“Tell me something good about Bloodstone magic, then.”
“This.” Hector steps close and clasps my left arm, lifting it to catch the light of the torch. My gaze lands on my binding tattoo—the one Alf carved into my flesh the day I wed Hector. “It’s good.”
“You tricked me,” I say as I remember my conversation with Everly weeks ago and how she revealed the tattoo could have magical powers.
“How did I trick you?”
“By not telling me about the tattoo.”
He releases me and straightens. “Is it wrong to want something that lasts?”
What does he mean?
“You should have told me you wanted a magical binding.” I stab my fingernails into my left palm and exhale.
He had no right to force this binding on me.Ifit even works.
A frown yanks at the edges of his mouth as he looks at my hand. “You promised to stop doing that.”
I freeze with my thumb nail still stabbed against my palm. “Why do you care?”
The frown deepens against his lips. “Despite what you think of me, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
If he cared, he wouldn’t lock me up every night like a thief.
I drop my hands to my lap and change the subject. “What does the tattoo do?”
“It binds us together.”
“Magically?”
“It could.”
“Could?”
He nods.
He knows more. He just refuses to tell me.
I sink back against the mattress and stare up at the linen ceiling. “You must regret choosing that design now.”
“Maybe.” The shadows cradle his strong features as he moves to the tent flap. “Good night, Sol.”
The last thing I want is to be bound to him. I rub my fingers against the tattoo again, wishing the action could remove it. If only it were that simple. Hector keeps weaving himself deeper and deeper into the fabric of my life.
Soon, I will be unable to rip him free.
ChapterTwelve
As a flock of geese fly over my head, I look up, counting them. Four geese. Four days. Then why does it feel like a lifetime since I was forced to travel with these Bloodstone people?
The sun sets behind me in the west as Hector leads me to a circular tent. Someone tied the flap back to allow for an open view inside. A tall shelf is situated near the opening with jars made of terracotta and dark glass.
Mildred smiles as we enter and ushers me forward. “Sol, of the Kyanite. Come here.”
Apprehension raises goosebumps along my skin as she lifts a bony hand and motions me even closer. Reluctantly, I move to where she stands next to a square table.
Hector stays near the door, his posture stiff, his arms folded across his body.
