Quill of Thieves

Chapter 51

I trust you.

Astrid's smirk sucked between her teeth, and she choked on it. Sebastian's fingers moved again, scraping into her leg. Her flesh was afire, burning in regret and terror. The knife twisted against his throat.

I trust you.

With the tip of her short blade, she scratched out, Stop.

Matthias watched the exchange, brown eyes unblinking, as still as the trunk of the world's strongest oak tree. Of course, Astrid realized. Dammit. Because of course Matthias had understood their nonverbal words; after all, hadn't he, too, communicated with Serah and Zev in the same manner? Not to mention her captain was as annoyingly observant as an Eyelesene Spirit.

It had always been hard to tell what he thought.

But when their gazes met across the room, Matthias nodded.

"Tell her, Hollace." He used that unrelenting voice of his; the one that often made Astrid want to throttle him. "She deserves to know as much as the boy."

Lambert's eyes flickered from Sebastian to scowl at his captor with unveiled threat. "You have broken our oath, Sparrow. Remember that when judgment comes for you."

Matthias's sword held true. "You broke it first—" He kicked the Monverta across the desk and into Lambert's lap—"and I am not afraid."

Regardless, there was a dark promise in the Master's pursed expression that caused a stirring of fear in Astrid.

Matthias nudged the tip of his sword into Lambert's chest. "Tell them of the blood magic."

"Blood magic?" Abel clipped in her annoyingly perfect pitch. She had somehow needled herself closer to Astrid and Sebastian. The malachite stone gleamed between the gaps of her fist. "Blood magic is a curse. Bash, don't. Imogene always warned it was a rare and deadly type of elemental magic. It requires a bit of your soul!"

Again, Sebastian's fingers scrawled. Voixili?

Astrid shivered.

Lambert held up an overly confident finger. "That is not, technically, true," he said. "Such a soul transfer is rare."

Sebastian cleared his throat; the sound vibrated along the handle of Astrid's blade. "Care to elaborate, sir?"

It sounded far more polite than Astrid believed the situation warranted.

"Blood magic is not rare," Lambert corrected, "All Authors of the past have used it."

"Scholars," Astrid scoffed, "always willing to talk if it means correcting another's lack of knowledge."

But even Sebastian ignored her. His fingers fell away; it left her feeling oddly cold, but somehow still too warm—disappointed, yet strangely relieved.

Her brain was exhausted.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

Lambert pushed his silver spectacles further up his nose. "The Fables of Monverta belonged to an Author; however, it was the Author's Scribe who documented within it. The Author simply decided what to bring to life from its pages, and to do that, the Author had to use his blood and a thread of his own Spirit."

"Or her," Astrid interjected, but it had not been only her voice on those words.

She sought out Abel, who shrugged her dainty shoulders before saying, "So, it is true, then, that blood magic requires parts of an Author's soul."

"Yes," Lambert said, "and no. Let us pretend there was an Author who traveled to the realm of Demue to study the element of fire and how the native dragon maidens manipulated Fire's threads. His—or her—" he shot a pointed look Abel and Astrid's way—"Scribe would detail what the Author learned. Now, let's say that Author wishes to return to Rainier and desires to share the knowledge with his human kin who are untouched by the elements. He can use his own Spirit's thread to bring forth that Fire's thread from Demue, imbue it into his Monverta with his blood, and release it to another. Thus, one untouched by the element could manipulate that thread for a short while. It was what kept humans appeased for a time."