《Witchblood》 Part 1: The Secret ¡°Here.¡± Noran looked up, tearing his eyes from the drawing he was working on. Therin had his hand outstretched, a flat pebble between his fingers. ¡°Watch.¡± Noran nodded, indicating the other boy should continue. The younger boy squared his shoulders and drew his arm back, the pebble caught in the curve of his fingers. Time slowed as Noran watched his arm snap forward, the sunlight catching in his lustrous hair and glinting off his golden skin. His unlaced shirt exposed a swath of taut, smooth chest and Noran watched the muscles beneath the fine silk ripple as his arm extended forward. A single bead of sweat tracked down his jaw and left a trail down his neck. Noran pictured putting his mouth¨C Time resumed as the pebble left Therin¡¯s broad hand and skipped once, twice, thrice across the pond before plunking unceremoniously into the weedy middle. ¡°Damn it,¡± Therin said as he clenched his hand into a fist. Noran waited for the other boy to turn back to him before offering him a smile of commiseration. ¡°Bad luck,¡± he said as Therin sat beside him on the rock. Noran turned his attention back to this drawing and glanced up once to watch the sunlight shine through Therin¡¯s hair again. Amazed at how many shades of gold were in the other boy¡¯s hair, he stared a fraction too long and Therin glanced at him, catching his eye. The grin he gave Noran took his breath away, his heart thundering in his chest. ¡°Aren¡¯t you done with that yet?¡± Therin gestured to the pad on his lap and shook his curls out of his eyes. Noran, blushing, shook his own hair out of his eyes. ¡°Nearly there,¡± he said but as he did, he smudged out the lines he had just drawn and replaced them, shading softly and then blowing on the paper to chase away the charcoal dust. He glanced once, quickly, to check the likeness. He had captured the smirk perfectly. ¡°Let me see,¡± Therin said as he reached a hand for the pad. ¡°No!¡± Noran jerked his work away, panicked at letting the other boy see the unfinished portrait. He looked down at the work and frowned. It was nearly perfect. Even with just a charcoal pencil he had been able to capture the essence of Therin: from his shaggy, too-long hair to the way the light caught in his cerulean eyes. Even in shades of grey, Therin¡¯s beauty was evident. Maybe he¡¯d never show his adoptive brother the portrait. It was¡­telling. ¡°You¡¯re so weird,¡± Therin said but the affection in his tone took the sting out of his words. ¡°And you¡¯re stupid,¡± Noran said offhanded, distracted by getting the shape of a lock of hair right. The summer air fell between them, hot and humid, the frogs singing in the lowering sunshine. Noran¡¯s pencil scratched against the paper as he drew, the only sound either of them made for a while. ¡°I¡¯m hungry,¡± Therin said, breaking their companionable silence a bit later. Noran snorted in amusement, his lips twitching up in a rare smile. ¡°Tell me something else I already know,¡± he said softly, earning him a brotherly punch on his arm. He saw it coming and lifted his hand from his paper before Therin made contact, thus preserving his hard work¡¯s integrity. ¡°Ass,¡± Therin muttered but his stomach groaned loudly and he put his hand over his gut. ¡°See?¡± He said, his voice breaking as it raised annoyance. ¡°I told you.¡± ¡°Nearly done,¡± Noran soothed him and as he did, he finished the shading under Therin¡¯s jaw and sat back, his hand ready to fix anything he might see. Glancing between the drawing and the subject he felt the steady warmth of pride wash across him, tightening his chest. It was good. It was¡­perfect. He pursed his lips before shrugging slightly and signing his name on the bottom. He blew the dust away and then folded the cover over the page, careful to not smudge the work. ¡°There,¡± he said and tucked the pencil in the small loop along the side of the leather pad holder. ¡°Let¡¯s go eat.¡± Therin was already on his feet, his hand held out to the still seated Noran. The thin boy eyed the hand, already calloused with hard work, the nails a little dirty. A man¡¯s hand, Noran thought as he looked down at his own. The side of his left hand was smudged slightly from drawing but otherwise his long, pale fingers were clean, untarnished by rough work and play. What would Noran¡¯s hand feel like in his? He could imagine it. He could imagine his hands¨C He flicked his grey eyes up once again to Therin¡¯s outstretched hand and knocked it away and stood without assistance. He grimaced as he stretched his long legs, stiff from sitting still for so long. His own stomach grumbled and Therin laughed. Noran noticed it was deeper and huskier than it had always been. ¡°Even you need to eat, Noran.¡± Therin grinned and slung a heavy arm around his thin shoulders and Noran sagged dramatically under the weight. He shrugged out of the contact, his skin flushing at the touch. He wrapped his arms around his drawing pad and hunched his shoulders, shying away from way he felt when Therin¡¯s blue eyes met his. