Page 35 of Blood Slumberm

Hespera help him. If the woman who had sentenced him to death walked through the door right now, he would bargain his life for one more sip of her.

“The mages of Anthros can’t boast of burning a Hesperine this Solstice,” the Gift Collector mused. “They’re taking it out on the human who’s to be the sacrifice this year. Your little witch is out of chances to repent and will burn in your place tomorrow.”

No. Goddess, no.Troi threw his weight against his chains and snarled, “Don’t lie to me!”

The necromancer laid Celandine’s distaff on the table in front of Troi. “A Cheran mage’s distaff loses its power when she dies. Watch it happen.”

Laughing, the Gift Collector left him there. Troi sagged in his chains, unable to look away from Celandine’s distaff.

Even now, caught in this trap of her making, the loss of her was destroying him.

This was neither poison nor hunger. He should have known when her blood had revived him so quickly from a century of starvation. The truth had been creeping up on him as mere days with her had made him want her for eternity.

He needed her. He Craved her. Celandine was his Grace.

He had squandered his Grace for revenge.

Kaion was dead, and Rixor must live with the loss. And for what? Another mage of Anthros would take Kaion’s place, and Rixor would carry a personal pain that gave fresh life to the feud. A hundred years ago, men like them had reigned, and a hundred years from now, they would again.

Troi had kept coming back, caught in this repetition of human history. Even as a Hesperine, he was still trying to be a Cordian man. The man Iovian, Remus, and Marto had known and loved.

Troi let the memories wash over him and looked at the dangerous truth. His acts of brutality had been the fuel for his men’s morale. They were not only the ones sobering him up but the ones getting him drunk and angry in their endless cycle of abusing themselves and others. They had kept him alive, and yet they had been killing him.

Was that the man he wanted to be? A man like his father?

Troi’s tangled emotions finally unraveled, and he saw them for what they were. He had loved and hated his father. He had also carried anger toward his mother for holding on to her beliefs instead of coming home to him.

After having Celandine’s emotions had bleed into him these past days, Troi finally understood. His mother hadn’t been choosing between Hespera and Troi; she’d been forced to choose between defying his father or losing herself.

His father hadn’t destroyed her. She had saved herself each time she told him no.

Troi couldn’t make things right with her now. But he could choose not to repeat history with Celandine.

It was time for Troi to act like a Hesperine.

One hundred and ten years after he had first received the Gift, Troi finished his transformation. He could only pray it was not too late for it to matter.

Celandine tore at the cuff with a scream of frustration. She was powerless. They had taken everything from her, including his ring, and left her here in the white robe of a sacrifice. Her spindle was long gone.

Thoughts spun in her mind. She ran her finger round and round where his ring had been.

In her forbidden youthful experiments with her magic, she hadn’t needed a spindle. She had popped enchanted locks and pranked old codgers who wore illusory hairpieces, all with her mind and a flick of her fingers.

With her formal training in the temple had come artifacts to help her focus her magic and wield it more powerfully. She had mastered the tools she hated, vowing to use them against her enemies one day.

Had those tools really made her more powerful? Or had the dependence they taught her been another way for the temple to control her?

Casting with pure will was the most difficult way to practice magic. But if she could find a new way to focus her power here and now…

She wasn’t powerful enough to unravel the bastion of spells that fortified the Inquisitors’ prison. But she might make it as far as the guardroom at the end of the corridor, where they had stripped her and locked up Troi’s ring.

Celandine lay in wait until night fell outside her window. Then she pulled herself to her feet and faced the solid door. She pressed her bloodied palms to the smooth stonework and closed her eyes.

The spells on this place felt like all the years of her life when others had ruled her. Order and authority given form and hammered into every lock and bar.

Anger vibrated through her, and she poured all of it into her magic.

She thought of her happy years and the independence that had felt like wings in her chest. Of the moment when she had torn off her shroud. Of that night in bed with Troi, when she had felt free with another person for the first time in her life.

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