Generally speaking, the concept of a life tether is simple enough. Cenviri will bind Ryc’s life to mine—as long as Ryc lives, so do I. But the intricacies of the tether make it far more complicated.
Ryc, along with everyone else entering the veil, will need to keep themselves alive. If his bodyorhis soul projection are lethally injured, it will be lethal for us both. I’m not as concerned about his body. It will be safe within the ritual space. Anyone who steps in will be plunged into the veil.
But his soul projection… that’s where my largest concern lies.
That’s why this needs to finish quickly.
I want there to be no opportunity for him or anyone else involved to have their bodies stolen by an errant soul. It’s a common outcome befalling overconfident necromancers who linger too long in the veil. Desperate dead will pummel their souls and steal their flesh.
“Il-akiv’ae crisbear your right arm.Il-akivyour left,” Cenviri instructs.
As I pull at the buckles of my bracer, Ryc asks, “Any last minute advice I should know?”
I could lecture on this for hours.
And it still wouldn’t be enough.
“The veil is dangerous,” Cenviri answers. “From the air you breathe, to the creatures lurking in the shadows, to the way you’ll be changed by what you’ll see. Wounds obtained in the veil will be mirrored upon your flesh. Acquire too many or one too great, and you’ll be unable to return to the living realm, to your body.”
Freeing my arm from the last bracer buckle, Zirzol offers to take it. Handing it to him, I pull back my sleeve with little care.
Cenviri’s eyes fall upon the dark runes inked into my skin and narrow. “A House brand?”
“A very recent development,” I reply, unwilling to meet hisstare.
“Nether is wise not to ignore you.” The small smirk on Cenviri’s face is evident in his tone. “Lady of the Veil,” he says, his voice low as he reads the runes. “Fitting.”
Ryc hands Zirzol his bracer and gently grasps my wrist, running a thumb over the House brand.
“Eve was right,” he says with a quiet, unsurprised laugh. “You’re her House.”
“Cal Anore is filled with Unhoused demons,” Cenviri muses. “You’ll find no shortage of pledges here.”
I shake my head. “Eldoterra would not be as welcoming of demons as you have been.”
And the idea ofdemonspledging themselves inserviceto me twists my stomach with nausea. I am not my father.
“My House will remain Eve and me. Nothing more,” I add and the strangeness of sayingmy Housesits heavy on my tongue.
Cenviri smiles. “Then I shan’t worry about you pursuing Cal Anore.”
I scoff a laugh and Ryc chuckles.
“Place your arms together and offer your palms,” Cenviri instructs.
Ryc releases me and cold is quick to sweep in where his touch had been. Cenviri takes my hand, hisicy-as-death touch startling me, and places it in Ryc’s, curling Ryc’s fingers over mine.
“Do not release one another until the binding is complete,” he says, his firm tone matched by a firm stare.
His frigid fingers finally release me and they swing to one of the dozen, tiny glass jars strung at his waist. Fishing it by its black cord, the one he pulls contains some semblance of a black, gritty powder.
It’s not a material I recognize.
With a push of his thumb, he removes the cork stopper, and the stench of sulfur and smoke—the stench of the hells—strikes my nose without warning or mercy.
The back of my hand flies to my nose as I grimace, the smell threatening to choke me.
“I imagine the scent of milled dragon’s talon would have a visceral reaction from you,” Cenviri says with a small grin as hecarefully tilts the jar over our arms.