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. While they had been raised as brothers, given the same opportunities and, for the most part, the same treatment, Noran could not banish the discomfort he lived with. Their lives were nearly identical yet Therin¡¯s boyish happiness and carefree joy merely cast Noran¡¯s darkness into stark relief. He fell even more silent than usual when with Therin, outshined by the other boy. Noran could not banish the feeling that he was other and Therin¡¯s casual grace and charming personality made Noran feel that gulf between them widen as his heart beat painfully. Physically, they could not have been any more different, either. His golden blond hair was sunshine itself compared to the silver moonbeam of Noran¡¯s own straight, sleek hair. Though younger than Noran, Therin, tall and broad, sweaty and muscled, was already nearly a man. Noran had once caught him looking in the mirror, pulling his lip down to let the tiny golden hairs on his upper lip catch the light. His own upper lip stubbornly refused to grow anything at all, which didn¡¯t bother Noran one bit. Shaving looked tedious when Devan did it. Noran, while taller than average, was not nearly so tall as Therin. His thin frame refused to pack on muscle, despite the exercises and chores he did with his adoptive brother. Instead, lean and pale, he resembled exactly what he was: an awkward, uncomfortable teenaged boy, unsure of who or what he was. He shook his silver-blond hair out of his eyes again and led the way to the manse. A half hour later they sat in Therin¡¯s room at his work bench, sandwiches of cold chicken and hard, sharp cheese before them on thick cloth napkins. Therin had three sandwiches to Noran¡¯s one and as he watched the bigger boy put away the food with machine-like efficiency he scoffed, amazed. ¡°Wha¨C¡± Therin said, his mouth full. Noran shook his head and looked back down to his barely touched dinner and picked up his sandwich. He took a generous bite, the soft bread sticking to the roof of his mouth. As he chewed, he saw Therin watching him. ¡°Wha¨C¡± he echoed Therin¡¯s word from a second ago. The other boy¡¯s hand came up, his finger extended and Noran froze. Time slowed again as Therin¡¯s calloused finger touched his cheek, wiping away a smear of butter. He brought his finger to his own mouth and sucked the butter from his fingertip. Noran felt his stomach clench and his appetite disappeared. He set the sandwich down and swallowed painfully. Therin wasn¡¯t looking at him and he was thankful that he could not see how discomforted he was by the casual touch. ¡°Tomorrow is Sally¡¯s birthday,¡± he said to break the awkward silence between them. ¡°Yeah,¡± Therin replied thickly. ¡°I sent for blue ribbons for her. Mrs. Jones said she¡¯d like them.¡± ¡°Mmm,¡± Noran replied. ¡°What did you get her?¡± Therin asked, noting the judgemental tone in the reply. ¡°Nothing special.¡± Noran said evasively. ¡°What?¡± Therin pressed, and Noran blushed. ¡°A new quill and ink set. Some nice paper. So she could write to her family in Lightholde.¡± Therin fell silent with his response. ¡°That¡¯s¡­thoughtful.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Noran said. ¡°I thought so.¡± ¡°I should have thought of it.¡± Therin huffed a sigh and Noran looked up from the crumbs he was picking at on the napkin. ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll like the¡­ribbons.¡± Noran smiled thinly and Therin groaned. ¡°She¡¯s going to be thirteen,¡± Therin said, scrubbing his face with annoyance. ¡°She won¡¯t like ribbons.¡± ¡°She¡¯ll like them.¡± Noran assured him. ¡°If Mrs. Jones said she will, she will.¡± He touched his fingertip to his tongue and picked up some of the crumbs then popped his finger into his mouth. ¡°Ribbons,¡± Therin muttered. ¡°Idiot.¡± They finished their dinners, Therin finishing what Noran pushed his way. The older boy watched as the taller one took out a small piece of soft, pale wood and a small knife and began to whittle. ¡°What are you making?¡± ¡°Well, it was going to be a cow for the farm collection,¡± he gestured over his shoulder to the glass case with his carvings. ¡°But now it¡¯s going to be a horse for Sally.¡± He frowned as he set the carving down and threw a log onto the fire and turned the oil lamps up. ¡°Stupid ribbons.¡± ¡°She¡¯ll love that,¡± Noran said and before he could stop himself he added ¡°All teenage girls like hastily carved horses as gifts.¡± Therin¡¯s lips quivered into an annoyed smile as he stopped carving. ¡°You¡¯re an ass,¡± he said, lifting his head and glaring at Noran. ¡°An absolute ass.¡± Noran gave him a rare smirk and stood. ¡°An ass who knows how to give gifts.¡± He said as he dusted his shirt off and picked up their napkins. Therin dropped the knife and wood chunk on his work bench and glowered, his face like thunder. ¡°What should I do, then?¡± He looked so confused that for a second Noran saw the Therin lost to time: the young boy who had lost his father, who had been taken in by the High Lord, who had been thrust together with the broken, dark Noran. The pale boy grew even paler as he saw that childish face peek out at him and for a second, he felt the world fall away from him. The neediness behind that cocky facade was shocking. The child that had cried at night, in Noran¡¯s bed, in his arms, for three weeks shone through in that moment so clearly that he wanted to take Therin into his arms¨C He shunted away the impulse to reach out to Therin but Noran¡¯s heart stuttered, his eyes grazing across Therin¡¯s lower lip as he bit it. Noran wondered what those teeth would feel like on his own lip¨C ¡°Put your name on my gift. I¡¯ll give her the ribbons.