"Poisoned?" Wendy gasped.

  I held up my thumb ring. "I thought these were standard practice? Poison detectors?" The sigil pressed under its quartz setting was letting off a throbbing glow, cycling fast enough to indicate some urgency.

  Bruce looked down at his right hand, where a large-banded ring was flashing a strobing yellow light. That hand was holding his cane, and his cane was held at hip-level, well out of his sight-line. A glowing warning ring is no help if you keep your hands low where you can't see them. "Shit," he said.

  Petty was tugging off her glove, and Wendy was wringing her hands together. "It didn't go with anything!" she wailed, holding up her hands that held jewelry all carefully matched to her dress. Apparently her anti-assassination ring was not carefully matched to her dress. When Petty got her glove off, the glow was there too. We needed a system to rule this out.

  I didn't even think before I started taking charge. I blew out a breath. "Petty, hold your drink way up. This only has a range of a couple feet."

  She held her glass up like this was keep-away but my ring did not dim, so her glass was not the problem. At my signal, Wendy handed Petunia the martini glass she had been drinking from and Petty held it up too, high enough to be out of my ring's range. Then Bruce surrendered his, and the light finally dimmed.

  "Huh," I said, looking down at my water with lemon wedge. The light was off. I'll confess I was surprised, I was sure that of the four of us I was the high-priority assassination target, but my drink was just fine. "All right, Bruce, we'll just get out of here, it's probably a long-acting poison."

  Bruce pursed his lips. "Slow-acting, or just delayed-action. Could be either one, but the difference-" and he twitched, shuddered, and grasped his stomach. "Delayed!" he gasped. His tone came out croaking, strained by the sudden pain shooting through his stomach. I watched sweat pop out on his forehead. He mottled dark, face flushing in an unwholesome way.

  "I've got this," I said to my cousins, and I grabbed Bruce in a two-armed carry under his shoulders and knees, and opened a portal directly above us. He was not a small man, but I was channeling essences that gave me borderline-superhuman strength. With a Superman leap I flew us up into the portal, and then out again. If he objected to being lifted in a princess carry by an actual princess, he was too busy dealing with the effects of the poison to fuss about it. By the look of him, he was in a lot of pain.

  Screams, surprise, scrambling, the rattle of poker chips and the clatter of billiard balls. I was holding Bruce in my arms in the common room of my dorm, right in the middle of game night, which apparently startled some people to flinch back. It's probably the portal, that thing always attracts attention. And since I'm still airborne, I had a good view of the room. I jetted over to where the healer, Licard, lounged in his recliner. I could see in slow motion as he glanced over at the commotion, saw my expression, saw Bruce's condition, and Licard's face wandered from irritation to surprise to worry to determination, and he heaved himself upright so fast the heavy chair scooted back like a bar stool. For a big guy, he's awfully nimble.

  We haven't talked much since he told me he would not be joining any more expeditions with me, despite the good outcome of our last one. He never really explained his reasons, but I respect someone wanting to keep something to their selves. But despite the tension between us, he was not hesitating to bring up his power when he saw the panicked look on my face.

  He was already reaching when I crashed into his chest, my cousin held between us.

  "Poison," I said. "Don't know what kind."

  He had a hand on Bruce, and it washed with alternating lights of amber and sky. "It's nasty. Assassin's work. It's chewing his blood up... hold on."

  Licard carried my cousin back over to the recliner, and glanced over at me. "Get everyone back," he ordered.

  I was not feeling subtle or patient. Half these people had paid to dunk me this morning. "We need room!" I yelled, and built a wall of wind that pushed outward, clearing a broad space. I never even looked back, never stopped to look for any familiar faces, friends. I was extremely focused on my dying cousin.

  Bruce looked terrible, eyes staring without blinking, his nose started bleeding. Veins on his forehead darkened, and he clutched at himself desperately, as if he needed to tear at his skin. His glasses were askew and he didn't notice, and when his lips peeled back from his teeth they were bluish and darkening.

  "Shit," Licard said, and cradled one hand under my cousin's neck, the other pressed to his chest and feeding in the healing energies. "This is tricky. But- you came to the right place. I've had a lot of practice with poisons lately," he said with a tight smile. He grunted, and there was a small movement. Nobody else would be close enough to notice. But two of Healer Licard's fingertip had just slipped into Bruce's neck like my cousin was made of bread dough. I started to scream, but-

  But there was something in Licard's face. He glanced at me, eyes tilted up and face tilted down, catching eye contact. He was steady. And he was counting on me to be steady. I froze. And I watched.

  "All right," Licard was saying, "I can beat this. I know what to do. But, it's going to look pretty scary for a minute, so bear with me."

