Corvo never left Aletheia’s side. At first he crawled into her bed; but when Mother scolded him for disturbing her, she instead found a chair for him to sit in. She placed it adjacent to the bed in the bright room, and he used it, and he stayed with her for hours every day.

She was very pale. Her skin was cold. She never opened her eyes, but her chest quivered with breath. He read to her from the books he found about the castle and told her about the adventures he and his glass rider and wooden warrior would have. Sometimes, when Mother wasn’t there, he would crawl beside her anyway, wrap his arms around her chest, and pretend she was okay.

But he knew she was not okay. He knew something very terrible had happened. Only no one would tell him what.

She watched Mother change Aletheia’s bandages. First she spent an hour with one of the golden acorns, grinding it and mixing it into a salve that she applied to a stretch of linen. Then she removed the dirty bandage, unfurling it from Aletheia’s waist.

It was dark red. It smelled like the dead animals Corvo sometimes found in the forest, like rot and decay. Mother incinerated it with a spell and applied the new one. Aletheia quivered and groaned in pain, but Mother put a hand to her forehead and whispered, “Sleep,” and she did.

When night fell, Mother conjured her lights, and she put a hand on Corvo’s shoulder.

“We must go to bed, Corvo,” she whispered. “Come along.”

He shook his head. “I’m staying.”

“You need sleep. As do I.”

“Aunt Ally isn’t safe alone,” he said. “I keep her safe.”

Mother smiled. She dragged a finger through his thick hair, and she leaned down to kiss his forehead. “She is safe. But…” She looked at Aletheia, limp and barely breathing. “Very well. We will stay.”

Late into the night, Mother herself sat on the side of the bed, and Corvo curled into her lap, and the three of them were together. Corvo was too afraid of what might happen if he fell asleep to dare to close his eyes. But when Mother thought he had drifted off, he watched her grab Aletheia’s hand.

“Please,” she whispered. “He cannot lose you. I… cannot lose you. You are my only friend.”

Eventually she fell closed her eyes and fell silent. But Corvo did not. He only cuddled between them, and he hoped everything would be okay.

The others came and went. The Boyar visited often. He would hold Aletheia’s hand, like Mother had, and whisper to her in a language Corvo did not speak. He always asked the same questions:

“How does she fare? Will she survive?”

“We will see,” Mother said. “I have used three acorns so far.”

“Why is it taking so long?”

“Her wound was dealt by powerful magic, and I am not a healer. It is miraculous enough that she survived to this point.”

“But it’s working,” he said.

“It is. Yet the wound is infected. I thought it would clear away, but it has not yet. I will brew a potion with another acorn and hope that this cures her. If not… I do not know what to do.”

“Do it. Use them all. The ones I wanted—use them. And the others. Please.”

“I will not use them all,” Mother said flatly. “I must save at least one for Corvo. And… I cannot waste the rest on hope. But I shall use one more at least.” She eyed the Boyar. “You are quite taken by her, I see.”

“She saved my life,” he said.

“I think there is more to it than that.”

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He smiled sadly. He brought Aletheia’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. “I am infatuated. She is extraordinary. But—she has already rebuked me.”

Mother folded her arms. “You propositioned her?”

“I asked her to marry me.”

She frowned, glancing to Corvo. But she shrugged. “I would not think too much on it. She may change her mind yet.”

Hours, then days, passed. Mother made her potion and fed it slowly to Aletheia while she slept. Trito visited once, and Rada Aleksandrovna after, but they did not talk to Mother, and said nothing otherwise. Yet it was Dorian with whom the most interesting conversation took place:

“Ilya seems keen to have him hanged,” he said. They ate dinner together at Aletheia’s side. “I can’t say I disagree.”

“Hanging is too gentle,” Mother said. “I propose a flaying. Perhaps an acorn could be spared to prolong his pain, also.”

“What’s flaying?” Corvo asked.

Dorian opened his mouth to reply right away, but no sound came from him. He narrowed his eyes and frowned, leaning backward with a shrug. Mother reached out for her son.

