When Connor came to, he saw the same white ceiling and walls as before. His thoughts were clearer now, but his memory after being stabbed was fuzzy at best.

He was surprised just to be alive. He tried to sit up, and a shock of pain shot through his stomach. He groaned and fell back against the soft mattress.

He pushed the blankets down. His armor and clothing had been removed, and he wore a white gown instead. He lifted the gown and ran a finger over his stomach.

A scar had already formed. He probed it lightly with his fingers. It was sensitive, but not too bad. How long had he been out?

He slowly pushed himself up, making sure to use his arms as much as possible and reduce the strain on his stomach.

It hurt, but nothing unbearable.

He sat up and looked around the room. It was spartan, with few furnishings other than the soft, unadorned bed he lay on.

Adelia sat in a chair to his right, her head resting on the bed near his leg. He frowned and scrabbled through his foggy memory.

She’d carried him in her arms and raced through the streets. His concerns about Bvorn and Vadik melted away. She’d have taken care of that. But, what about the voices earlier? Something about an agreement? How much of that had been real, and how much had been a dream?

She breathed deeply and evenly. Who knew how long she’d waited by his bedside? He could ask her for details once she woke up. For now, he let her rest.

He used the time to piece together what little he remembered after being stabbed.

He formed a few vague plans too.

He’d have to find out how long it’d been and what else had happened before he could do anything serious. Mostly, it was just to get his head together and organize his thoughts into some semblance of order.

He slowly extricated himself from the bedding, doing his best not to wake Adelia. He swung his legs over the side and stood up.

A wave of dizziness washed over him. He reached out and braced himself against the wall. His legs were weak and shaky, and he felt tired… like all the vitality had been sucked out of him.

He took deep breaths and steadied himself. He searched the room for his things but found no sign of them.

Where was his bottomless bag? It had his codex! He couldn’t do alchemy without it! His heart sank. He couldn’t lose it…

“Hmm? Wha—?” Adelia said. She stretched in her chair like a lithe cat.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Connor said.

She yawned. “You should be in bed,” she said.

“I got bored. Where are my clothes? My bag?” Connor said.

She glared at him with her beautiful violet eyes. “Don’t even think of going anywhere,” she said in a voice that was almost a growl.

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“I have to,” Connor said.

“You nearly died! I carried you here bleeding half to death, and the first thing you want to do when you wake up is go running off again?” Adelia said.

Guilt squeezed Connor’s heart like a vice.

“I’m sorry, but we both know I can’t rest in bed for a week, or a month, or however long it takes for me to recover fully. As soon as we get Victor back in the palace, we can get everything straightened out. Then I can take as much time as I need to recover, but until then there is just too much at stake,” he said.

She looked away.

“The high priestess had your clothes sent off to be cleaned, so you might as well rest up for now anyway,” she said, still not meeting his eyes.

Connor sat back on the bed and sighed. Just standing was so exhausting…

“What’s happened while I’ve been out and where are we?” he asked.

Adelia didn’t respond for a long while. Finally, she turned and faced him.

“I brought you to Panacea’s temple. You’ve only been out for a few hours,” she said.

“The healing goddess?” Connor asked.

“No,” Adelia said with an edge in her voice, “I thought a goddess of pain and suffering would be a better choice since you’re so insistent on getting yourself killed.”

“I really am sorry,” Connor said meekly. He ran a finger over the scar on his stomach. “The healing goddess… I guess that explains why I’m not dead. Thanks for that,” he said.”

“What are friends for,” she said.

He reached out and gently held her chin. She flinched, and her arm twitched as if to swat him away, but she let him bring her face around and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Really. Thank you. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead or captured several times over by now. I owe you my life,” he said.

They stared into each other’s eyes and shared a long, intense silence.

“My… my… control yourself, lovebirds,” said a woman standing in the doorway.

They turned away from each other.

The woman was tall, with long golden hair that framed her perfect face. She was beautiful and radiated an inner glow of health and vitality.

She laughed, a rich, warm laughter as she approached. Her long, white gown swayed as she moved.

“It’s good to see you’re awake, Connor,” said the woman, “I am Lyra Sacerdos, high priestess of the goddess Panacea, but you may call me Lyra.”

“Hello, High Priestess,” Connor said.

She fixed him with an icy look.

“…Lyra,” he corrected.

“That’s better,” she said. Her cool expression faded into an alluring smile.

“High—… Lyra… where are my clothes?” Connor asked.

“I had them sent away to be cleaned,” she said, “they should be back shortly, and you my dear, should be resting. By my goddess’s power, you live, but it will be some time before you fully recover. The temporary accelerated healing she has blessed you with will drain your stamina at an astounding rate.”

Adelia looked at Connor, and though he couldn’t see her face, he had a sneaking suspicion she was giving him an I told you so look.

“Thank you, Lyra, but I can’t afford to wait around,” Connor said.

“Oh, the impetuousness of youth,” Lyra said.

It sounded a bit odd coming from her, given that she didn’t look any older than he did.

“Fine. Go if you must. I’ll not stop you, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, “your clothes will be brought to you shortly, but I urge you to reconsider. A few days rest would do you good. I have other patients I must attend to, but I wish you well on your journey.”

“See?” Adelia said once the priestess was gone, “I’m not the only one who thinks you should rest.”

“I promise I will as soon as I can,” Connor said, “you know as well I do that the sooner we get Victor back, the better. There’s no telling what Chamberlain Davison, or The Syndicate might do in his absence. This isn’t just about me wanting my uncle back. The city needs him back as well.”

A young man in a white robe brought Connor’s clothes and armor as Lyra promised. They were utterly spotless, and the area where he’d been stabbed had been repaired so perfectly that there was no trace of it ever having been there.

Everything looked new. Even his rapier had been polished until it shone, but he ignored all of that as he rifled through the pile of neatly folded clothes.

“It’s not here,” he said.

“Looking for this?” Adelia asked. She held up his bottomless bag.

“How did—?” he began.

“Oh, please. I know how important this is to you. I held onto it when they took the rest of your things. I doubt Lyra’s priests would steal it, but I thought it would be better safe than sorry.”

“I’m not sure whether to strangle you for scaring me like that or to kiss you for holding onto it,” Connor said as he took the bag from her, “but thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She shrugged. “You’d probably be dead inside a week,” she said.