Page 142 of The Seeker
“The singer and scribe we gather to celebrate come from two honorable lines and families”—Ata nodded toward Patiala and Maarut, then Angharad and Edmund—“but they have made their own powerful connections as well.” She nodded to Damien and Sari, Sabine and Roch, who was blushing furiously. “We honor those connections and marvel at the wisdom of a Creator who brings all these strands of fate together in this exact place.” Ata turned to Rhys and Meera. “Weaving them together for this precise time.”
What was she doing?
“I have spoken to my retinue,” Ata said, glancing at the Irin and Irina scattered at tables around her. “And we agree that a gathering of warriors such as this could only have been brought together to fulfill heaven’s purpose on earth.”
Gabriel’s bloody fist, she really was a direct one.
Rhys squeezed Meera’s hand. “She’s going for it.”
“Apparently.” Meera cleared her throat. “Damn.”
“We haven’t had time to practice.”
“She hasn’t even taught me my part,” Meera hissed.
Ata lifted her head. “Servant of heaven, come to me.” A black raven landed on the oak tree over Ata’s head. “Send whispers among the Fallen,” she said to Vasu. “Tell Bozidar the Uwachi Toma are rising to rid the world of his presence. In three days’ time, the wards will fall. Atawakabiche, the Painted Wolf, waits for his challenge.”
The raven flew off with a caw that sounded very much like a chuckle to Rhys’s ears. Ata looked at Rhys, nodded, and sat.
The entire party broke into frenzied conversation. Patiala and Maarut rose and rushed to Ata’s table where a small crowd was gathering. Damien and Sari appeared at Rhys and Meera’s table only seconds later.
“Well,” Damien said with a grin. “You two certainly know how to end a mating celebration.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.
“You’re panicking.”
“I am not!”
Sari raised her eyebrows. “And very bad at hiding it. You’ve had body piercing, haven’t you?”
“Not many.”
Sari shrugged. “Tattoos don’t hurt that much.”
“You’ve marked your skin before?”
“I have always wanted to do this. From the time I was a singer in training.”
“I’ve never even considered one.”
Sari offered her a wry smile. “We’ve got two days to master this magic before the hordes descend. Embrace the ink, sister.”
The haven had roused to Ata’s call. The most vulnerable singers and children had been taken to safe houses around the country the day after Ata had made her announcement while the haven prepared for battle. Sabine, though she still appeared frail, insisted on staying to bolster the wards and build new boundaries to protect the humans once the Grigori came.
And the Grigoriwerecoming.
Ata’s call had triggered something. Zep said the attacks in the city stopped that very night, and the Grigori had abandoned New Orleans. He was worried, but Patiala still insisted that Meera could not tell the scribe house anything about them battling the Fallen.
Weapons had come out of hiding. Drills long forgotten in the peaceful, bucolic home had been revived. Meera had seen Nanette cooking meals with her short staff on her back, and Sabine was practicing with silver daggers.
And Sari and Meera would be tattooed by their scribes.
Necessary. It was necessary. And at least she wouldn’t be covered in tattoos like Ata was. The singer had explained that part of her tattoos were magically given and part were simply tradition among the Uwachi Toma.
Though Irina song was the core of the magic that would defeat the Fallen, the scribe’s role in the spell was to tattoo their singer. It was the most basic blood magic the Irin possessed and not usually necessary. In most cases, Irina mating marks held magic equally as well as Irintalesm.
