“Black clothing,” he added. From his time hunting Suyin, he’d learned that almost everything she owned was that color. Why he cared what color she wore, he couldn’t have said to save his life.
Indeed, both guards looked at him like he’d lost his mind. But they were smart enough not to ask questions. That was why he’d chosen them as his tower guards. “Yes, Master.”
“When you return with the items, give them to the cleaning staff. They’ll know what to do.”
“Yes, Master.”
Without another word, Murmur swept through the doors into the spiraling stairwell. Forming his wings, he took flight, ascending the tower. It was awkward trying to fly straight upward, but it was still much faster than walking.
He landed on the stairs below Suyin’s chambers. Folding and disappearing his wings, he started up the remaining steps, only to pause briefly and glance at the entrance opposite the gorath statue.
He wondered what the rooms were like now that Suyin had been living in them for a few days. Had she uncovered all the furniture? Did the bedsheets carry her scent now?
Go in. Catch her unaware. Startle her and see if she’ll scream.
He rolled his eyes. “She’d be more likely to stab me again.”
The idiotic voice in his head laughed as if it had enjoyed having a blade stuck in his jugular.
Shaking his head, he continued up to the top floor, stopping outside the entrance to his bedchamber. He’d spent the last six hours flying around his territory, and his attempts to sleep the night prior had been fruitless.
But falling into the bone-chilling terror of his death vision was the last thing he felt like doing at present, even if he was overtired to the point of barely functioning. He continued past.
You’re a wreck, that stupid little voice reminded him.You’re so tired you can’t see straight, let alone make actual progress with your work. If you tried to cast the spell right now, you’d pass out before you even summoned the hellfire.
“Will you stop it?” he snarled, pushing open the library doors. He went to the fireplace and tossed another log onto the dwindling fire. “I’m sick of your pestering. If you’re going to be in my head, couldn’t you think of something useful to say for once?”
I’m you. Tell yourself that.
He gripped his hair in frustration as he crossed the room toward his desk, careful to avoid stepping on the sigil. He dropped into his chair and stared at the mess before him. “I know that. I’m aware. You’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m losing my mi—”
His head snapped up at a slight rustling sound, and he found himself staring into the dark eyes of his little prisoner.
She sat cross-legged on the floor on the far side of the room, her back against the tall bookshelves. There was a huge dustygrimoire in her lap and a stack of several more beside her. She stared at him with wide eyes, and he had the impression she’d been doing that since he walked in.
His ire rose, but their interaction the day before returned to his memory. He’d given her permission to be here, and she was doing exactly as she’d promised. Working silently out of his way, and other than the stack of grimoires beside her, she didn’t appear to have moved anything.
She was still frozen, staring at him apprehensively. Probably because he’d been arguing with himself.
He was so used to being alone that he’d become accustomed to speaking aloud to the voices in his head. Talking to himself helped him organize his chaotic thoughts. He didn’t care if it made the witch uncomfortable.
Yeah, right. Your face is hot. I think you’re blushing.
“Shut up,” he growled before he thought better of it.
“I didn’t say anything,” Suyin replied warily.
“Not you.”
She looked confused. And concerned.
He rolled his eyes and focused back on his desk without actually seeing anything on it.
He already regretted making that stupid agreement with her. What the hell had he been thinking? She’d agreed to give him her blood willingly when he let her out of the dungeon. She didn’t need to stand beside him while he cast the spell.
The difference between an unwilling and willing blood sacrifice was notable, yes. But the difference between a willing blood sacrifice being absent or present for the casting ritual was not. He’d convinced himself he’d agreed because every bit of extra power could mean the difference between success and failure.
But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?
