THYMARA SAT IN the dimness of Alise’s room. She had asked earlier if she might borrow it for an hour or so, and the Bingtown woman had readily agreed, assuming that Thymara wished to bathe in warm water in privacy. But that was not her mission. Instead she had begged Sylve to come with her.

“I don’t see how I’m going to be a help, Thymara. It’s almost as dark as night in here.”

“We’re out of candles completely. Bellin said that if the hunters bring in any sort of an animal with fat, she’ll make some rushlights. But until then…” Thymara heard her voice, how quickly she spoke and how it was pitched higher than normal. Perhaps Sylve heard the fear, too.

“Let me look at your back, Thymara, and see how bad it is. I know you don’t like people to fuss over you, but if it’s infected, and has been for this long, well, you need to have someone open up the injury and clean it out. You can’t just let it keep festering.”

Sylve kept talking as Thymara pulled off her shirt and then unknotted the strips of rags she’d tied at her chest. Experience had taught her that this part was best done quickly. She took a deep breath and then snatched the rag free, gasping as she did so. The ooze from the injury on her back never seemed to cease and always glued the bandaging to her skin. Sylve made an exclamation of sympathy and then asked pragmatically, “What have you been doing for this?”

“I try to wash it every couple of days. Sometimes it’s hard to find a place that’s private.”

“Are you heating the water or just standing in the river?”

“Usually just standing in the river. I wash out the rags and then use them to sponge a trickle of water over it. Then I bandage it up again.”

“I can’t see a thing in here. Turn this way, so the light from that little window…Oh.” Sylve’s hands were cool on her bare shoulders as she turned Thymara in the small space of Alise’s chamber.

The sudden silence that followed her exclamation chilled Thymara even more. “How bad is it?” she asked roughly. “Just tell me.”

“Well.” Sylve took a ragged breath. “This isn’t an injury, Thymara. Maybe it started out as one, but it isn’t now. It’s a change. Mercor told me that sometimes, when a human’s skin and blood are open, a dragon’s influence can be stronger. Stronger than intended, even. He told me about it because I cut my hand and when I came to tend him that day, he said I should stay away from him for a day or two.”

Thymara tried to settle her breath and couldn’t. “What kind of a change?”