Master Vickers entered the main hall. She found Master Tormund where she knew he’d be, standing guard at the top of the staircase leading to the cell block below like a sentinel for Sister Alessia. Scribe Willem was with him, whispering something.

  “You gave it to her,” Willem said without turning.

  “How long?” Vickers asked.

  Tormund held up eight fingers, then clenched his fist. “Eight hours. Screaming for the first three, then silence. Then more screaming. I don’t know which was worse.” His black eyes found hers. “I’ve never heard anyone struggle with it that long.”

  “I couldn’t bear to listen. Drank myself unconscious instead,” she said shamefully. “I killed her.”

  “She wasn’t going to stop, Vickers,” he said calmly. “She knew the risks of taking that vial from you, and saw all seventeen of them firsthand.”

  “How foolish of you, Master Vickers,” Scribe Willem said. “Do you have the slightest idea of the potential repercussions?”

  “Death? Have the two of you considered that might be exactly what Sister Alessia is looking for?”

  Scribe Willem muttered something under his breath.

  “Let me go first,” Tormund said, moving toward the staircase. “If she’s… if it went badly, you don’t need to see that.” He paused. “Not even I know what it does to a Sister. Never had to experience this before.”

  “No, Tormund. I have to see her.”

  He nodded. “I confined the Brothers to their rooms. Willem stayed with me through her long night.”

  “This isn’t over, Master Vickers,” Willem said.

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  She ignored him. The choice had been made.

  Each step down felt heavier than the last. Vickers counted steps to avoid thinking. Twelve. Thirteen. Alessia had wanted this so badly. Fourteen. Fifteen. Had begged for it with those green eyes. Sixteen. What was left behind those green eyes now? Her boots scraped against stone worn smooth by decades of similar descents. How many Masters had walked these steps to find failure waiting in the cells below?

  A pile of clothing down the hall, outside of a cell door. Reality waited patiently just beyond.

  “Tormund,” she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Please stop, this is my burden. I must see what I’ve done.”

  He stepped aside without a word. He’d carried enough Brothers from these cells to understand, some burdens couldn’t be shared, but only shouldered alone.

  Vickers closed her eyes and recited her own teachings, forcing herself into composure. Calm. Breathe. She walked down the hallway, past cell after empty cell, until she reached the one Alessia had chosen. Damian’s cell. Of course she had chosen Damian’s cell.

  She clenched her fists and peered inside, facing the aftermath directly. The smell of sweat permeated the cell. Blood streaked the stone walls where Alessia had clearly struck them with her fists. Alessia lay face-down in the center, curled motionless in a fetal position. Black ichor pooled around her face.

  Alessia was breathing.

  Vickers’ hands covered her mouth as she turned to face Tormund. His expression said everything. He had been certain they would find her dead.

  “Tormund,” she mumbled, then louder. “Tormund, she’s alive!”

  “What?” He stared at her in disbelief, then pushed past her into the cell. “That’s impossible. No woman has ever—” He froze. The rise and fall of Alessia’s shoulders was unmistakable.

  Vickers rushed into the cell and knelt beside Alessia, carefully turning her away from the pooled ichor. “Get Willem down here and water,” she called over her shoulder. “Now, hurry!”

  She immediately turned her attention back to Alessia as he disappeared. “Sister,” she said, lightly tapping her cheek. “Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me.” She gently shook her shoulder. “Give me a sign.” Alessia’s skin was cold to the touch, but her pulse was steady under Vickers’ fingers. Her veins were blackened, everything so far suggested standard Trial aftereffects.

  Alessia weakly coughed several times before dry heaving.

  “Easy,” Vickers soothed, pulling Alessia upright against her. “You’re safe. You made it through.” She rubbed Alessia’s back as the dry heaving subsided. “I’ve got you.”