Halithe closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of endless possibilities. Then she drew a deep breath, reminding herself that there was work to be done before she would be truly free.
When she opened her eyes, she spotted a long hair clinging to her sleeve. A long, auburn hair. She pulled the strand off and coiled it carefully. She tucked the hair into a handkerchief and tucked that into her breastband.
Another breath before she slipped out through the curtains, a new determination firming her spine.
Even if she had to sew a thousand nappies.
“My thanks,” Ritathanwatched as Halithe left, amused at her happiness. “She does have potential, Forterran.”
Forterran stared at the scorch mark, an odd look on his face. “Rage?” He asked.
Ritathan nodded. “Her response to a veiled threat from Xyrath.”
“I remember when my mother came into her full powers, triggered by rage.” Forterran chuckled, then remembered himself and gave Ritathan a glare.
Ritathan raised an eyebrow. “I did warn you,” he said mildly.
“Hmmph.” Forterran made a gesture and the pressure on Ritathan’s ears changed. Indistinct, vague voices began to mutter near the door; they would be unintelligible to anyone outside.
“If there were listeners, I would know,” Ritathan said.
“Never hurts to be cautious. You might have mentioned the extent of the corruption.” Blood magic is pure evil and that bond seethes with it.”
Ritathan opened his mouth but Forterran cut him off. “Yes, yes, don’t think to give me a history lesson. In certain faiths, in certain cultures, self-sacrifice is a special form of blood magic. Don’t try to tell me those women consented.”
“I don’t think even Satia consented,” Ritathan mused. “I doubt she was old enough to know what was happening.”
“Please don’t expect me to be sympathetic. That young woman could seek to break the bonds.”
“Could it be done?” Ritathan mused. “The bindings have been there so long they are woven into the women’s very breath.”
“I don’t have the answer to that,” Forterran rumbled, “and no time to speculate. Your apprentice wasn’t the only thing they wanted to discuss.”
“How much beer did you have to drink to get your gout to flare up?” Ritathan rose and took Halithe’s chair.
“Not as much as I would have liked,” Forterran groaned. “It will take a week of weak herbal teas and water to flush it out. I hope you appreciate my sacrifice.”
“I would,” Ritathan said with a straight face. “But I know how much you love beer.” That drew a rueful chuckle from his friend. Ritathan leaned forward. “What did they want?”
“Your head on a pike was my impression.” Forterran rolled his eyes, amusement gone. “But we danced around the issue, discussing the terms of the mage contract. They spoke of the cost and asked not so subtle questions about what happens if you die. I pointed out the relevant provisions.” Forterran heaved a sigh. “Where is your key?”
“I do not know,” Ritathan sat back in his chair and heaved his own sigh. “Kara had it when she left for the field, that is all I know.”
“Queen Satia is a very unhappy woman.” Forterran mused. “She does not wish to pay the fees, yet she does not wish to release you, for you would then be free to take a new contract.”
“A pity, that she suffers so,” Ritathan curled his lip.
Forterran shook his head. “Why not hit that hornet’s nest a few more times?”
Ritathan gave his friend a helpless shrug.
“Oh, please.” Forterran grimaced. “Our new Queen has strange ideas,” he said slowly. “She pressed me to make sure that all suspected blood mages are presented to the King and Queen before they are executed. Some nonsense about a fair hearing before their majesties to assure them justice.” Forterran snorted. “Can you imagine, hauling a struggling blood mage into the court for a hearing?”
“That does not bode well. That one schemes well into the future.” Ritathan said. “Did you promise to do so?”
“Of course.” Forterran gave him a look. “But any blood-mage I find will die in the struggle. I will apologize later.”
Ritathan smiled. “If their Majesties even hear of it.”
