“So, what are we going to do?” Alba asked.
“I…” Sciona didn’t know. What could be done? What could she possibly do with the dark, soul-destroying knowledge she had uncovered?
Alba’s question was more mundane but also more immediate: “What are we going to do about the doctor?”
“Right,” Sciona said as Alba’s words finally broke through the haze of blood and became real. If Sciona failed to turn the alchemist away, she would lose the ability to face any of the demons on her own terms. And facing the horrors of knowledge on her own terms was still, somehow, less frightening than the idea of being washed from existence, her brilliance and knowledge and pain forgotten—like the work of so many mages’ wives and meidrae before her.
“I’ll handle the doctor,” Sciona said. She pressed her palms to her eyes and unsurprisingly found them swollen and pulsing from the hours of tears. “Could you do something for me?” she asked, still unsure if she could physically stand without support.
“Of course!” Alba said in a tremulous breath of relief. “Of course, whatever you need!”
“Could you get my robe?”
Sciona was aware that she looked perfectly insane when the alchemist arrived, her feet bare, her short hair disheveled, white highmage’s robes pulled over her white nightgown—a seething tangle of static energy barely holding the shape of a woman. She heard the alchemist before they saw him—the creak of the door, then his deep voice conversing with Aunt Winny’s softer one in the next room. Trying to breathe slowly, Sciona leaned back in the kitchen chair and idly picked a snarl from her hair.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Alba whispered as the voices drew closer.
Before Sciona could answer, Aunt Winny said, “She’s just in here,” and pushed the kitchen door open.
“Miss Sciona,” the new voice said with the detached calm that was the trademark of a medical alchemist. “My name is Doctor Mellier. I’m here to diagnose your condition and give you something to make you feel all…” The purple-robed alchemist trailed off as Sciona stood and faced him in her white robe.
“Doctor Mellier.” Stepping around the table, Sciona was relieved to find that her legs indeed held her up and extended a hand. “A pleasure. I’m Highmage Sciona Freynan.”
The doctor froze in shock. Then he turned to Aunt Winny, and his jaw worked uselessly for a moment before he managed, “Madam! Is this a joke?”
“No, Doctor!” Aunt Winny looked stung.
“You didn’t think to tell me that your niece was Highmage Freynan!”
“I-I didn’t think it mattered,” Aunt Winny stammered, going slightly pink with embarrassment. “Yes, she is a mage, but she’s also my niece, and she’s been in so much pain these past two days. Please, would you just sit down with her? Try to treat her?”
The poor alchemist looked unsure what to do.
“It’s fine, Doctor,” Sciona said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“You are?” Mellier glanced back at Aunt Winny. “You told me she was raving, distraught.”
“She is. I mean—she was.”
“Shall we go somewhere private, Doctor?” Sciona suggested.
“Wait,” Alba said, so tense she had started to look quite ill herself. “I think I should go with you.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Sciona gave Alba’s arm a squeeze to let her know that she had the situation under control. “Follow me, Doctor.”
In her room, Sciona dragged her chair from her desk to the bedside. “Have a seat.”
She waited for Doctor Mellier to settle in the chair. Then, instead of sitting on the bed like a patient should, she strode to the open window and perched on the sill, the straight drop to the street at her back.
“What are you doing?” Mellier started to rise, but Sciona held up a warning hand.
“One step and I’ll throw myself onto the street.”
All the color drained from Mellier’s face. “You’ll what?”
“You know from my auntie that I’ll do it. She must have told you I had to be physically stopped from jumping earlier. You may be able to save me, but only if you do as I say.”
“Miss Freynan, please!”
“You treated what’s-his-name, didn’t you?”
“Who?”
“You know…” Sciona gestured vaguely in frustration. “The baker’s first son, Ansel’s older brother, the barrier guard.”
“Carseth Berald?”
Sciona snapped her fingers. “That’s the one. He jumped to his death during the course of your treatments, didn’t he?”
“Is that what this is about, Miss Freynan? Was he a close friend of yours? A paramour?” Mellier must have missed the way Sciona scoffed because he pressed on in absolute earnest. “You must believe me when I tell you there was nothing I could do for him. When I met him, he was too far gone to be saved.”
“I don’t care about that,” Sciona snapped. “I bring it up because I doubt your reputation can afford another dead patient—let alone a highmage.”
As the words sank in, Mellier dropped back into the chair.
“That’s better,” Sciona said. “Stand up again and you’ll have a dead patient. Call for my family and you’ll have a dead patient. Interrupt me and you’ll have a dead patient. Understood?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“It’s not ‘Miss,’ it’s ‘Highmage,’” Sciona snapped. “Try again.”
“Yes, Highmage.”
“Very good.” Sciona leaned into the heels of her hands on the windowsill and slung one leg over the other. “Now, to be clear with you, Doctor, there is no tool or concoction in your case to treat me. I think we are probably in agreement about what I need to repair my mind: that is a reason not to die, yes?”
“Right,” Mellier said uneasily.
“To that end, I need another advanced magic practitioner to sit right there”—she pointed to him as if to fix him in place—“and let me talk through this conundrum, mage-to-mage, until I have my reasoning straight. If this conversation goes well, I’ll sing your praises to anyone who asks. But breathe a word of what I say here outside this room, and I will end your career. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, M—” He caught himself. “Yes, Highmage. Of course, we should talk about what is troubling you. But once I’ve made my diagnosis, you must let me treat you.”
“Alright, so you don’t understand,” Sciona said wearily. “You are not here to give me a solution. I assure you, you are not equal to the task.”
“It is my job to provide a solution for you, Miss—Highmage. You may be immensely talented in the field of energy sourcing, but the greatest of mages are not immune to evils of the mind.”
“Oh, I’m very aware, Doctor.”
“Then you must also be aware that, as a female, you face unique mental challenges that do not afflict your colleagues. Mania is very common in women, especially those of great intelligence. With respect to your brilliance, Highmage, you are not stable.”