“Don’t.” She backs away. Her hands clutch the laces at her throat, hiding the blue lines. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why?” I ask, incredulous.

“Because I didn’t want to worry you any further.” Slowly, she releases her grip on her collar and tugs down the material. “I thought maybe it was a side effect of the familiar bond, but … I don’t think it is.”

My heart pounds as I look more closely. The lines are thin but bright and ominous, radiating outward from the center of her chest. I swallow, dread settling thick as oil at the back of my throat.

“Wait here.” I turn and rush through the sitting room before flinging open the door. Out in the hall, Phaut reclines on a chair, arms crossed. The other guard is gone.

I must look somewhat frantic because she immediately grasps her sword and straightens out of her chair. “What is it?”

Without a word, I turn on my heel and lead her back into our bedroom. Phaut’s fierce expression transforms into confusion as she takes in the space, free of intruders, and then me, dressed like I’m about to have tea with the queen.

“Are you in danger?” she asks warily.

“Tell me what this is,” I say as I cross to Saengo.

Saengo looks resigned as she unlaces the collar of her nightgown and pulls it open to reveal the blue lines spidering her skin. Phaut’s face goes white, the age lines around her mouth deepening. Her hand falls from the pommel of her sword.

“The rot,” she whispers. “How is this possible?”

Saengo sways on her feet. I guide her to a chair. Even with the window in my mind shut against the flame of Saengo’s emotions, her fear pushes through me. My pulse pounds at my temples, drowning out everything but the harsh sound of my breathing.

The rot is incurable. A sickness of the soul.

“Get Ronin,” I say. Phaut doesn’t even argue. She all but flees the room.

“I’ve arranged for a healer.” Ronin stands beside the door, watching me pace the length of the sitting room.

Saengo sits nearby, hands clenched tight in her lap. She’s changed into simple pants and a tunic, the blue lines of infection covered up again. Phaut lingers behind Ronin, her gaze darting from me to Saengo in bewilderment. She’s still reeling from the news that Saengo is a human familiar.

Ronin says, “If I’d known she was your familiar, I wouldn’t have sent for the both of you. But once it became apparent, the fact she survived the journey without signs of sickness left me hopeful she would be immune. The rot usually settles in far more quickly. Perhaps a human soul is more resistant.”

The detached tone of his voice irritates me. I make another agitated turn around the room. The airy layers of spidersilk flutter around me.