¡± The words tumbled out of him before he could stop them and Therin¡¯s face melted back into the almost-man he was. ¡°What? No, I couldn¡¯t¨C¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± Noran turned on his heel and as he left Therin¡¯s room he cast a glance back at the boy-man seated at the workbench. His slouched shoulders were rounded, relaxed. His shirt hung open, the laces pooling in his lap. His hands were clasped together, his thumbs pressed together in a thoughtful way. He met Noran¡¯s eyes and smiled, warmly, openly. Noran felt the blush rush down his neck and twist into his gut. ¡°Thanks,¡± Therin said and Noran made himself break the eye contact before he caught fire with embarrassment and something else he was refusing to name. Part 2: Resolve The sun was rising on a new day and Noran had not slept. His mind was racing with thoughts, his heart refusing to let go of the feelings he buried deep within. It had been a confusing few weeks for him since Sally¡¯s birthday. She had been exuberantly grateful for the writing set that Therin had given her. So much so, in fact that Noran was alarmed at the looks that passed between the two young people in the hall. It was like Therin had suddenly noticed she was a girl, woman-shaped and very pretty. Noran grabbed his middle and rolled to his side, anxiety and¡­something else rippling through him. In the mirror above his mantle, his face looked paler than usual, his eyes sunken in his face, deep shadows marking his sleeplessness with unforgiving honesty. In short, he looked terrible. He tugged off his sleep shirt and ran a hand across his thin, smooth chest. He turned his head this way and that, watching the tendons in his neck stand out as he did so. He had lost more weight, it appeared. He was already too thin. Anxiety twisted inside him, banishing any thoughts of breakfast. He dressed quickly, watching how the dark colours he wore washed him out further. He did the last frogging up on the rich silk vest and tugged it down into place. It was a woman¡¯s style, tapered at the waist with boning and low cut to allow for decolletage or ruffled collars. His plain grey silk shirt was loosely laced up, the laces tied into a neat bow at his throat. The blue-grey leather pants were snug and tucked into his black boots, which had a small heel to make his legs look longer. His silver-blond hair was too long now, having grown out since his last trim and as he shook it out of his eyes he sighed. It would have to do. A quick knock preceded Therin, who didn¡¯t wait to be asked to enter. He came bustling in, his hair sleep-tousled, two shirts in his hands but none on his body. His trousers had been left half-laced and Noran lifted his eyes from the sight, keeping the rising blush from creeping up his face by thinking of anything else. ¡°Help,¡± Therin pleaded, holding out the two shirts. ¡°Blue shirt and silver vest or white shirt and blue vest?¡± He lifted the two silk shirts and held first the dark, navy blue one up to his bare, tanned chest and then the white one. ¡°Er,¡± Noran said, casting the briefest of glances at Therin. ¡°Blue,¡± he said and made busywork out of arranging his hair brush, comb and yet-unused razor on his dressing table. Therin threw the shirt over his head and tried to arrange his hair in the mirror above the fireplace but gave up using his fingers, instead reaching for the comb that Noran had just replaced. ¡°Are you excited?¡± Therin asked as he dipped the comb in the pitcher of water on the dressing table and yanked it through his hair, snagging on the knots. He dipped it again, and repeated the process, managing to somehow make the wild mass of curls he had come in with even worse. Noran watched him for a few minutes, not answering before gently taking the comb from his hands and motioning for him to sit at the bench before the dressing table. He dipped both hands in the pitcher and brushed his long fingers over Therin¡¯s hair, feeling the silken strands between his fingers. He could smell that the younger boy had shaved that morning, the rose scented shaving soap still clinging to his skin. ¡°I¡¯m indifferent,¡± he finally said, answering Therin¡¯s question. ¡°Not a lot changes when he comes home.¡± He pulled the comb gently through Therin¡¯s hair, pulling his curls off his forehead and looking at him in the mirror. ¡°But he¡¯s bringing home the mace and the book.¡± Therin¡¯s reverence was apparent, his voice almost hushed in the early morning quiet. ¡°Mmm,¡± Noran hummed but did not meet Therin¡¯s enthusiasm. As he worked in silence, Therin watched him in the mirror. ¡°You didn¡¯t sleep last night.¡± ¡°No,¡± Noran agreed. ¡°I don¡¯t sleep most nights.¡± The admission caused a rift of silence to fall between them, Therin¡¯s eyes dropping from the mirror to his hands, folded in his lap, his thumbs pressed together. ¡°The dreams?¡± Noran paused his combing to rewet his hands and add it to the hair he was working on. He scrunched some curls and twisted a few around his fingers, still silent. He let one lock of hair fall across Therin¡¯s forehead, a roguish curl that lent his handsome, manly face a softer touch of femininity. ¡°Among other things.¡± Noran¡¯s voice was a whisper as he dropped his hands to Therin¡¯s shoulders, which were warm under his pale, cool hands. Their eyes met in the mirror again and Noran removed his hands, crossing his arms across his chest, instead. ¡°Talk to him,¡± Therin urged. ¡°Tell him how much you¡¯re struggling with the exercises.¡± ¡°You know he won¡¯t listen.¡± ¡°Then tell him you want to quit altogether. You look horrible.¡± Noran replaced the comb and turned his back to Therin, his eyes watering. The care and concern that his adoptive brother had shown him since discovering how badly he struggled to connect to the Light was gut-wrenching and unbearable. It added to his guilt and shame surrounding his feelings for the other boy. He wiped the tears from his eyes quickly and took a shuddering breath, pasting a sad smile across his wan face. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me,¡± he said softly and gestured to the door. ¡°Get breakfast. Save me some toast. I¡¯ll be down in a minute.