extinguishing it. Her shield dissolved.
The danger was over.
The energy inside Galen slowed, quieted. Galen realized the pain she must be in, watching her teacher and mother dying. He was shocked at the anger he'd felt only a few seconds earlier. How could he have been so close to attacking her?
Galen stepped aside, and Isabelle returned to Burell. She grasped the shimmering arm of the chair. Burell stroked her hand. "You're my dearest Isabelle."
Isabelle bowed her head. "What if I don't try to heal you," she said softly. "What if I just give you some of my organelles, in case they can do any good." She glanced back at him, and the hardness had gone from her face. "Galen could give some too."
Galen moved to Isabelle's side. "If part of your tech is inert," he said to Burell, "then you're probably producing fewer organelles than usual. They may be overtaxed. Perhaps more could help. Not cure you, but help you cope with the stresses."
From the set of Burell's crooked lips, Galen could see she believed it would do no good. Yet her gaze lingered long on Isabelle, and at last she said, "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it can help."
Isabelle wiped her tears. "Yes. Maybe it will help. Maybe it will. Galen?"
Isabelle pulled back Burell's sleeve and laid one hand on her arm, the other on the back of her head. Galen went around Burell to the other side and did the same. Her forearm felt like a cold stick in his hand. He visualized the spell to trigger the release of organelles.
His hands tingled, and there was an odd sense of a shift in his body, as when he got out of bed in the morning and his blood redistributed itself. In a moment it passed, and he removed his hands.
A tentative smile had appeared on Isabelle's face. "You need rest now."