“Where’s my ’rother? Where’s Benna?”

“Benna?”

Memory flooded back in a blinding instant. Blood pumping from between her brother’s clutching fingers. The long blade sliding through his chest while she watched, helpless. His slack face, smeared with red.

She gave a croaking scream, bucked and twisted. Agony flashed up every limb and made her squirm the more, shudder, retch, but she was held fast. Her host watched her struggle, waxy face empty as a blank page. She sagged back, spitting and moaning as the pain grew worse and worse, gripping her like a giant vise, steadily tightened.

“Anger solves nothing.”

All she could do was growl, snatched breaths slurping through her gritted teeth.

“I imagine you are in some pain, now.” He pulled open a drawer in the cupboard and took out a long pipe, bowl stained black. “I would try to get used to it, if you can.” He stooped and fished a hot coal from the fire with a set of tongs. “I fear that pain will come to be your constant companion.”

The worn mouthpiece loomed at her. She’d seen husk-smokers often enough, sprawling like corpses, withered to useless husks themselves, caring for nothing but the next pipe. Husk was like mercy. A thing for the weak. For the cowardly.

He smiled his dead-man’s smile again. “This will help.”

Enough pain makes a coward of anyone.

The smoke burned at her lungs and made her sore ribs shake, each choke sending new shocks to the tips of her fingers. She groaned, face screwing up, struggling again, but more weakly, now. One more cough, and she lay limp. The edge was gone from the pain. The edge was gone from the fear and the panic. Everything slowly melted. Soft, warm, comfortable. Someone made a long, low moan. Her, maybe. She felt a tear run down the side of her face.

“More?” This time she held the smoke as it bit, blew it tickling out in a shimmering plume. Her breath came slower, and slower, the surging of blood in her head calmed to a gentle lapping.

“More?” The voice washed over her like waves on the smooth beach. The bones were blurred now, glistening in haloes of warm light. The coals in the grate were precious jewels, sparkling every colour. There was barely any pain, and what there was didn’t matter. Nothing did. Her eyes flickered pleasantly, then even more pleasantly drifted shut. Mosaic patterns danced and shifted on the insides of her eyelids. She floated on a warm sea, honey sweet…

Back with us?” His face flickered into focus, hanging limp and white as a flag of surrender. “I was worried, I confess. I never expected you to wake, but now that you have, it would be a shame if—”

“Benna?” Monza’s head was still floating. She grunted, tried to work one ankle, and the grinding ache brought the truth back, crushed her face into a hopeless grimace.

“Still sore? Perhaps I have a way to lift your spirits.” He rubbed his long hands together. “The stitches are all out, now.”