¡± Therin stood and stepped toward Noran but the thinner boy took a step back, dropping his hands into balled fists at his sides. Therin read his body language and nodded once, leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind him with a soft click. Noran¡¯s shoulders slumped in relief as Therin left, taking with him the painful, guilt-laced feelings. A new feeling, however, crept over him and he flopped onto his bed, groaning. His father would be home soon, back from travelling across the sea. He had been away for almost a year and it was, he supposed, exciting to see what the High Lord looked like after a year in the desert, travelling with the nomadic Ka¡¯Ti. He supposed he would be darker, maybe he¡¯d have acquired a small Dinari accent. Maybe he¡¯d have gifts for his sons, something practical for the two teenagers. In that year, though, Noran had not gotten any further with his progress. He had not made any contact with the Light at all and the painful anxiety around that fact swirled against his gut, thwarting any burgeoning hunger. It was this fact that had driven the High Lord to venture across the sea. ¡°Perhaps your gifts lie with a different kind of Light,¡± the High Lord had said. ¡°I will seek the Ka¡¯Ti. Their power is¡­unique.¡± But the first letter home assured him that he would not find solace in the nomads¡¯ knowledge. ¡°They say that their lineage is the only one that can wield this particular branch of Light. Your gifts must surely lie elsewhere.¡± Stolen novel; please report. The High Lord¡¯s letter was burned as soon as he read it. It was too painful to be able to see the disappointment in the handwriting and Noran had harboured such hope that he would have answers. He closed his eyes against the memories, a tear tracking down his temple. The whispering came again, this time a voice that sounded like nails on glass, screeching harshly that he would never find peace in the Light. It whispered against the inside of his head, clawing to get out. It made him shy away from the Light but ushered in a different kind of power, something that he was frightened of accepting. The path to the Light was barricaded, he knew, but this other path lay open before him. With his eyes shut tight he could almost see the clouded shadows that haunted him. He opened his eyes and looked to the desk across the room where he knew lay the pages that detailed his past. ¡°What was my mother like?¡± Noran had once asked Devan as they read together one night. He was very young, before Therin had come to live with them. Devan¡¯s eyes had grown dark and a frown had pressed his heavy brows together. Noran recalled that his father¡¯s hair had been dark then still. ¡°She¡­¡± The High Lord had paused and looked at his young son. Noran watched his eyes trace the line of his silver-blonde hair that fell across his eyes, saw the High Lord¡¯s eyes travel down his baby-like nose to his small mouth, rosebud red against his pale skin. He leaned down and kissed the boy on the top of his head and rested his temple against the hair briefly before clearing his throat. ¡°She was a broken woman who had fallen onto hard times. The monastery took her in but it was too late. I believe that at some point, she was likely a good person.¡± ¡°Did she love me?¡± Noran¡¯s young voice wavered with pain. ¡°Yes, very much. It¡¯s why she came to the monastery when she did. She wanted refuge from¡­her previous life.¡± ¡°What happened to her?¡± Devan looked up from the boy¡¯s wide grey eyes and shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s not a topic for a four-year-old, son.¡± It wasn¡¯t until he was older, maybe ten or so, that he realised the extent of the pain his mother had endured. When she had birthed the boy, she had fled, knowing the fate of her child. The Morinn did not keep male children. They could not bear the gifts of Shadesorrow like a girl could and the risk of interbreeding could not be taken. They would take males from the outside world but their own males must be sacrificed to Shadesorrow. Noran¡¯s mother had swaddled her still-bloodied child, weak from childbirth, and fled to Lightholde, barely making it there alive. As she pounded on the door to the Great Cathedral, assuming it to be where the High Lord must live, she collapsed. It was merely chance that Devan had had Church business with the priests that ran the Cathedral. He found the woman and babe, taking them to the monastery and ensconcing them in his private quarters. The branding on her feet and hands were enough to tell him what her story was and with the kind of benevolence one would come to expect of a holy man, he nursed her back to health. He allowed the pair to stay, making her a cook for the monastery. He reasoned that letting her witch-child grow up amongst the Light-bearing monks and Paladins could do nothing but good. In time, he would take the boy under his wing and drive the witchblood from him, instilling the child with Light. Noran¡¯s mother, however, did not know the lengths the Morinn would go to to recall one of their own. At first Devan could not make out what he was seeing, when he found her and the child. The red covered every surface of the small cell. The boy sat covered in blood, crying, sobbing, clutching his mother¡¯s white hand. He scooped the boy up, pressing his small face into his chest as he called for help. She was beyond help, though. The only thing left was the dagger that had been used and with a shock of revulsion, he realised it must have been her very own Knife. It sizzled angrily in the small pool of blood in which it lay. He handed the child off to a monk and wrapped the blade in a tatter of cloth. When he laid the woman to rest later that day, he buried the Knife with her. He planted a white rose bush above her, leaving it otherwise unmarked. He remembered the night he had discovered the truth of his past, his father having had too much wine, stern and still as he watched the pale boy draw. Therin was away that night, sent to his aunt and uncle for a visit. The pair sat in the huge drawing room, the fire blazing before them, the snow falling thickly outside. Noran, his sketchbook in his lap, sat near the only lit oil lamp, his head bowed over his drawing. ¡°Still nothing?