As I repeat those words, I feel his muscles relax under me, though his breathing still comes hoarse and frightened. His sweat rubs off onto my forearms, leaving slick tracks on my skin. Finally, I sit up straight and look down at him. His brown eyes are wild, bloodshot.

Footsteps sound behind me, and I see Jesmin rush into the room. I suppose Dineas’s yelling was loud even for this hospital. I put up a hand and try to pretend I have everything under control. Jesmin takes a few steps closer, and then stops in his tracks. His jaw drops open.

I focus my attention on Dineas. “My name is Zivah. What is your name?”

At this, he blinks. Confusion crosses his face. “I don’t know.” For a long time, he says nothing. He stares at the ceiling, eyes moving back and forth. “I don’t remember anything,” he says, with the slow horror of someone who’s realized that something is very, very wrong. He pushes himself up on one elbow and fixes his eyes desperately on mine. “How did I get here?”

I can see his breathing speeding up again, the confusion building up in his eyes, but this time it seems he has himself under control. I squeeze his hand. “I know this is frightening, but try to rest. Once you are better, we can sort everything out.”

His eyes flicker over my face again. “You look familiar. I feel like I’ve spoken to you before. But it was in a different place.”

I’m painfully aware of Jesmin watching us, listening to every word of our conversation. So I look Dineas in the eye and tell the first of many lies to come. “You’re confused by your delirium. We’ve never spoken before today.”

Chapter Seventeen

They tell me I was found outside the compound wall. That my companions, my family, my friends, whoever they were, left me for dead. And they tell me that even so, I’m one of the lucky ones.

The day I wake up, I’m some kind of marvel to those around me. Zivah, the woman who takes care of me, drops by often, checking my pulse, my color, my eating and breathing. Honestly, I think she’s just trying to convince herself I’m alive. Then there’s Jesmin, the head physician here. He looks at me as if I have two heads.

“You must have been very healthy before your illness,” he says. “We haven’t had someone emerge umbertouched for years.”

Rosemarked. Umbertouched. Sehmar City. Hearing these words is like seeing something through a mist. My physicians tell me about the rose plague, about the course the disease can take. Some of what they say feels familiar. The rest takes me by surprise.

The mist is uneven. I can see no pattern to it.