental poisoning I’d ever encountered in the infirmary. Even the Emperor’s poisoned wine was weak as water compared to what now ate through his flesh. In the minor cases I’d treated before, my magic had easily burned the venom and poisons away. But this . . . Arachne was a god-killer.

It was likely that Elysa’s warning after the Trial was correct. Maybe I couldn’t heal Aidon. Maybe I was a prideful fool for even entertaining the hope. And yet, it was a hope I couldn’t seem to shake.

I pulled on my work dress. Perhaps a few hours in the infirmary would clear my head. Point me to an answer, a way to help Aidon.

“Where are you going?” Eryx’s weaselly voice called from the doorway.

I’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Aidon, I hadn’t heard him enter. He held a tray in his hands, steam from the mulled wine floating between us.

“I’m going to the infirmary. Is that a problem?”

A crooked smile twisted his lips as he lowered the tray to a side table. He straightened, crossing his long arms. “Oh, no arguments from me. In fact, I just received word that the General Prince has ordered your presence there.”

I frowned. Not requested, ordered. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Best eat quickly. Seems that it’s urgent business.”

I drank the wine and ate as much of the bread and fruit as my suddenly nervous stomach could tolerate, then followed Eryx down the marbled halls.

When we reached the empty corridor outside of the infirmary, Eryx rapped a knuckle against the wood and the door opened, revealing a red and gold dressed Imperial within. The male nodded a greeting to Eryx and stepped aside to let us enter.

In the hours since I’d awoken, the weather had soured. Usually filled with bright sunlight from the wall of windows, today the infirmary was muted and gray. I glanced around, searching in vain for Tafari. My heart turned cold at my last memory of him—standing in that awful cage. I prayed whatever fate he’d met in the maze had been quick and painless.

When I stayed rooted in the doorway, Eryx jabbed me in the back, sending me stumbling into the room. A large candelabra had been dragged from its usual place by the corner worktable to cast its glow on one cot. The only cot in the entire room that currently bore a patient.

Varian stood beside it, frowning down at its occupant. He didn’t bother to look up at my approach. “What took so long?”

I straightened, blood turning hot in my veins. “Why don’t you ask my new prison guard? I’m sure he’ll be happy to inform you of every detail about my day.”

Varian stepped forward, a firm hand wrapping around my wrist as he pulled me toward the cot. “You will both wait outside,” he said over my shoulder. “Eryx will escort my lady back to her chamber when she is done here.”

Done? Done doing what?

Eryx and the other Imperial obeyed. A moment later, the door clicked shut behind them.

My attention shifted from Varian to the body on the cot. A tangled mess of blond braided hair spread across the sheets. It held stone beads, as well as thick clumps of brownish-red.

Dried blood.

My hand rose to cover my mouth. I recognized the male. Little more than a corpse, really. The Eleutherian’s skin was as bloodless and white as the sheet upon which he lay. I pulled back the blood-spotted blanket covering him to survey the extent of his wounds.

Despite how I’d hated the indiscriminate bloodshed in the First Trial, I had a strong constitution, as a healer must. But this . . . Even my stomach roiled at the sight. The male had been cut from shoulder to gut. Whatever had caused the ugly, now infected gash, had been sharp enough to part his studded cuirass, as well as the skin and muscle beneath, like it was only soft butter.

“Which one is this?” I asked, struggling to take a steadying breath. “War Hammer or Battle Axe?”

Varian loosed a low chuckle. “You’ve named them that? Funny, I think of them the same way.” He paused. “He has all his teeth, so it cannot be Battle Axe.”

“I thought only you and Aidon survived.”

His jaw tightened at my familiar use of the nickname, but he did not scold me for it. He only stared down at a piece of white bone gleaming from beneath the infected tissue with a deep grimace. “So I thought. A squadron of my men searched the labyrinth, to see if Arachne’s children could be captured. He was the sole living thing in the maze.”

Captured. Captured so Doria could use them as a tool of war. Of course, that would be the Emperor’s primary concern.

