Page 38

“Taddea?” said Ginevra, stomach aflutter.

Taddea reached out her hand and touched Ginevra’s scar. “Is it you?”

“It is me,” said Ginevra shyly. “Um. How are you?”

“How am I? The world is swallowing itself whole. Come inside. I need your help right away.” She pulled at her arm.

Ginevra gripped the door frame. “Wait—Agnesa, Fra Simone—will they accept my presence?” Now Taddea pulled with all her might, and Ginevra tumbled through the door.

“Fra Simone is dead since yesterday, and if you will not come help me, Agnesa will follow him.”

Ginevra’s mouth went dry, her ears rushed, and her limbs felt floating. How stupid, how blind she had been. When every person had dropped dead, how had she not considered this possibility? Is this what the smaragdus had been trying to tell her? That her healing abilities were needed desperately at Sant’Elisabetta?

“Come,” said Taddea. And then, head still swimming, she was in Agnesa’s plain little cell. The white walls and tiles and pallet on the floor, and her dear old friend, so frail as to be almost transparent, delirious and covered in black spots like insect bites.

“Agnesa! Sweet Agnesa, here is somebody who will help you. One of our own.”

Agnesa looked at Ginevra with wild eyes. Ginevra was ashamed at the relief she felt that there was no recognition in them.

“What are you waiting for?” whispered Taddea to Ginevra. “Do you have—do you carry magic stones, still?”

“How did you know—”

“Agnesa told me everything, after you went away. Do you have them?”

Ginevra nodded, all thoughts of inquisitorial contracts gone from her mind, and knelt down beside the pallet, wondering what on earth to do. Lucia’s disease had been contained in tidy swellings. Here it was spread throughout Agnesa’s whole body. Tentatively, she placed her bloodstones on two of the spots on her chest, over the heart. She waited for the vibrations to start but the stones stayed cold and still in her hands. Still, when she lifted them, to her immense relief the spots had disappeared.

“Is it working?” said Taddea, who hovered, wringing her hands.

“It is. I think it is!”

“Thank God you have come. Thank God.”

As Taddea flitted back and forth behind her, Ginevra touched the bloodstones to every spot she could find, methodically starting at the fingertips on Agnesa’s left side, working her way back to her shoulder until her entire arm was clear of them.

“That feels nice, what is it?” said the faintest, tiniest voice.

“It is working!” said Taddea. “She has not spoken since yesterday!”

Ginevra could have cried with relief. “It is bloodstones, Sister. They will make you better.”

“Oh, is that all?” Agnesa closed her eyes. “They will not. I’ve tried it all; nothing will make me better.”

“These stones are rare, they came from far away. Don’t be worried.”

“I’m not worried. But I could not save my sisters, and you cannot save me.”

Ginevra looked at Taddea.

“We are the only ones left, we two,” Taddea said.

“It’s alright, Sister, it’s not your fault. This plague keeps its secrets well.”

“I tried everything, but this disease—it is old, it is evil. It has not come for many thousands of years. The knowledge was lost. I am old, too, my golden strings grow thin and snap. The magic does not flow through me as it used to.”

“Do not speak of yourself so,” said Ginevra, doing her best not to cry, to focus on the task at hand.

“I put strings of corals around their necks, but the corals were unripe and they held no power.”