At the beginning, Liv hadn’t even noticed the mana poisoning.

The rush of power from drawing on the chaotic energy of the rift had been enough to see her through the fight against the enormous stone-bat, and then to deal with half a dozen mana-engorged subterranean beetles on her way up into the mines. She exhaled incantations, and inhaled mana, and by the time she’d caught up to Matthew, Triss, and Wren, she’d still felt brimming with magic.

It was on the way down the mountain that she’d first noticed the problem, when things had finally slowed down enough that Liv caught a glimpse of the blackened veins in her hands. Then, there’d been too much that needed seeing to: making certain that Matthew and Triss were treated for their injuries, organizing the knight and guards, recreating the ward around the encampment.

There were no further challenges from Sir Randel, now that Matthew had been brought back alive. That did a little to ease the building headache that had begun to pound behind Liv’s temples: her entire body felt like an overstuffed sausage, once she was out of the shoals. Casting a new ward had helped to relieve the pressure a bit, but Liv had a pretty good idea of what the problem was: her body was so saturated with mana that, once she left the influence of the rift, the magic wanted to rush out of her and fill the relative emptiness in the surrounding area.

At first, Liv was fairly certain that she could fix it. She waited until Matthew was awake, and then told him, “I need to handle the mana in my body. Give me a few hours and don’t let anyone interrupt.”

She’d set herself up in an empty tent and set to work. Liv figured that she could use the excess mana to heal her ears, along with the assortment of scrapes, bruises and cuts she’d picked up along the way. By the time she’d finished doing that, her body would be at a more reasonable level of mana saturation.

The moment she stopped focusing on the world outside, and turned her attention within, Liv found that things were much worse than she’d assumed. She was used to dealing with mana that was slow-moving, sedate, like a lake or a pond, or perhaps a broad, slow moving brook. Magic that had time to settle, whether it was into the bones of a mana-beast or into a cut and polished stone.

The power of the rift was more like a destructive river in full flood, sweeping away trees and collapsing riverbanks in its fury. In this case, Liv’s body was the riverbank, and more damage had already been done than she’d anticipated. Much of the skin along her arms and hands was already wrong, in a way that she found difficult to articulate. Worse than that, she could feel the same twistedness inside her chest, from things she could only name because old Master Cushing had insisted on teaching her anatomy: lungs and kidney, liver and bone – she grimaced when she realized it had even crept into the flesh of her bosom.

It was terrifying, but Liv resolved to begin with the most vital areas first. She needed her lungs to survive. She needed a lot of things, but being unable to breathe would kill her before just about anything else, so the lungs it was. She took hold of the mana, calmed it and slowed it down, and began to smooth her way through the broken and ugly parts of her lungs. As she did, it became easier to breathe – another thing she hadn’t realized was going wrong until she’d had time to think about it.

Somewhere around the time she began working on her kidneys, Liv had the vaguest awareness that Wren was in the room with her, but opening her eyes or speaking would have demanded far too much concentration, and that focus was better spent on fixing everything wrong with her body. Hours went by, and Liv had no way of keeping count. She’d finished her liver and moved onto her chest, because she had only two breasts and there were just so many bones. Two hundred and six in an adult: Master Cushing had made her memorize it. She’d do those last, and at least it would be familiar.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone survive mana-sickness that severe,” Mistress Trafford’s voice came to her. Liv’s ears functioned again, though she hadn’t moved to clean out all the clotted blood. Wren’s voice came next and then, to Liv’s surprise, Beatrice spoke.

“I may be able to,” Triss said, and Liv risked opening her eyes just a crack. The swordswoman’s head was bandaged, but her eyes were more focused than they had been. She’d carried in Master Grenfell’s great rough hunk of mana-stone, and set it down between them.

“I have Aluth, Liv,” Beatrice said. “I can help to drain away the excess mana, and store it in the stone.”

“Not yet,” Liv gasped, and she was shocked at how hoarse she was. Her throat and mouth were dry, and a fit of coughing took her. She nearly lost control of the mana working through her clavicle as the fit bent her forward, and she hacked up great black gobs of whatever had been accumulating in her lungs.

“Drink this,” Mistress Trafford said, and put a flask to her lips. Liv gulped down watered-wine, and counted herself fortunate they’d given her something without any mana in it, instead of broth. But of course, Mistress Trafford would have known that would only make things worse.

Once she could talk again, Liv forced herself to explain. “I haven’t finished going through my bones yet,” she began, and then realized, from the confused expressions around her, that she would need to start over. Her father would have understood.

“Eld can use mana to heal,” she simplified. Whether humans could be taught the same was a matter for another time. “I’m working my way through everything wrong with my body, using the mana to set it right. I can’t stop until my bones are done.”

“The skin on your arms and hands isn’t looking good at all,” Trafford pointed out.

