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I scoop a small amount onto two fingers and spread it along the cut.

Rhysandir watches my hands. He has learned not to question every motion, though trust has come to him as reluctantly as warmth comes to this mountain. I smooth the balm over the full length of the gash, then press a thin layer around it.

The wound needs binding, no more. I reach for clean linen.

His fingers jerk.

The movement is sharp enough to knock the basin. Water sloshes over its rim.

“Rhysandir?”

His arm locks beneath my hand.

Every muscle from wrist to shoulder turns rigid. His fingers claw against the folded cloth, tendons standing out along the back of his hand. A tremor runs through him, violent and brief.

I catch his shoulder before he pitches sideways.

“Look at me.”

His eyes find mine. Shock widens them, but his focus remains clear.

“Can you move your hand?”

He tries. Nothing answers.

The rigidity crosses his shoulders. His left hand grips the chaise once, then loses its hold. His spine stiffens. His legs cease to brace him.

Horror rises cold inside me.

I lower him onto the chaise, supporting his head so it does not strike the carved arm. His breathing changes before I can call his name again. Each breath is shallow, drawn through a body whose muscles are forgetting their work.

“Stay with me.”

His gaze burns with furious awareness.

Chaos magic flickers around his right hand. Black threads crawl across the cloth beneath his fingers, thin as cracks in winter ice. They gather, falter, and vanish. A second attempt produces only a faint distortion above his skin.

Whatever holds his body is weakening his reach into the chaos.

I seize the jar.

The salve’s surface has changed where my fingers disturbed it. A faint oily sheen spreads across the pale green paste, visible only when I tilt it toward the window. It breaks the light into muted colors, then closes again.

Numiscu.

The blossoms mimic rirzed closely enough to deceive sight. Properly prepared, their sap carries little scent beneath stronger herbs. I checked the bundles. I crushed a leaf in the market. I examined the petals and stems. The seller had disguised poison as medicine, and I completed his work with my own hands.

For one sick instant, the chamber narrows to the salve on Rhysandir’s arm.

I did this.

The horror cannot be allowed to command me.

I drag the basin closer and plunge a fresh cloth into the remaining water. “The rirzed was false. Numiscu sap is in the salve.”

His eyes remain fixed on me.

“I am removing it.”