But the shadows retreat almost as quickly as they came—and when they’re gone, I see each of the ruined men and women have abandoned their attacks on our group. Instead, they’re battling each other in the center of the crossroads, fighting over something on the ground there. It’s a storm of gouging, tearing limbs, of the noise of breaking bone and ripping flesh.
“Finish them,” Leon growls. But he doesn’t leave anyone else with much work to do, cutting through the ruined like sheaves of wheat in a field. They seem unable to save themselves—to fight back or escape—too rabidly focused on whatever’s on the ground. In moments, they’re nothing more than a pile of cooling corpses.
Damia reaches in among the bodies and pulls out a torn bag about the size of my fist, leaking a dark powder.
“I’d be careful with that if I were you,” a voice comes from the shadows.
Corrin Wadestaff steps out into the light, followed by four burly men. While our party is scratched and bloody from the fight, he looks as flawless as always, a dark suit complimenting his black hair, tied back with a ribbon.
“What is it?” Damia asks, holding the bag further away from her.
“The only thing that will distract a ruined,” Corrin says. “More of the medicine that made them what they are. Warren, would you dispose of that for us?”
One of the burly men steps forward and takes the bag from Damia with a gloved hand. With the other, bare palm he conjures a flame and burns the bag to ashes before our eyes.
“Now, if you wouldn’t mind coming with me before you make more of a spectacle of yourselves, that would be appreciated,” Corrin says. His words are casual, but a brightness in his eyes makes me think he’s genuinely nervous.
“Spectacle?” Leon growls.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” Corrin says. “Were youwantingto attract every cleric in this city with your activities?” His eyes sweep the crossroads, as if expecting to see scarlet robes coming toward us already. “If not, we need to get inside quickly.”
We gather ourselves and our horses. The rebels lift the body of their fallen member—Lafin, I remember his name was—and secure it to the back of his horse, tethering his animal to Esther’s so we can lead it through the streets. The members ofthe Hand look grim but resigned. After their failed mission the other night, I’m coming to understand that death is a normal part of their lives—the inevitable sacrifice they make to further their goal of undermining the Temple. I wonder what it must be like to believe in something that much. I’m still trying to decide whether I believe in the future Harman sketched out for me in Tread. One where I’m queen, accepted by my people, and the Temple’s hold on Trova is wiped away.
I recognize these streets. We’re not far from Corrin’s gambling den. I don’t bother asking the crime lord how he found us. I imagine he makes it his business to know what’s going on in his neighborhood. Instead, I ask him about the ruined.
“You said medicine made those things,” I say. “What did you mean?”
Corrin sighs. “Their condition is a side effect of having exiled dryads in the city—healers no longer bound by their vow to do no harm. Some become interested in making a quick florin and experiment with their viatic magic…with dangerous results.”
I remember the house of the healer we visited when we were last in Hallowbane. It had graffiti scrawled on the side sayingruin maker.That healer seemed wise and cautious, and I don’t think he’s one of the dryads Corrin’s talking about, but someone certainly seems tothinkhe is.
“So what is this medicine? What’s it supposed to do?” I ask.
“It’s called ephilin. Once taken, the user is condemned. They will die in a matter of months, and there is no way to save them. But during that time, they’re consumed by a constant euphoria and feel no pain.”
I stare at him. “They didn’t seem very euphoric to me.”
“Maybe not outwardly, but in here,” he taps his head, “it’s supposed to be all sunshine and rainbows. One dose is all it takes—they don’t actuallyneedmore. But they’ll still go after more of the drug if they see it. And when it’s not there to distract them, they’ll give in to other impulses. The drug makes them intensely strong and violent the closer they get to death.”
“Why would someone take a drug like that?” I ask, appalled.
Corrin smiles at me sadly. “Your Highness, people will find all manner of ways to abuse themselves for a few moments of happiness. And for someone in unimaginable pain, ending their life in blissful oblivion might sound worth the price.”
“I’ve heard of drugs like this,” Leon says, joining in. “But I’ve never seen it in action. Why isn’t anything done to stop it? Surely no one wants these things roaming the streets like this.”
“Today was a particularly bad swarm,” Corrin concedes. “Not that there’s any such thing as agoodnumber of ruined. But nothing ever gets done about it because this is Hallowbane. The city has already been abandoned by the authorities. Occasionally, the Temple sends some cleavers to purge the city of the ruined, but there’s always a new crop of fools seeking out ephilin.”
“I betyoucould stop it,” I say quietly. “Couldn’t you scare these healers, tell them there’ll be consequences for making it?”
“Your Highness, you’ve been back in Hallowbane ten minutes, and you’re already telling me how to run my business,” Corrin says archly. “Of course I’ve considered it. But that’s the problem with exiled dryads. My threats don’t have much bite when they’ve already lost everything that’s worth losing to them.”
We fall into silence as I think about the attack and what it cost us. Lafin’s limp hand bounces against the flank of his horse. The rebels have accepted their loss stoically, but I shudder when I think about how close Tira came to joining him. I fall back beside her now, eyeing the scratch on her neck.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says, though her hand automatically goes to the injury, as if she’s trying to cover it.
“It’s okay if you’re shaken up,” I murmur. “Those things were horrible. I really thought…” I don’t finish my sentence, not wanting to give voice to my worst fears.