“You will learn when you are older,” she said, somewhat dismissively. “Or perhaps sooner, if I have my way.” She looked to Dorian again. “If Melitas survives the initial shock of the Mana Burn, he will recover eventually. His Essence will return, given time. He must be dealt with before this. Publicly. And painfully.”

“That spell certainly incapacitated him for the time being,” he said. “Nasty business. I’ve never seen a man look like he’s in so much pain. Can you do that to any magician?”

“It can be protected against, but yes. And you may believe me that it is twice as painful as it looks.”

“You learned that yourself, I wager.”

“I did. I nearly did not survive.” She wrapped an arm around Corvo’s shoulder and shuddered. “I can think of no one who deserves such a fate more than Melitas.”

Dorian tossed a green bean into his mouth. He nodded, and said, “He says the Shadow Man made him do it.”

She scoffed. “And you believed him?”

“I don’t know. I’d wager the Shadow Man had some part. But he hinted that he was looking after your staff, too, and I gather he wasn’t too fond of being teased.”

“Even I at his age would not have resorted to homicide for my embarrassment at being taunted,” she said. “I do not think… and if I did, I was certainly more successful than he.”

“Maybe he knew you were right,” Dorian said. “That made it hurt so much worse.”

“A good reminder to no longer travel with teenage boys.” She kissed Corvo. “Except my own, of course, when such a time comes.”

Corvo always felt like he shouldn’t overhear conversations like these. He never wanted to know anything about the drama surrounding his family, except to make sure that Mother and Aunt Aletheia were safe. He caught only small parts of the story, knowing only that Melitas had hurt Aletheia, and that he was in very serious trouble.

A while passed as they ate in silence. Finally Dorian asked, “How is she?”

“She is recovering. She will survive. I have her under a somnolence spell, for her pain would be too great if she were to wake.”

“Death has an affinity for this girl.”

“This girl has an affinity for death,” Eris corrected him. “I will let her wake tomorrow, and we shall see how she fares.”

Again silence, but this time Mother seemed uneasy. Corvo watched her features as they spasmed and scrunched, signifying uneasy thought.

He reached up to touch her face, idly. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She hugged him. “It is nothing. I only….” She looked to Dorian. “Did you see the dagger in her room? Melitas attempted to kill her silently. Her jade ward was fractured also. She won their battle. She surely defeated him, for the damage that was done to his arms would have been fatal had she desired it to be.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me,” Dorian said.

“You do not know her well enough. I think she was victorious, yet saw that the boy was grievously injured, and set about healing him. And that is what nearly killed her. I do not understand why she would do something so foolish.” The confusion in her voice was sincere. She truly did not understand. Now she looked to Corvo again. “You must never make her mistake, Corvo. Do not turn your back on an enemy. Do not spare your foe. You must be strong, and strength means to know that mercy is a vice for the weak. We will all do well to remember that for as long as we still live.”

Corvo nodded. In a life as dangerous as his, he had no choice but to believe her. He did not want to end up like Aunt Aletheia.

Mother sighed.

“He said he wanted my staff?” she asked.

“Yes,” Dorian said. “And revenge. And that he feared the Shadow Man."

“But that is all?”

“You could go down and ask him yourself, if you’re keen to.”

“Perhaps later. I fear there could be more to it than this. You know we are wanted by the agents of Jason and Khelidon.” Corvo barely knew the former name, but the latter was his uncle—the one who had stolen his father’s throne. “If Melitas had known this, I have no doubt that it would have made us tempting targets. Corvo especially. Might it be that he merely started with Aletheia, and intended to come for my son next?”

“That’s possible,” Dorian said.

“I should never have let him stay in our company. I should have sent him away the moment he learned my name. Keeping him nearly killed Aletheia, and it could have killed my son.” Her sing-song tone had faded. Now she spoke low and serious, sober and mirthless. “We will travel with no strangers henceforth. And we will not stay in places like this castle, where so many servants know who we are and may be corrupted.”

“Then where are we going next?”

She shook her head, closed her eyes, and cupped her forehead.

“If it is true that the Shadow Man is recruiting mortals to assassinate us, then there is likely no choice. We must kill him before things escalate further. We must go to Seneria, and pray to the Lioness we find answers there.”