  A shock ran through Bruce, and his clutching hands curled into claws. His clotted ruddy complexion washed white in a minute, his lips and eyelids almost disappearing as he went as pale as myself. His shocking bright hair and eyes stood out even more. His hands wrenched at Licard, trying to pry the big man away from him, but he did not have half the leverage or a third of the muscle he would need. Bruce's eyes fluttered, his back arched, and he dropped. Nerveless, still, unresponsive, eyes staring lifelessly.

  "Step one," Licard said calmly.

  I could hear the wind roaring, the wall I had made was not subtle or quiet. There was no other sound here.

  "Step two," Licard said, proudly.

  Bruce's eyes fluttered and he gasped for breath, surging up against the healer's hands. Color flooded back to him, instantly better. It took almost no time, his lips and fingers were back to their healthy color, his tan was back, and he was blinking quickly. I stood up and staggered back, and dropped the roaring wall of wind between us and the world. I took the moment to look carefully at his neck, but there was no sign of whatever Licard had done there.

  My cousin sat up, as if nothing had happened. He reached up and fixed his spectacles on his face. "Thought I was done for," he said, looking around. "My, you're big. Hello ladies!" With a smile, he was already flirting. With Licard and the girls of my dorm. At the same time.

  "Get up Bruce," I chuckled, and offered him a hand. He looked surprised at how firm my grip was and how I pulled him to his feet with a tug of my arm. "Thank you, Licard. What does he need now?"

  The healer stood upright, dusting his hands on the thighs of his trews. "Right now, he's going to want about a half-gallon of fruit juice, a large steak, and a bathroom."

  "Urg. The man's not kidding," Bruce said. "Cousin Natalie, could you get me back to the house?" He was folding one hand over his stomach, leaning into it a little as if afflicted with some abdominal distress.

  I laughed, thanked Licard again, and I teleported Bruce back to his estate house. He staggered to a washroom and slammed the door, I went to the kitchen to have the housekeeper start as much orange juice as she could, and a large steak if we had one. She assured me it would be done and started bustling about the kitchen. Her first move was towards the sideboard, and I had to take a moment to inform her that this was for a pitcher of orange juice. No vodka. Yes, for Lord Bruce. No, I'm sure no vodka. She shrugged and made him a pitcher's worth of virgin screwdriver.

  I went to check on him. He was bellowing some pub songs and from the tone of his voice he was not having a good time. Not to be crude, but the singing was meant to cover up other sounds.

  After checking in on the housekeeper again, I headed back to the dorm commons again to thank Healer Licard. And to ask a few questions.

  "We both wish to convey our thanks," I said, smiling, relieved. What a hell of a day. "But, I might have a couple of follow-up questions for you. I had thought you did not have any more surprises for me. And then I saw you doing something extraordinary."

  He frowned, glanced back at the room full of teenaged girls who definitely were not eavesdropping. "Let's get some air," he said, and nodded to the door.

  When we were both out on the front steps, he wrapped his arms around himself. It's almost spring but the nights are still chilly. We do live in a massive cave after all. It regulates the temperatures somewhat, but mostly by making them colder. I curved air to warm us both up. He took his time considering his answer. "So, you might have seen some things that-"

  "You can just tell me you're from Hartrend and it will make things easy," I told him.

  He blew out a relieved breath. "Whoofh. All right, that makes things easier. Yes, that was where I got my training. The very best healers and trainers are with House Braige up in Pierazard, but the second best are in Hartrend, and they work cheaper, are easier to find, and don't have all the troublesome conditions of working in Aumerje territory. And, sometimes if you're lucky, they'll see fit to teach you more than you asked for."

  "The body of clay technique," I said, keeping my face and voice neutral.

  "Yes, the- are you happy about that?" he asked, surprised.

  "Let's say I'm intrigued by the possibilities," I said. "Do go on when you're ready."

  It's just been my week for that. Last Sixthday Larianne was shocked to learn that I knew the esoteric secrets of her House. On Twoday, I'm using my secret knowledge of Brunblings to manipulate their leadership. And now today I'm surprising Licard that I know about the Kinghands' secret body-of-clay techniques. Wait 'til they learn what kind of secrets the Freckentops, Aumerje, and Uncin are keeping.

  Licard was ready to go on. "Anyway, long story short- all right, sorry, long story medium, I went to Hartrend to get the Kinghand healers to teach me because my father's adventuring party needed a new healer. During second-year evaluations, my proctor discovered that I have the switch, and so he flipped it and turned on my capacity for the technique. It made me a much better healer, especially with major injuries. Instead of just pouring in life energy and hoping that it goes where it's needed, I could fix injuries like I was smoothing out wrinkled fabrics. I went adventuring for a spell, got really good. My party's tank retired, and I... filled in for a bit."

  "And I'm guessing you filled out for a bit too?" I gestured at the Healer Licard entire.

