She gripped the pillow, wrangled it between her fingers, choked it. Her stomach twisted with fire, stoked by every movement, every shift and snare of her muscles. The bandaged stump lay like a lifeless artifact across her ribs. Agnieskza protested, and bit; she had jaws and Gloria cringed away from them, burying her cheek in the hay-filled ticking of the bed.
"I look forward," she said, shivering under the power of a chill that did not exist, "to your gift. Tell your mar'dak I am -- am appreciative."
There was, for a finite pocket of time, a lucidity in the girl's eyes. Dislodging the sour mess from her stomach had brought a few moments of relief from the vicious fetters of the hemlock and henbane. She was a being of shiftless denial; scarcely did that broken limb move, never did her eyes seek it out. For a short span of time, Gloria Wynsee was very aware of her vulnerability, of the bone-deep pain that pounded with a hammer's strength beneath the flesh of her left arm. She ignored it, clenched her teeth against it, and lost herself in Agnieszka's company.
"Hasn't he the ability," she asked. "Hasn't he? He -- he doesn't require talents for that, to get in your mind. Words are enough for him. Words, lies, glorious speeches. And at his side, Menna Tolleson, soft and small and easy to break. One mind-meddler dies, and he finds it necessary to replace her with another. With a High Inquisitor, and--" She twisted ever-so-slightly in the bed, untangling her legs and reknotting them. The ache of misuse bound her shins and thighs. The wetness of sheets was a quiet shame she hid beneath blankets. She marshaled her patience to endure the wretched warmth while this -- this conversation -- knit its way between seamstress and Councilwoman.
"If you didn't believe me, if you didn't think there was value in -- in what I've to say, if there wasn't some niggling piece of you that didn't believe you might be wrong, mistaken, or misled, then you'd not be here. You'd not be the first thing I saw upon--"
--awakening.
"I've gotten into -- into your head, too, with my words. We have never been fast friends. There's fire between us. Jagged edges. You're not only here to give me pies."
Clenching shut her eyes, trying to ignore agony snarling in her head. Then, a genuine sentiment:
"I'm grateful you're here."