Halithe yawned, too content to move.With the merest thought, she focused and snuffed out the flame.
In the morning, she rose, bright and early, and ran down the steps to the kitchen.There were chores to do and lessons, and practice.
Aramal was there, and reddened when he caught sight of her.“Umm, Ritathan is still sleeping.I couldn’t rouse him.We were up late.”He blushed harder, looking at the floor.
Halithe laughed, rushed over, and hugged him hard.“Good morning, Da.”
Aramal laughed and returned the hug.
Chapter Thirty
In the Palace of Xy
Riven had forgotten how exhausting and exhilarating butchering could be.
It had taken some time, but during the preparations for the Summer Solstice, he’d finally gotten into a rhythm that continued even after.
Every morning he was up in the dark, clattering down the stairs and into the yard, where he took up the stunning hammer or the knife.His hands were sore to start but learned calluses swiftly from wielding the blades.Legs strengthened too.
Even better, he got lost in the work, focused on the precision of cutting flesh from bone, the smooth slice of the hide from the meat.There was peace to be found there, silence forming in his thoughts as he grew stronger.
Every morning he pulled power from the deaths of cows and pigs and chickens.Nothing compared to a human, mind, but still, death and blood and power.Magic from a forbidden source, but for a long time now, he’d known how to hide what he was doing.
He’d learned it early, working in his father’s yard, when the first traces of magic were coming into his awareness and the slaughter was happening all around.
Riven’s reserves were building; the familiar feel of magic coursed through him every afternoon as he trudged back up the stairs to his chambers to change, bathe, and eat.
Witless clucked over him, bringing lunch and messages from the Bondmaidens as to when they would appear.Some afternoons, they were not available, and he’d work the floor or chalk out the matrix from his notes or simply sit and memorize the chants.But most days, one of the Bondmaidens would come, bearing the scroll box.
More often than not, it was Nora.
Riven’s heart always gave a little jump when she walked through the door.Not just because of the promise of bed games.But also because she was the most fun, with her sharp wit and sharper tongue.
Every once in a while, he’d stop what he was doing, take a sip of kavage, and steal a long look at her.Not just with mage sight, to study the bond.But to see how her hair gleamed as she smiled at the sharp knives in her hands.
At night, after they had exhausted themselves in the most pleasant of ways, she’d murmur against his skin and he’d stroke her arm, their legs intertwined as the sweat cooled on their flesh.
Perhaps this intimacy was not of her choosing, but Riven no longer cared.He knew the Queen was using their relationship to keep him obedient and loyal.Maybe he was using it too, to convince Satia that he would obey her and cast her spell.
Riven tightened his arm around Nora as she slept.There was a slim chance that this was real, that under the golden, puppet threads of the bond he saw flashes of the real Nora while they loved.Free, unfettered, able to express herself from within the prison of the Bond.
He didn’t want it to end.This life, filled with security and power and Nora; it was as seductive and addictive as it was meant to be.As it was designed to be.Yet he knew full well that if Satia ordered it, Nora would walk away from him.
Or kill him.
Riven stared at the ceiling, watching the moon glow through the curtains.For one brief moment, he let himself consider casting the spell.
It was just one more casting, after all.Yes, it would cost a life, and the babes would be enslaved, but that hadn’t harmed Satia or her maidens.He could do it, stay here with Nora, andthenstart down the road to redemption.
He ached with the wanting of it.
All it would take was one more casting, one more life—
One more pull on the bottle.
Riven sighed, seeing the lie lurking in that line of thought.The horrible logic that bore no truth.
Uncle Stancil’s face appeared in his mind’s eye.