“It’s the least important thing,” Liv said. “You can always cut it off if I can’t save it. Can’t cut out my lungs.”

“Alright,” Triss broke in. “I trust you, Liv. If your father taught you what to do, you do it. I’ll be right here waiting, and when you give me the word, I’ll drain off whatever is left into the stone.”

Instead of saying anything in response, Liv closed her eyes and dove back into her work. It was getting harder not because her bones were worse off than any other part of her body had been, but because she was exhausted and her mind was getting muddled. She’d thought, originally, that she would just get to the skin last, and fix that too: but now she would be happy just to get through all of her bones without missing one, or messing something up worse.

When the last bone was done – and Liv couldn’t have said how many bells it took if someone had put a knife to her throat and asked her – she opened her eyes and practically begged for help. “Now, Triss,” she said. “I can’t think straight anymore. Just do it.”

“Aluthos’o’Ea,” Beatrice sang, her voice low and soft. Liv moaned in relief as the rusting pressure finally eased. Wisps of blue and gold mana floated up from her arms, her hands, every part of her body, and drifted into the mana-stone. The colors within lit the rock brighter and brighter, until it looked like someone had built a fire beneath a thin shell of rock. Liv closed her eyes, and knew nothing more.

☙

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

When she woke, Liv was lying on a cot in the same tent, dressed in nothing but a clean shift and wrapped in thick woolen blankets. Her arms and hands ached, and she could feel they were tightly wrapped in bandages.

Matthew was seated on a camp stool at the side of the cot. He was dressed in his jack of plate, again, over a clean linen shirt. Liv couldn’t help but look at how the left sleeve had been cut and tied around the elbow, and no hand emerged.

“At least it’s the left,” Matthew said. “I can still fence.”

Liv rolled her eyes. “After all this, you still won’t focus on your magic?”

Matthew frowned. “It’s not like that, Liv. I know you and mother and father all thought I was just being stubborn, but – the truth is, I’m not a very good mage. It took me ages to make Ters do anything at all.”

“That’s because you never put the work in,” Liv chastised him. “We all thought that would change when you went to Coral Bay.”

“I did, though,” Matthew said. “At first. It just became very obvious to me, very quickly, that I didn’t have the talent for it. I had a front row seat to see what you could do, and that made the difference very clear.”

“I had years of practice before you,” she protested.

“You did,” Matthew agreed. “But every time Master Grenfell threw something new at you, Liv, you took to it like a hooked trout thrown back into the river. But I couldn’t make anything work. You know I used to stay up at night, in my room, at the beginning? Just practicing?”

She shook her head, and her hair shifted on the pillow that someone had been nice enough to provide.

“And when I compared it to how it felt to learn the sword,” Matthew said, “I understood. You can work and work, but some people are born with something extra. Call it talent, or genius, I don’t know. You can have it for one thing and not another. I’ve got it for fencing. I was the only one at Coral Bay who could keep up with Triss while she was using her word. But I don’t have it for magic. I could work at it for years – and I have – but I won’t ever be anything more than a middling mage.”

“It takes me work, too, you know,” Liv said.

“I understand,” he said. “I drill every morning with my sword. But Liv, if it hadn’t been for Triss, and friends like Thurston Falkenrath, I’d have never made it through my first year at college. I’ve accepted what I can do, and what I can’t. I’m not sure that you can say the same.”

“I hope you’re not about to give me grief for saving your lives,” Liv complained.

“You nearly killed yourself, didn’t you?” Matthew pressed. “Doing something reckless. Did you even stop to think about what would happen if you’d lost to that thing? Or if you’d died of mana-sickness?”

“You sound like your mother.”

“I have to keep reminding myself,” Matthew admitted, “that you’re not older than me anymore. Not really. It feels like you should be, but you aren’t thirty-six. You’re eighteen, really. That’s the count, isn’t it? Half?”

“As best we can tell,” Liv admitted.

“You’re smarter than almost anyone I know, but you’re also an idiot,” he went on. “Because you aren’t done growing up yet. I can’t imagine what it's like in the north - it must take those children even longer than you. I’m not angry with you,” Matthew said. “Not really. I was terrified we were going to lose you, Liv. And I just want you to think, next time, about what would happen to the people left behind.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” Liv snapped. “Don’t treat me like one. Anyway, I knew what I was doing. You’re the heir to this duchy, and your mother was terrified you wouldn’t come back. So I made sure that you would.”

“She told you that?” Matthew asked.

“Made me sign those adoption papers before we left,” Liv told him. “Just in case. I hope that doesn’t make you angry.”

Matthew was silent for a moment, chewing the idea over. “No,” he said, finally. “I don’t think it does. I understand why. And to be honest, it eases the pressure on Triss and I a bit. You never want to be in the position there’s only a single heir to a family. There’s too much chance of something going wrong. To know you’re off at Coral Bay, so that even if something terrible happened here, there’d be someone to pick up the pieces? It’s going to be a comfort, I think.”

