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SIXTEEN
Unease skittered down my spine like a hairy spider. She had a close set of unnatural eyes, pupils like a cat’s with one cornflower blue iris and a hazel one. With sludgy, shrivelled skin like a once wet but now sun beat parchment. He had called her in to determine what I was and she needed half a cup full of my blood. “Half a goblet of her life’s essence, my king,” She said in a nasal, subdued voice. “Never.” He answered flatly. “One-quarter inch of her hair from three different spots?” “No.” “I shall need something of hers to complete this magic, my lord.” She could not snap at him but her subdued voice raised as she spoke. “How about her clothes?” He injected. “No, my Lord. For the magic to work, we need something from her, not of hers.” “Then you must find another magi
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