But underneath?Below that golden-red web?The smallest twitch of dissonance.
It took three rotations before he figured out that deep within, they all had different personalities.Mira held a deep kindness that somehow shone through.She was kinder to Witless than all the rest.
Caris had a driving curiosity.He’d often see her staring at him out of the corner of his eye, as if she had burning questions.But she never asked him a thing.
Avice was colder, indifferent, as if every task was a challenge to perform perfectly.She would often unravel a piece of work because of one dropped stitch, one tiny flaw.
And Nora, lovely, vibrant, sharp-tongued Nora?Under that web burned a raging soul, filled with anger.Her webbing bound the tightest, pressed deep against even her tiniest struggles.
It saddened him.
What was the missing one like?He hadn’t managed to learn more and didn’t dare show that he even knew of her, could see her cord stretched taut behind the Queen.
Riven rolled his shoulders and got up.He had this afternoon free, to think and ponder.A stretch, more kavage, and then he returned to the table and reached for fresh paper and ink.Copying the matrix from memory, putting it down on paper, kept his hand busy and let his mind wander as his fingers moved.
Kavage mug in hand, he considered his situation.How many times in the past had this spell been cast?How many other blood mages had studied that scroll?
That gave him pause.How was it that he’d never heard of this spell?
Not that blood mages really shared their secrets easily or at all.Most great workings were done secretly, and warily.But nothing like this had been hinted at, to his knowledge.Not even gossiped about.
What did that say about the survival rate of the blood mages who had cast it previously?
A hard, cold chill ran down his spine.He was fairly certain he knew their fate.
The Queen had said the scroll was an heirloom of her family, the spell cast on every child.But she was the only one of this generation.Which meant that she’d never seen the spell cast.For all she knew, he could paint himself blue and dance naked in a circle for hours.How would she know?
Riven narrowed his eyes.No doubt the rat-bastard designing this spell would take further precautions.If her father is dead, how does she know…
If it was meant to be generational, they’d leave directions.Riven took a sip of kavage.That box that held the spell.Old and worn…and something else inside.A set of instructions, perhaps?Ways to check that your blood mage was actually doing what you wanted him to do and not carried away by the possibilities?
Riven let his mouth curl up.Pity.He might look good in blue.
But it made sense.
Which meant he needed to keep working, building up toward the casting.Buying time.
A knock on the door.Witless entered, a load of firewood in one hand, baby doll cradled in the other.“Fire, master.”Witless headed toward the hearth, where the fire burnt low.
“That would be welcome,” Riven said, rising from his stool and heading to the window.With the fire, and the sun, the room was warm.The windows looked down over a frost-covered garden.Seemed spring would be late this year.
“Rest babies here,” Witless had put the babe down, away from the hearth but close enough to keep watch as he added wood to the fire.
There was something different.The doll was wrapped in a blanket.“Witless, did you swaddle the babe?”Riven asked.
“Witless swaddle,” Witless looked up and grinned.“Watch.”
He reached for the babe, and undid the wrappings, tickling the doll’s tummy once the blanket was spread out.“Baby stretch and wiggle,” Witless recited.“But sleepy baby wrap tight.Gentle, gentle,” he said, putting the doll’s limbs in, and pulling the blanket around it, tucking in the ends.“Then rock,” Witless said, standing with the babe in his arms.“Gentle, gentle.”
“That’s good,” Riven said, feeling sick to his stomach.
Witless chortled.“Practice, practice, for real babies,” he said, heading toward the door.
“Witless, do you like kavage?”Riven called after him.
“Kavage?”Witless’s nose wrinkled as he shook his head.“Nasty.Witless like milk.”
Riven snorted his amusement softly, then turned back to stare at the writing on the scroll without really seeing it.He was not casting this spell, he was not killing Witless, hells, he didn’t even want to call the boy by that name.But until he could find an escape, he needed something visible, tangible, to make sure his “hosts” stayed satisfied with his progress.