¡± Devan said and Noran lifted his head, tucking his hair behind his ear. ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°The Light,¡± the High Lord said, gesturing vaguely to himself. ¡°Nothing?¡± ¡°No, father,¡± Noran said, his eyes dropping. He let the curtain of his shoulder-length hair fall between them again and continued his sketch. ¡°Maybe¡¯s your witchblood,¡± he slurred. Noran¡¯s hand had stilled, his eyes wide, frozen. ¡°I thought I could, I dunno, fix you. Maybe that¡¯s not possible.¡± He set his wine glass down and carefully stood. Noran watched him stumble once but right himself and left the room. He came back a short time later carrying a leather folder which he held out to Noran. ¡°Burn it when you¡¯re done.¡± But Noran did not take the folder. He was frightened. He watched his father¡¯s hand tremble and then shook his head, dropping his eyes back to the paper before him. ¡°Take it,¡± barked the High Lord and Noran cringed away from the loud words. When he didn¡¯t take it, Devan dropped it into his lap and left the room. He didn¡¯t come back. It had taken Noran a long time to work up the courage to open the folder. The front was embossed with the High Lord¡¯s crest, the book and hammer pressed deeply into the leather. He opened the cover and was surprised to see that it was only a handful of pages inside. The thin, cheap paper had blurred the ink and Noran could see that they were pages torn from a book. As he saw the date at the top, he realised they were pages torn from his father¡¯s diary. The story of Noran¡¯s origins was told with a matter-of-fact bluntness that he found hard to digest. The High Lord was not a flowery, descriptive man but he was not shy on details. From his mother¡¯s arrival to her death, he had left nothing out. The details of his mother¡¯s death were hard to read but he forced himself, trusting that his father knew what he was doing in giving him this information. He had not burned the pages. Instead, he took them, folded them and tossed the leather folder into the flames, knowing that it would take a lot longer to burn than the pages would. He tucked them into his shirt, pressing them close to his heart. He had later hidden them in the false bottom of the drawer, where they lay, untouched, for several years. He had never shown them to Therin. Thinking of the other boy settled the guilt across his middle even further. Would Therin ever understand if he did tell him? Tell him what? He asked himself. About his past, of course. But if he started there, he knew he would not stop and then his heart would be on his sleeve, wearing it for all to see, for Therin to reject and break and ruin. The disgust he would face was not worth the pain of keeping it hidden. And Therin would reject his love, of that he had no doubt. His eyes met him with nothing but brotherly affection. In Therin¡¯s mind, Noran was nothing but the broken older brother who could not please their father. And to tell him how he felt was going to be a betrayal of that brotherly love. No, keeping it all hidden was safer. It was better if he didn¡¯t open any of those doors, really. It was best for him and for Therin, too. It was then that he realised there were no lengths he would not go to to give Therin peace. There was nothing he would not do to keep Therin happy, bright, cheerful. To keep Therin as he was, the way he loved him, he would do anything. It was then that he realised that if he didn¡¯t want to break the boy he so loved, he could never tell him how he felt. Somehow, that resolution hardened something inside him, solidifying his resolve into something he could bear with much more grace. He sat up, wiping the tears from his face and stood, stretching. His sleep-deprived eyes felt gritty and hot but with a new purpose, he opened the drawer to his desk, took out the sheets he had not touched in years, and threw them into the fire. To keep Therin happy, he would close and lock the doors, forever. That would be how he loved him: from afar and silently protecting him from the truth. Noran left the room, suddenly hungry for the first time in days. Part 3: The Promise The chokehold that Therin¡¯s smile had on Noran was distracting. Even with a low fever, all he wanted to do was recreate that innocent grin on paper. He scratched out the drawings he had done, a series of just lips and teeth in various stages of happiness and the same pair of eyes repeated over and over. He put his head in his hands then ran them through his hair and stood, stretching and shaking out his frozen limbs. The fire in his room had gone out hours ago and he had not bothered to relight it. He strode to the window and pressed his feverish forehead to the panes, his breath steaming the glass up immediately. The chill of the room settled across him and his teeth chattered. Therin had been gone for almost a month and Noran had read and re-read his letters so many times they were smudging. They were lacklustre and trite, as Therin¡¯s writing had always been, but there was no doubting that the pages had once been touched by his hands. His handwriting was atrocious, childlike and rushed, but Noran treasured every word. They were addressed to a brother but a lover read them with greedy need. A knock on his door shattered his thoughts, recalling him to the present, reminding him of his part in Therin¡¯s banishment. Anger, not guilt, fueled him now, and he turned from the window as Mara entered, carrying a tray and a soft, gentle smile. