“When I was alone…or with Dorine,” she mumbles.
That last word sounds sorrowful. “Dorine?”
“My handmaiden.”
“Your slave,” I correct, condescendingly, rolling my eyes at the archaic nature of their society.
“She still had more freedom than I did.”
I don’t perceive that to be a lie, seeing as she came quite literally locked in chains. It’s apparent by both her language and her refusal to put the chains back on that she didn’t necessarily buy into whatever weird brainwashing she was subjected to behind the Wall. At least notallof it. So, maybe she has some intelligence yet. Suppose that’s the most I can ask for from a nought.
“What does nought mean?”
Maybesome intelligence. “Figured you’d put that together by now. It means you. No magic, not magical, nothing, nada.”
“I assumed there was more to it than that.”
“Not really. Well, we do commonly use it as an insult when a Magi’s magic isn’t very good…” I suppose itispretty derogatory.
“Ah.”
I clear my throat. “It bothers you?”
“No, I don’t care.” I can tell it’s a lie by the way her voice pitches up a few octaves. “How about this,” she starts. I give a warning grunt in response. “Since you’re unwilling to budge on the whole locket thing, how about we make a deal?”
“You’re not really in a position to be asking deals of me, in my opinion.”
“Just hear me out.”
“Hmm.”
“I will happily hand over the locket…”
It’s not like I’m going to give her a choice on the matter and I really don’t give a shit if she’s particularly happy about it. That thing'sgot to go.
“If you agree not to use your magic on me.”
“No.” That’s insanity. Like asking me not to speak to her.
“Come on—“
“Not agreeing to that.”
“That’s not fair,” she pouts.
“I will agree not to harm you with my magic. That’s the best you’re going to get.” She falls into silence, likely sulking. I know she’s up to something when she starts to squirm again. “What?”
“What, what?”
“What do you want to ask me?”
“You can’t…read my mind, can you?” she whispers in dismay.
A laugh pours out of me even with the effects of the theurgynate draining my spirit. “No.”
“How’d you know that I want to ask something?”
“You’re squirming. And you keep moving your hand.”
