The marble floor is definitely going to give everyone terrible back problems.
I can't stop thinking about it even though I'm tied to what appears to be an altar made entirely of bleached bone. All that calcium just sitting here not being used for proper skeletal support. My tailbone's already going numb, like that time I sat on the pantry floor reorganizing and couldn't feel my legs for an hour.
Also, I left dough rising. Second rise, the important one where it develops flavor. It's definitely over-proofed by now. Going to be one of those dense bricks that even the birds won't eat. I used the good flour too, the expensive kind from the mill outside the wall. What a waste.
The Luminary is definitely running a fever. I can see it from here—that particular flush across his cheekbones that means at least 102 degrees, probably higher. His pupils are dilated wrong, one bigger than the other, which is concerning from a healing standpoint. Has anyone checked him for head injury? The way he keeps swaying suggests inner ear problems. Or maybe vertigo? My great-aunt had vertigo, used to grab doorframes and hold on.
The ropes around my wrists are hemp, I think, and whoever tied them didn't smooth them properly because I can feel splinters working their way into my skin. That's going to need tweezers and probably that antiseptic that stings butactually works, not the stuff that smells nice but does nothing. Do they even have proper healing supplies here? Everything's so obsessively clean but I bet they don't have actual bandages.
"Your suffering will purify the corruption," he says, but his voice cracks on 'corruption' and I can hear the rasp that means his throat's inflamed. Probably from all the incense. The whole sanctum reeks of it—thick, cloying smoke that's making my eyes water.
"You should really sit down," I tell him. "That swaying means your blood pressure's dropping. When's the last time you had water? Actual water, not whatever ritual wine you people drink."
"Silence, corrupted one."
"I'm just saying, fainting during your own ritual would really undermine the whole thing you're going for." The bone altar is digging into my shoulder blades now. Going to leave marks. "Also, your lieutenant keeps rolling her shoulders back. Probably sleeps on a terrible mattress. You can always tell from the shoulder compensation."
Vice stands perfectly still in her pristine white robes, but I can see the shadows under her eyes from here. She keeps touching her stomach in that specific way that means chronic pain—pressing just below the ribs, holding for a moment, then forcing her hand back down. Ulcer, definitely. Stress-induced from the way she keeps glancing at the door. Her left eye twitches every time the Luminary speaks. Nervous tic or exhaustion, hard to tell from here.
"The new moon rises," someone announces from the doorway, and oh good, another person who needs immediate medical attention. This one's got a persistent cough that sounds wet. Chest infection, probably. All this incense and damp marble. He keeps blinking his left eye too—probably irritation from the smoke.
"Have you tried steam?" I ask him. "Just your head over a bowl of hot water with a towel? Also that eye needs rinsing. Clean water, not this sanctified stuff that probably has oils in it."
He stares at me like I've suggested he eat his own shoes.
The Luminary approaches with a knife that's been polished until it gleams. The handle's wrapped in white leather that some poor person is going to have to clean later. Does anyone here know how to get blood out of white leather? Because I don't think they do.
"Your light will be cleansed of shadow taint," he says, and I notice his hand trembling. Not fear—medical tremor. Plus his fingernails have those white spots that mean zinc deficiency. When's the last time any of these people had shellfish? Or pumpkin seeds? Pumpkin seeds are full of zinc.
Vice shifts behind him, and I hear her knee pop. That's not good at any age, but she can't be more than forty. Cartilage wearing down from standing on marble all day. They need those mats that kitchen workers use, the ones with the little bumps that help circulation.
"You're dying," I tell the Luminary, because someone should probably mention it. "Whatever ritual you've been attempting, it's poisoning you from the inside. Your magic's eating itself. I can see it—there are these dark veins spreading up your neck."
"Lies."
"Your fever's spiking. Your hands won't stop shaking. And you're sweating through that very expensive robe which someone's going to have to wash." I try to shift on the altar but now my left foot's going numb too. "These bones are really not ergonomic."
He raises the knife and my magic responds without permission—not trying to protect me, just cataloging what's wrong with everyone. Golden light spills out, finding everyinjury and illness in the room. The Luminary's organs are failing one by one, Vice has that ulcer plus what looks like chronic dehydration, door guard has chest infection and that eye thing, someone in the corner has an ingrown toenail they're ignoring which is going to get infected if they're not careful.
"Stop that," the Luminary hisses, but my light keeps reaching, wanting to fix everything.
"I can't help it when everyone's so obviously unwell!" The light gets brighter, warmer. "When's the last time anyone here had a proper meal? With actual vegetables? You all look like you're living on bread and religious fervor!"
The sanctum shakes. Not from my magic—from something hitting the doors with enough force to crack the marble frame.
"Finally," I mutter. "Though that's going to be expensive to fix. Marble's not cheap."
The doors explode inward in a wave of shadow and water, and there's Ruvan looking absolutely furious, his jaw clenched so tight I can actually hear his teeth grinding from here. He's going to need one of those mouth guards if he keeps this up.
Arthur's right behind him, water swirling, and he's favoring his left side—probably pulled something dramatic again. He always pulls something when he's being heroic. Remember when we were kids and he threw out his back trying to lift that beam off the cat? Same energy.
The sanctum erupts into chaos, and immediately I'm worried about the slipping hazard. Water on marble? Someone's definitely going to pull a hamstring. Ridge just threw someone and—oh, that's going to be sore tomorrow. Do we have that muscle salve? The one that smells like mint but actually works?
"The light must be—" the Luminary starts, but then he's coughing up blood. Black blood. That's not supposed to be that color.
"Internal bleeding!" I shout to anyone listening. "His organs are shutting down!"
Nobody's listening. They're all too busy with the stabbing and the magic and the dramatic declarations. Tooth is signing something at Silent Syl while stabbing someone, which is actually very impressive multitasking, but he's going to strain his wrist doing that twisting motion. Repetitive stress injuries are no joke.