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you up.¡± She set the tray down on his desk, pushed aside his drawing things and turned to face him. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± ¡°Fine,¡± he said and he brushed past her to pick up the cup of hot tea she had brought, adding a few spoons of sugar and grasping the heated cup in his shaking hands. He ignored the burning itch of the spots on his face and body, instead focusing on the way the steam curled off his tea in the chilled room. It was these spots that had alerted Devan to the dangers that Noran¡¯s illness posed to the household. Mara alone had already had the pox and she immediately offered to stay behind while the house was put under quarantine. Noran watched her move about his room, her slim body and easy movements hateful to him. He closed his eyes against that hatred and breathed in the minty warmth from the cup he held. He hated that he had to do what he did but Mara was dangerous. She eyed Noran with such a gaze that even his own jealousy was set aside to make way for the unease. Something about her was wrong, and her obsessive attachment to Therin was motivated by something other than attraction. He could not shake the feeling that she was not what she seemed. Her smile was too gentle, her hands too quick, her eyes too clever. Guided by this gut instinct, Noran had once snuck into her room while the pair had been occupied, Therin dogging her while she worked. He had searched as long as he dared, as carefully as he could, but found nothing except the portrait he had once sketched of Therin sitting by the pond. His name had been smudged out of the bottom of the picture. Footsteps outside her door had made him jump and he hastily replaced the stolen image. Knowing she had it made him uneasy. She would surely glean more from it than the average person, he reasoned. He had slipped out the window, shimmying with ease down the lattice that lined the back of the manse, dropping into the flowerbeds below. When he tried to return to her room again, at a later date, the door was locked. He had not done a good job of hiding his presence and she had taken to keeping the lock engaged when she wasn¡¯t within her room. He had tried several more times before giving it up as a lost job. ¡°You let the fire go out,¡± she said and he detected a trace of annoyance in her voice. ¡°You¡¯ll never feel better if you¡¯re cold. You have to break the fever.¡± She knelt and began rebuilding the fire, her back to him. He imagined shoving her into the fire, letting the flames consume her. The vitriolic anger he held within startled him. It coursed through him, burning and blackening his heart. His heart beat hard against the rising fever, throwing the hatred into stark relief against the immediate threat of illness. It felt like wasted energy, this much anger. But it did not subside. He sipped the tea and winced at the bitterness. He had not expected it to be medicinal but he understood that the willow bark would help ease the discomfort of the aches and pains he would surely have to endure again as the pox ravaged him. Already, the first wave of the pustules had burst but the ones forming were twice as painful, twice as large, and he felt them ache deeply within his skin. He worried about the large one that was forming near his eye. Would he lose his vision? ¡°Drink,¡± she insisted as she rose, the fire crackling behind her. The room had gone smokey, suddenly. The spicy smell of some herb that she had put on the fire assaulted him and he blinked his burning eyes. Her smile was warm, comforting, fake. He glanced at her once before letting his eyes fall on the desk where his scratched out drawings still lay. Therin¡¯s eyes looked back at him through the scribbles, eyes that watched without seeing, that saw him without knowing him. The eyes that haunted his dreams and fueled his nightmares seemed to blink and he shook his head, clearing the fogginess that threatened him. How many times had he stared into those endless cerulean depths and wished that Therin saw him, as he was, completely? How many times had he almost blurted out those damning, horrible words because he had fallen under the spell of those eyes? He tossed back the tea quickly, avoiding the taste as best he could. As he set the cup back down on the tray, he shuddered, the chills of his fever reaching far into his bones. He moaned as he stumbled to his bed, crawling slowly into it and sheltering under the covers. The pop and snap of the newly made fire was loud against his head, the throb of a headache threatening behind his eyelids. Mara¡¯s slight weight barely registered as she took a seat on the edge of his mattress. She laid a hand across his forehead and then put her fingers to his neck. ¡°Your pulse is quick,¡± she murmured. She rose and returned shortly and opened his hand. ¡°Bleeding you will help drain the sickness,¡± she said and he barely felt the slice across his palm. She lay his hand in a basin filled with hot water, the heat opening his veins further. Dizziness washed across him and he tried to pull his hand free but found he could not move. Her lips were suddenly at his ear, tickling and soft as she spoke. ¡°You made him very unhappy, Noran. You broke his big, dumb heart.