Varian, misreading my silent disgust for worry, explained. “War Hammer never reached the center of the labyrinth. He has been disqualified from the Trials.” He looked down at the male, then back to me. “What do you think, Aurora? Can you save him?”

I moved to study the wound more closely. It was an incredibly clean slice—no jagged edges or torn bits of flesh to take care of. The problem was the infection. The edges of the wound were red and inflamed, yellowish pus seeping in places. Angry red streaks already spread from the wound to the healthy skin around it. But the worst sign was the smell. The scent of putrid meat rolled from the cot in waves. “Arachne’s children did this?”

“From what Aidoneus told me, I thought he had killed them both himself.”

I shook my head. “No, the blade that made this cut was larger than those knives Aidon carries. And whatever it was . . . it was filthy, or perhaps somewhat venomous.”

“The spiders’ legs were taller than you are. And they were incredibly sharp.”

“I take it Epione did not give you good news,” I said.

“No. She said it was beyond her skill. That all she could offer was relief from his pain.”

I wasn’t surprised. Epione was talented, but she was not a Korai. But me . . . I flexed my fingers, imagining the warmth of my healing light flowing through them. The wound was grievous. It would take nearly everything I had.

“I can do it,” I said. “I can save him . . . for a price.”

The tension melted away from his face, and he laughed. “Jewels, gowns, a palace in the countryside, slaves to see your every whim . . . Whatever you want, darling, you know you need only ask.”

My fists clenched, nails digging into the tender skin of my palms. Slaves. Slaves! When the last one I’d tried to save was killed, his death used as a weapon to hurt me. I struggled to control my breathing, to keep dawn’s light from sparking into Helios’ flame. I shook my head. “I don’t care about that. Least of all slaves!”

I forced myself to stop, to take a calming breath. “I will heal him,” I said slowly, “if you will also allow me to heal Aidoneus.”

What had been an indulgent smile transformed into a deadly baring of teeth. “No.”

“He doesn’t have to compete, Varian. This can still be over. I will still be yours. Just let me heal him and let him go.”

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, knuckles white. “It doesn’t work that way and you know it. Aidoneus wins the Trials, or he dies. That is what the priestesses have ordained. If you heal him, you only delay the inevitable.”

I breathed, my hold on control fraying like strained rope. I was so tired of fighting with Varian, tired of wondering how much longer Aidon would draw breath. He needed to be healed. Arguing only wasted precious time.

I stared at the dying Eleutherian between us, his skin as cold and wane as wax. “Why do you want him healed?” I asked. “Why should you care if he lives or dies, after you’ve killed so many other competitors?”

“Loyalty, it seems, is hard to come by,” Varian answered, voice devoid of warmth.

My gaze shot to him as I sensed the deeper truth beneath his words. “They were working with you. Working to make sure you won.”

“I told you I would win you. Nothing could jeopardize that.”

The truth in those words tasted clear, and I wondered . . . What else might he do? How far might he go to keep me? Frost wrapped around my heart at the thought.

“I’ve named my price, my lord,” I said, voice steel. “Are you willing to pay it or not?”

He leaned over the body between us, close enough that his breath hit me as he spoke. “Let him die, then.”

He stormed from the room, slamming the doors behind him so violently that the floor beneath my feet shook.

I stood there, numb. Eventually, I moved to follow, but there, carved just before me on the door, stood the Mark of the Korai.

I was a healer. With every tissue and bone within me, I was a healer.

I turned back.

My hand was steady—a healer’s hand—as I pressed it to the ugly, inflamed gash. I damned myself for my weakness, for allowing Varian’s cold hatred to win, but still, I summoned dawn’s light.

I searched his veins and burned away every ounce of infection. But every cell I healed, every stitch of flesh I knitted back together, cost me. By the end, blood dripped from my nostrils.

When I finally stumbled through the infirmary doors, the only sign left of War Hammer’s wound was a pale pink line of newly healed flesh.