  He chuckled, and shrugged. "Yeah. The party needed muscle, so I put on muscle. It took like three weeks. That's how I found out that I really like being strong. So, I kept it. My party retired, I hired on with a new one, younger and more promising. I pushed them to the top, one of the best clearing teams in Stableholt, and with their new ranks they all moved into administration. No more healing for me to do, so I answered an ad for Hearstcliff Academy. And now: present day."

  "So what did you do to help Bruce?"

  "You don't want to know."

  "I'm not a child. I have blown up a lot of people."

  "The strong stomach you need to kill people and the strong stomach you need to practice medicine are two very different things," he assured me. There was something in his tone, that he knew both of these first-hand. I decided to accept that answer.

  "I for one am glad I brought him to you," I said. "I really just didn't know where else to find a healer in ten seconds or less at this time of night."

  "Most healers would have lost him," he said, shrugging. I could see each muscle group moving separately through that gesture. Very detailed muscle definition. "Now, my question: how does a nice girl like you even know about the body of clay technique?"

  Because Nathan can meet a facemaker in Hartrend to get him across enemy lines during the civil war in four years in an alternate timeline, if he's reached high enough fame but hasn't romanced Josse Salles, I thought privately.

  "Books," I said innocently.

  He snorted his disbelief, and shook his head. "Fine. Whatever. Just don't-"

  "You still have a guild membership. What do you intend to do with it? That technique could be a huge asset to a party."

  "My membership? I'm going to let it lapse again," he said. "I'm headed inside. Try not to find anymore life and death situations, would you?"

  "I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best," I promised anyway. "In the meantime, I've got a Fashion Week to get back to!"

  He headed inside. I opened the hidden door and stepped into light.

  I emerged outside of the party again, because shoving straight into a crowd out of the void is rude. There were no heralds waiting for me, so I walked in by myself. I would think that a party of this significance would have at least one staff member outside to handle anyone who arrived late. Well, I'm not going to stand around waiting for someone to notice me. I strolled up the walk, and into the foyer, which was absolutely abuzz with tense conversations.

  A lot more tense than they had been before. The tone running through them was barely-contained panic.

  Someone noticed me, a dark-haired heavyset man with very well-composed features. But when he saw me, he went through about five stages of "oh shit it's her". Interest, surprise, recognition, internal conflict, and then finally pretending he didn't notice me. He glanced away as if nothing had happened.

  It's a sequence I see semi-regularly, actually. I'm usually involved in some kind of imbroglio that justifies that look. But I was particularly hoping to avoid it here, at Fashion Week, when my instructions were clearly to avoid trouble and stay with my own people.

  Others spotted me, and most of them glanced away, others stared. None of them approached or spoke to me, turning back to their own conversations. When there's enough people in a room, and they're all clustered into cliques, it's possible to be seen by everyone and completely isolated at the same time. I walked and the crowd parted before me, nobody was willing to be within arm's length. I shrugged and walked through to the gallery.

  With relief, the crowd of Harigold relations and associates were still right where I had left them. In here, the speech was much more muted, much less of a tense taut buzz and more of a genuine whisper. The cadets at the periphery were all facing inward, minding our own instead of engaging with outsiders. And the other Houses were quite the opposite, all of them nakedly staring out -

  towards Harigold. Everyone in the room was staring in the same direction.

  I moved faster, not sure what I'd find, already hating it. "Excuse me, coming through," I said, and shoved past the first couple rows of cadet genteels. Someone turned, annoyed at the shoving, and spotted me. I'd never met her before. She knew me though.

  "The princess!" she blurted, and grabbed my wrist. "Out of the way!" she shoved into the crowd, shouldering through. I let myself be dragged along.

  There was an empty clearing in the middle, a space a dozen feet around where everyone stared inward. And downward. I nearly stepped on the edge of the tablecloth that someone had spread over the body. Blood soaked through the sheet, but at least the victim was covered.

  "Oh fuck," I gasped. I looked around. Explanations, solutions, someone to say something that would make this better.

  Petunia barreled through a couple of people to reach me, and her eyes were rivers running down her face. She all but collapsed onto me, sobbing, and I wrapped my arms around her, held her to me.

  I know where Bruce is, so there's only one reason that Petty would be crying like this. I felt my throat closing up, grief choking me. I had time to gasp "how?" before my heart stopped my voice and my own tears poured out.

  Someone touched my shoulder from behind, one of the Sigourney matriarchs. "It was.. both glasses," she said. I froze. I played back the memory.

  The light in my ring had been on while Wendy's glass was in range. And when they pulled away, it was still glowing. It stopped when Bruce's glass was pulled away, but I never checked Wendy's glass without Bruce's.

  Basic failure of testing protocol. I didn't check.

  "I fucked up," I mumbled, and then I buried my face against Petty's shoulder and I cried for my cousin.