¡± The smell of a match and the flare of a candle made him open the eyes which he had not realised he had let close. ¡°No,¡± he murmured and he sounded far away. His tongue was thick and stuck to the roof of his mouth. ¡°Shh,¡± she hushed him and leaned over him again, her mouth to his ear again. ¡°I can see the darkness inside you. Devan can see it. It¡¯s only a matter of time before your beloved Therin sees it, too.¡± She sat up again and lifted his immoble hand from the water, laying the still-bleeding hand on a towel. She took the basin to the desk and he must have dozed off because he started awake as she sat back down. ¡°Do you think,¡± she asked, pausing as she drew a long blade down a whetstone, the metallic ring sharp and cold and out of place in the now-too-warm room. ¡°That he will forgive you for your betrayal when he learns of it? Or had you thought to hide your part in our separation forever?¡± ¡°How¨C¡± ¡°I know a lot about you, Noran.¡± He tried to focus his eyes on her but she was doubled, his vision swimming. ¡°Is that tea working? Your pupils are enormous.¡± She leaned over him again. ¡°You¡¯re very receptive to Liar¡¯s Bane, it seems.¡± She stood again and he heard a quill scratching on paper. He felt like his bones were ice. He was shivering so badly now that he wished the heat of the room would penetrate him quicker. ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll want to talk now?¡± She sat at his side again and lifted the blade to his cheek, pricking first one then another of the swollen pustules. ¡°I¡¯ll just hurry these painful things along as you talk. Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll only scar a little.¡± Blood and a vile smelling liquid dripped down his cheek. ¡°Stop,¡± he said but as he tried to shrug her off he found that he still could not move his body. He gave a small jerk and laid still. ¡°Oh,¡± she giggled, standing yet again. ¡°The paralytic works, too!¡± More quill scratching preceded her return to his side. She dabbed at the seeping sores on his face with a warm, wet cloth and looked down at him, thoughtfully. ¡°Who was your mother?¡± His eyes drifted to her drunkenly. The dizziness threatened to make him throw up as he did and he closed them tightly against the nausea. ¡°I¡¯m going to guess that she was the one my mistress dispatched. Naughty, naughty, trying to escape the Morinn.¡± Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. She laid her head on his chest suddenly, her long white-blond hair thrown across his arms as she listened to his heartbeat. He tried to struggle out from under her but he still could not move. ¡°It does beg the question, though,¡± she said as she sat up. ¡°Exactly how much does Devan know? Does he suspect me yet? Am I compromised?¡± She lifted her head and looked into his blurred eyes. ¡°How much do you know, Noran?¡± When he didn¡¯t answer her vague questions she sat up, sighing. ¡°Do you know what I am?¡± ¡°Witch,¡± he grunted, his body tensing strangely with the word. ¡°Morinn.¡± ¡°Did you tell Devan your suspicions?¡± ¡°No,¡± he said but he realised with horror that of course he should have. Why had he not? ¡°Very good. The suspension spell does work, then. And you know what, beautiful Noran? You won¡¯t ever tell him. You will never tell Devan anything I don¡¯t wish you to tell him, from this day forward. You understand?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The word fell from his lips before he could stop it. The tea she had given him had made his lips pliable, loose and free. ¡°And Noran,¡± she said sweetly, putting her head on his chest again. ¡°From tonight onward, you will be mine. You will belong to me, all of you. Your soul, your heart, your body. If I ask you to cut yourself, you should only hesitate long enough to ask how deep.¡± Enthrallment. He had read the words in one of Devan¡¯s books and it had wracked him with horror as he read about it. The Morinn could capture your spirit, hold your mind and heart in their hands and bid you to do their every whim. It was their most powerful weapon against the Light, as far as Noran was concerned. ¡°At least you understand that your failure to live up to Devan¡¯s standards are not your fault. And since your weakness for Therin makes you useless to my plans, I¡¯ve had to improvise.¡± She drew a jewelled dagger from within the folds of her skirts, the blood-red stone at the end shining in the firelight. Noran¡¯s eyes went wide with fright and recognition. The blade was a Witch Knife, the tool with which the Morinn extracted a promise in exchange for unlocking the doorway to powerful, dark magic. ¡°You have a choice, though.¡± She held the Knife in her hands with adoration. ¡°This is a special blade, Noran. You see, a powerful witch was able to keep herself alive, forever in stasis by putting herself in enthrallment. She managed to capture her own soul in this stone, and a few other smaller ones.¡± She twirled the blade, letting the gems sparkle, the strange metal glimmering with darkness. Mara met his eyes again and something softened on her face, a touch of the fervency melting into genuine affection. ¡°It was a process that took years of careful planning. I¡¯m still not sure how she managed it, honestly. But she did succeed and now, like an unbound spirit caught by a witch, she resides in this gemstone pommel, awaiting the coming of Her.