Page 17 of Truth's Blade

She could wait until morning, when Theo would arrive to fetch her. She had no doubt he would not go away quietly if Vinest hadn’t let her out by then. But she didn’t want the ugliness of that, and she didn’t want Vinest to win.

She pulled out the box she kept her design sketches in, taking them out and stacking them in a neat pile, and then lifted the false bottom up.

She had bought this box at the market, because she knew that her room had been searched more than once. She thought it was Betts, looking for something to chastise her about, but now she wondered if it was Vinest.

It didn’t matter. Neither of them had found what she didn’t want found, which was her collection of magical items. She set them out on the bed.

She had destroyed way more than she’d kept, and she had anonymously gifted others to those who needed them. Besides the ring she wore on her finger, there was a blackened silver brooch, which had magic too faint to work out. She had thought she would smelt it and fashion it into a new piece when she understood exactly what it did.

Then there was a remedies book that fell open to the correct recipe for whatever illness you spoke. She had found it three weeks ago, and she planned to give it to the right person, but that kind of obvious magic made many uncomfortable, and she had yet to pass it on.

The final item was a handkerchief. It had a tiny, beautifully made embroidery on the corner, and it reminded her of someone she’d once known.

It protected a specific wearer, not anyone else, and she only kept it because it was no use to anyone, and the feeling of it when she touched it reminded her of a time when her father was alive, and they were not so alone.

It wasn’t much—she didn’t like keeping anything she wasn’t going to use—and they fit easily into her bag. Only the paints were left.

She sat down at her desk and touched the box with her fingertips.

It was so spell infused, her fingers tingled at the contact.

She opened the box, studied the colors.

She was proficient at drawing—she had learned from her father to always draw before she made anything—but the more she stared at the inside of the box, the heavier the weight of possibilities seemed to grow.

If she drew something with these paints, it would be significant.

She had seen many types of spell work. The golden light of a spell-worked rope that fed from its victim’s energy. The twine around Theo’s neck that acted like a cage. The bead in the center of her ring that felt protective to her, but this . . . this felt like she could draw something and bring it into being.

She had no fresh paper—it was all downstairs in her workshop—but the pile of her old designs sat near her elbow, so she flipped them over. She took out the brushes she’d bought in the market, poured a little water from the jug on her nightstand into a bowl, and thought of something simple.

She drew a key on the back of a used sheet of parchment.

It wasn’t in her to do a sloppy job, so she took some care in crafting it.

When she was done, she sat back and watched it dry, and the moment it did, the paper turned blank, with a real key weighing it down.

She touched it much like she’d touched the box earlier. Gingerly, with her fingertips.

It felt cool and solid.

She picked it up and walked to the door. Hesitated, and then thrust it into the lock.

It didn’t fit.

She withdrew it, tried again. But it wasn’t going to open the door for her.

So this magic was specific.

She had come across few items in her time that weren’t.

Protection as a spell was usually as broad as it got, and even then, she got the sense of armor over the person, not a general protection against everything.

So what, specifically, could she draw?

She looked at the hinges on the door, thought about drawing some kind of lever. But it wouldn’t be a silent effort, and it would bring both Betts and Vinest running.

She would rather leave quietly and without their knowledge, and if it wasn’t going to be through the door, then it would have to be out the window.

---