“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stuttered out, her nails digging into the leather of his bracer.
“There’s no need to keep playing, you’ve succeeded.” The admittance was thick and disgusting on his tongue. “But no one’s coming to help you now, are they? Don’t repay your disloyal master by staying silent.”
She whined in the back of her throat, feet still kicking. “Please, I don’t understand.”
Damien rolled his eyes. Of course, a good spy wouldn’t tell him unless she was forced, and he was a master of coercive torture, but he had a much easier way of getting to the truth now by her own doing. “Sanguinisui, tell me why you are here and who sent you after me.”
Her grip on his arm loosened, and her legs went lax. “I’m here for the Scroll of the Army of the Undead. You had it, I wanted it, I tried to take it from you. No one sent me, I came on my own, and I have no idea who you are, I swear it by Sestoth. Please, don’t hurt me, I didn't mean to take that stone.” She choked on the last of her words, eyes glassy. “I’m sorry.”
Damien winced. The words he had designed to elicit complete obedience out of the talisman’s vessel worked perhaps even better than any truth spell. The ore had been imbued with even more potent components, his own blood chiefly among them, to evoke his will. And here she was,apologizing. No one had ever apologized under any truth spell he had cast. And why should she even be sorry? He was the one holding her captive, and the only way to get the talisman out of her was to—“Shit.”
He set her feet flush with the ground, but didn’t release her, glancing off into the darkness of the Sanctum to think. She was telling the truth; it really had been an accident. “And now I have to kill you.”
When she squeaked out a questioning sound, he cast his gaze back onto her face. Nothing about her read spy, he could see that now, except that she absolutely did not fit the description of a hardened guard or rogue assassin. Under the dirt and a bruise across one temple, she had rounded cheeks and a pointed, slip of a chin, but she wasn’t as young as he’d originally thought, not with a body like that, eyes that somehow looked right into the depth of him, and full lips that were suddenly quivering.
“What are you doing?”
She moved her mouth, but no words came out. Tears, however, did streak down her face. And there were a lot of them.
“Are you crying? Oh, dark gods, stop that.”
“I can’t,” she squealed, breathing in raggedly. “You said you’re going to kill me, so it’s just happening.”
“Well, if you’d like to live a bit longer, you better bloody welltry.”
She swallowed, succeeding for a moment, and then devolved into a sobbing mess.
Damien released her fully, scoffing in disgust, and she sank to the ground in a heap. He paced to the entrance of the chamber, rubbing his temples and trying to block out her wailing. Killing her would, of course, solve both of his problems: the only way to get the talisman back so it could be embedded in its intended target was through her death, and, even more compelling, if she were dead, he wouldn’t have to listen to her keening any longer.
Yet he hadn’t even been able to cut into her palm when the talisman had first been absorbed, and cutting into palms waseasy, especially for a blood mage, of all beings. It’s what blood magesdid. They killed too, also a relatively easy task, and yet the hesitance welling up in him was making just the thought difficult. Too similar to the feeling that had seeded itself into his gut the evening before, his disinclination to simply run her through and be done with it was odd and heavy and as unwelcome as it was unshakable.
Damien was certainly evil, nothing born of a demon could be any less, and yet…
That was the way he had designed the talisman—to only be shucked out of its vessel through death. It was a failsafe so no other adept mage or enterprising host could pry it out. In fact, everything about the talisman was meant to keep it inside, how it made itself be forgotten, how it attached itself inconspicuously, how it changed to become a part of its host so as to be difficult to trace. Even now as the woman sat on the ground of the Ebon Sanctum Mallor and blubbered, Bloodthorne’s Talisman of Enthrallment gave off no telltale glow on her skin, and its infernal presence had been snuffed completely out.
Damien whipped back around and strode across the room to stand over her. “You've blocked its aura.”
Her blue eyes were rimmed red and puffy when she glanced up from her hands.
“The talisman is no longer so loud. It’s not even pulsing at all.”
She sniffled.
Damien paced, rubbing his smooth jaw. “This could…this could work. I could take the most direct route, stay in town instead of the wilderness every night, even get right into the palace.” He stopped, looking down at her again and snorted out a laugh. “Perhaps you’re a more useful shield than anything else I would have found in here.”
As the thought continued to bloom in his mind, she composed herself, likely easier since he wasn’t threatening to kill her any longer. She wiped at her face, clearing away some of the dirt with her tears. She wouldn’t even be terrible to look at, all things considered, on the trip.
“For now, you may remain alive to accompany me to Eirengaard. Just keep your mouth shut, and, by all that is grim and unholy, will you stop with the tears and get up off the floor?”
She bit her lip and inhaled sharply, words coming out fast and wavering with the desire to continue crying. “Can you please just tell me what’s going on? What was that pink, glowy thing, and why is it inside me?”
He pinched the long bridge of his nose. “Thatredthing is inside you because you very cleverly decided to touch it. You are now the exclusive vessel of Bloodthorne’s Talisman of Enthrallment. Congratulations.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Her breathing had gone erratic once again, and she was in danger of hyperventilating.
“It means I can do this: sanguinisui, stand up and calm down.”
She hopped to her feet, then looked around, bewildered. That, at least, seemed to dry up the well. “You made me do that,” she whispered. “That…that is a dark use of magic.”
