Page 13 of Omen of ice
“What could possibly possess you to let someone put such a mark on your skin?” I didn’t have a choice. It’s simply the natural progression of being who I am. But to think someone would willingly do that to themselves…
“I’m the first Fae born with magic since the Great Drain. One day, the truthwillget out. I’ll become an even bigger target than I am now. It won’t be just those who wish to stop my heart, but also those who wish to win it. I could be manipulated.”
“If someone were to turn you into a lovesick fool, you mean?”
“When a Fae falls in love, it’s forever.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t my idea.”
Someone made him do it. Forced it on him? Anger burns in the pit of my stomach at the thought. “I’ve never seen a druid sigil inked directly on someone who isn’t a druid. I didn’t think it was allowed.” We could ward someone else. Ink ourselves and use the magic to trace an invisible ward. But using theinkon someone? Unheard of.
“Must be. A druid did it. She used some of your magic dirt mixed with Fae ink. Hurt like hell.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. I can’t help watching the lines of his sigil churn. It’s not nearly as chaotic as mine, and I wonder if it’s because they mixed it with Fae ink.
“Now…” He grabs a shirt from his bed, stretching out and flexing his muscles. With his free hand, he makes a sweeping gesture in the air, from his head to his toes. “If you’ve had your fill?”
“Sadly, you’re going to have to stomach me a bit longer.” I move to the large mirror across the room and pull the pouch of ink from my belt. “But I promise I won’t enjoy it.”
I tug down the collar of my halter.
“Not that I’m complaining, but if you intend to undress…”
I turn over my arm to reveal the sigil I inked to ward his rooms. “Don’t you know how this works? To use what little magic we have left, we need to bind the power onto our skin. I use the ink to trace it, then, when it absorbs into me, I can ward other things. Like you.”
He pales, and his expression turns stony for a moment before seamlessly melting back into the same indifference that seems to be permanently plastered to his lips. “I knew. I just haven’t seen it done in a long time.”
Of course he does. Someone inked the Heartbreaker…
He shrugs. “Please try not to spill your dirt on the carpet.”
“Feel free to look away.” I wait for a moment, and when he doesn’t turn, I sigh. I picture the rebirth sigil Levina showed me the night before the ceremony. I spent the entire night studying it. Committing every line, every curve, to memory. Unlike most of the charms we use today, our ancient symbols were complex. Exact lines and dimensions need to be obeyed for the power to take. If even the slightest miscalculation is made, the consequences will be unpredictable and dire.
They also require much more ink. Much more power.
I reposition my finger and start the sigil. The sting of it makes my eyes water, but I tamp it down, stashing it deep. The stronger the sigil, the more it hurts. Add that to the cumulative cost of the sigils, and the pain is horrible. I tense and hold my breath as I begin to trace the sweeping lines and intricate details.
“You look like you’re in pain…” The concern in his voice almost causes me to stop.
“It’s…a bit uncomfortable.” I grit my teeth and continue.
“It wasn’t always this way,” he says, voice a bit softer. “The way your magic worked?”
“Our marks were beautiful. Glowing golden lines that glittered in the sunlight.” I wasn’t alive to see them in person, but the paintings on the wall in the Order Hall are breathtaking. I used to spend hours just staring at them, dreaming about what mine might have looked like. “But when the tear was lost, our magic only barely accessible, the beauty faded, replaced by dull red ink.”
Ink runs down the front of my sleep clothes and onto Valen’s carpet, despite his plea to keep things clean. He cringes at the mess and offers me a cloth. “Thank you.” I blot the front of my shirt, then dip my finger into the ink bag to get more.
“Looks like it’s a bit more than uncomfortable.” He shifts closer to get a better look.
“It’s not that bad.” I bite back a hiss as I come to one of the farthest edges, just below my collar bone. The area is sensitive, and there’s a good chance I use more ink than needed. “Kind of tickles,” I lie.
“There are much better ways to indulge a tickling fetish. Ask me to demonstrate for you sometime.”
“You have a better chance of being shit on by a dragon, Valen.” I bite the inside of my cheek as I hit another sensitive spot.
“Hey now. You shouldn’t joke about that. I knew a blacksmith that happened to. Poor guy was crushed. Do you have any idea how big dragon shit is?”
I straighten and wipe the ink from my hands. “Is this normal for you? The annoying, weird, borderline gross chatter? I mean, it’s fine if it is. I just want to know what to expect. Unless, of course, this is just residual awkwardness from last night.”
“Awkwardness?” His eyes widen. “I’ve never been awkward a day in my life.”
“Well, you did seem to like my dress. Maybe you’re trying to find a way to impress me.”
