The Bone Palace - Amanda Downum [116]
She made her home in ruins, which was sensible in spite of her flair for the theatric. No one trespassed beyond the ironbound wall that guarded the ruined palace, and stray whispers of magic would not be remarked upon. If anyone marked her coming or going, it would be just one more ghost story to scare children in Elysia.
Not all such stories were false; spirits watched him as soon as he set foot beyond the gate. Tiny, hungry things clustered at the edges of the path, dark tangles at the edge of his vision. None were brave enough to challenge him, but had he been weak or injured or merely blind to them they might have dared.
The miasma of the ruin scraped like sharkskin against his senses—where the wind touched him he expected to bleed. The magic was no longer strong enough for that, but the pain and rawness still wore on his nerves. Did Phaedra’s madness leave her immune to the effect, he wondered, or exacerbate it?
He followed the scent of her magic to a tower, one of the few structures that hadn’t yet succumbed to time and the elements. It bore their marks, however, delicate redents and figures worn soft and faceless, once-white sandstone now stained yellow as bone. Perhaps it was this tower in which Tsetsilya Konstantin had purportedly died. That would appeal to Phaedra. The spirits that lingered here were stronger, fattened on scraps of magic.
She set no guard upon the stairs, but he felt her wards acknowledge him and let him pass. His chest and knees ached by the time he reached the top, which only strengthened his resolve to be done with this.
She had settled in the topmost floor. Scavenged rugs covered cold stone, and books were stacked against the walls. Notes and pens lay scattered across a table beside tangles of jewelry and crumpled playbills. A plum-red gown and matching veils draped a chair, slippers kicked halfway across the room. The glowing brazier was no match for the night’s chill.
An adjoining room had become her laboratory. Vials and instruments gleamed by candlelight, and journals and stray parchment covered the tables in drifts. It was here he found her, naked, leaning over a tray of surgical knives. Her nudity and the cold glitter of steel were both disconcerting, but so odd in combination that he didn’t know what to make of it.
“Hello, Kiril,” she said without looking up. “Would you help me with this?”
He stepped forward, though the calmness in her voice was no safe gauge of her mood. Her hair was piled high and sparkling with garnets, her face flawlessly made-up. He knew certain brothels that would have paid a great deal for the effect, especially with a scalpel in her hand.
“What are you doing?” He decided not to mention the brothels.
She sorted through saws and clamps and blades, finally selecting a long cylindrical boring knife, the sort used to retrieve samples when a full autopsy was unfeasible. “I need a bit of liver, and the angle is bad to do it myself.” She held out the knife handle first. “Be a dear and fetch me some?”
He almost asked if she was joking, but there was no humor in her eyes, only the intensity that came over her when she worked. “You’re well turned out for surgery.”
“I’m going out with Varis. This will only take a moment, and I’d rather do it now before I forget.”
“All right.” Bemused, he knelt at her right side, trying not to wince as his knees met the floor. The candles were insufficient, so he summoned the white glow of a witchlight. He laid his left hand below her ribs, pressing the skin taut. “Here?” he suggested, tapping the spot between thumb and forefinger. When she nodded he set the tip of the knife in place, skin dimpling under steel. With one last glance to confirm her willingness, he twisted the blade home.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, as she made a soft noise. He twisted the knife again and withdrew it. Anatomy classes would be much more interesting if they all had undead to experiment on, but the legal and ethical concerns would likely tie up the Arcanost for years.
“Only if I let it,” she said, wiping away a drop of blood. “It’s cold, though.