“Now,” he said, “rest up for a bit.” Mathew stood, and patted her on the shoulder. “The eruption’s passed; I’ve got Triss, Emma, and a few of the men out hunting the edges of the shoal, while the rest pack up the camp. We’ll be heading home soon.”

“I think I understand why so few of them leave the shoal,” Liv mumbled, closing her eyes. “It doesn’t feel good. Unless they’re starving or hurt…” she turned over, and snuggled into her pillow. Let someone else pack the camp up: she’d done enough.

☙

By the time the culling team was ready to head back for Whitehill, Liv was feeling almost like herself again. She had hardly any mana in her body, but for the moment at least she wasn’t in a hurry to change that. Emma and Triss helped her dress, buckling on every part of her armor but the helm. That, she hung from Steria’s saddle for the ride back.

“I can just fly,” Wren was saying, as Liv turned the mare’s head and walked her over to the front of the expedition. She must have shot a bird or something and gotten a bit of fresh blood, Liv decided.

“We’re grateful for everything you’ve done to help us,” Matthew said. “But until my mother and father decide what to do with you, I still consider you a prisoner. You’ll get a chance to tell your story, but you’ll be riding back with your hands bound and Piers leading your horse.”

“My horse, you mean,” Triss grouched. “Though I don’t mind riding double with you, Matthew.” She reached up, clasped his right hand with hers, and swung up to sit in front of him.

Liv caught Wren’s eye, and nodded. She knew the woman could slip any ropes around her wrists whenever she wanted to, by taking bat form, but it wasn’t a fight worth having. In any event, she still wasn’t certain how she felt about the huntress, either.

“Your arms look even worse than mine,” Emma said, nudging her horse over next to Liv’s.

“Because you stayed in camp instead of coming back with me,” Liv pointed out. “I honestly think the whole way we handle this has to change.” With everyone in the saddle, they set the horses to a brisk walk south along the mine road. They couldn’t go any faster, because Warin, the miner they’d rescued, was being dragged along behind one of the horses on a litter.

“The problem is we don’t have enough people,” Matthew said. “Whitehill isn’t a proper city, and anyone who does go off to Coral Bay doesn’t tend to come back.”

“Maybe we need our own school then,” Triss said, from her perch on the saddle in front of him.

“Prince Benedict would never stand for it,” Matthew grumbled. “The only reason the guild is allowed at all is because it’s politically neutral. A college in Whitehill would be too much of an advantage.”

“He’s not king yet though, is he?” Liv pointed out. “And your grandfather seems to like your mother well enough.”

Matthew shook his head. “The king’s been on his deathbed for years, it seems like. I don’t think anyone expected him to hold out this long, but it can’t last forever. We might not even know until after the coronation. Actually, Liv, you’ll probably find out before we do. There’s a lot of travel between Freeport and Coral Bay, by waystone.”

“No more politics,” Beatrice broke in. “Now we’ve all survived that, it’s time for my wedding, and I won’t let anyone ruin it. I want you to be a part of my procession, Liv. My father’s bringing fabric for a dress, so the blue trim matches mine. Is there a decent seamstress in town?”

Matthew groaned, but Liv laughed. “I guess we’re to be sisters now, of a sort,” she said. “Duchess Julianne had a set of rooms fixed up for you to stay in until the ceremony, and I wouldn’t recommend trying to sneak about, Matthew. She’ll have her eye out.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Matthew said. “We’ve been travelling around together for two years, staying at inns and camping trinity-knows-where.”

“The northern edge of the kingdom isn’t Coral Bay, love,” Triss reminded him. “I’m not surprised people are a bit set in their ways here.”

“What does everyone get up to at this college, then?” Emma demanded. “I thought you went there to learn magic, not lead some kind of life of debauchery.” She turned to Liv, her tone teasing. “You’d better not get up to no good while you’re there.”

“I’m going to learn magic,” Liv said.

“And they still have something to teach you?” Emma asked. “After all that?” she waved her hand at the mountain behind them.

“Plenty,” Beatrice said. “A word, at least, if she joins the guild for good. Enchanting, too, dueling, and a great deal more. You won’t be idle, Liv – there’s no time for it.”

“I just wish I could have gone with more people I know,” Liv said. “I’ve never had many friends, you know. Really just you three. And none of you will be there.”

“Don’t worry,” Matthew assured her. “You’ll meet a few good people, I’ve no doubt of it. If anyone should be worried, it’s the professors. Aside from Master Jurian, I’m not sure any of them have the slightest idea what’s in store for them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Liv snapped at him, but she wasn’t really angry. They were all alive, if not without their scars, and for today, that was enough.