¡± The dark reverence of which she spoke the last word made Noran¡¯s fevered flesh crawl. The light in the room seemed to grow dimmer, the smokey fire catching in his throat. ¡°If you choose to accept to be the vessel, you will have access to a great store of power. You will be tapped into her own power, which in turn is tapped into the most powerful spirit ever caught. You will be linked within this web of magic and add your gifts to the pool. You and I will become Mistress and Apprentice, and my own Mistress will be your spirit-bond, something which has never been done before!¡± Glee lit her features but Noran found the strength to shake his head once. The light left her face. ¡°Let me tell you your options, shall I, before you make the choice?¡± She set the blade down on the side-table and folded her tiny hands serenely in her small lap. ¡°Firstly, you will tell Devan all of the horrible things that you have witnessed Therin and I doing. You will spare no details, but keep it simple, please, as that is more believable. You will do this with regret and sadness, of course. You will also reassure Therin that you had no hand in the miserable business, that I love him endlessly, that you will do all in your power to fix the wrongs that have been wrought. Make him believe you. It is important that he stays in love with me. ¡°Then, you will tell Devan that you have been approached by a Morinn witch. Surprising, I know. You will tell him your blood was recognised, that you were asked to join the coven, and that you wish to act as his double-agent. You will make him believe you as I will teach you the spell to change minds. ¡°Next, you will tell him that the process to become a witch will be long and drawn out, though, of course, you and I will already be joined by then. You will give him the bits of information I allow you to give him, do his bidding, and eventually, you will tell him you are a full witch. You will demonstrate your powers for him, I care not how. I will begin tonight, but I¡¯m unsure how long this will take us. ¡°I will make you an apprentice tonight but it must be done¡­slowly. I have never done this, and I have certainly never done this with a human spirit as the bond. No one has, Noran. Isn¡¯t that amazing? The only male witch, bound to the only human spirit, made an apprentice at such an advanced age¡­¡± Her eyes sparkled again and he thought he saw a glimmer of a tear forming in her eye. ¡°That is the first option.¡± She picked up the Knife again and smiled at him in a detached way. Noran felt the deep ache in his bones, dulled by the drugs she had him under, and closed his eyes, prepared to hear the alternate option. He was prepared to die, if needed, in order to reject her and thwart her complicated, convoluted plans. ¡°The second option,¡± she said slowly, and he opened his eyes as she paused, afraid to see her face. ¡°The second option, of course, is death.¡± He relaxed his features, oddly at peace with this option already. ¡°Not your death,¡± she whispered and he stilled, his eyes going wide. ¡°That would be too easy. You¡¯re already miserable. Death would be a reward.¡± Mara stood and made her way to the fire, stirring it with a firestick and returning to his side. ¡°No, your death would serve no purpose.¡± ¡°I think the death of the one person you love above everything else would suffice. But a quick death it would not be. No, I¡¯ve studied the methods of extracting information from flesh in preparation for this choice. First, he would be informed about you and your fantasies.¡± ¡°Every picture you¡¯ve drawn of him, every thought you¡¯ve had of him, every time you¡¯ve ever wished to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. He would be reminded that he never had a brother, not in your eyes. No, he had a stalker, an obsessed lover who thought ceaselessly of his flesh in such ways as to make me blush. ¡°Because I have seen the way you look at him. I have seen the drawings. I know unrequited love when I see it. And if you think that you can bear the idea that he would die shortly after this betrayal, you have not been listening very closely. ¡°After he was broken from this revelation, he would slowly be dismantled, a digit at a time. Maybe each freckle would be carved from his lovely face. I have some creative ideas. Pain, with no death in sight. It¡¯s a fine line to walk but I¡¯ve been doing it on my own time for awhile now. There¡¯s something so powerful in seeing the hope fade from a man¡¯s eyes as you rip him apart¡­¡± Her own eyes went distant and Noran could almost see her reliving a horrible memory. Tears fell down his face but he could not lift a hand to wipe them. ¡°And if all of that doesn¡¯t dissuade you from this choice, then I saved the best part for last.¡± Mara leaned over him again, bracing her hands on the bed. ¡°You would be there, doing all of this yourself. Your words from your mouth. Your own hand would be the one to plunge the dagger into his heart. You would face this man and take his life and you would live the rest of your life knowing you ended that which you loved the most.¡± She pressed her hot lips to his forehead and he trembled. ¡°I cannot make you a witch against your will, that¡¯s true. But I can keep you enthralled, Noran. Forever, until you die. You will be mine, no matter what.¡± Mara stood again, took up the Knife and walked slowly to the fire. This time, she lifted a brand that he had not noticed, checking the end of it. It was red hot, glowing with a bloodied brightness. ¡°I can¡¯t risk heating my Mistress¡¯s soulstone,¡± she murmured. ¡°If it were to crack, I¡¯m not sure she would survive. Instead, I had this made for you.¡± She turned and faced him. Mara approached the bed at a stately walk, like a bride to an altar, the knife in one hand, the brand in the other. She stood over him, the glow of the brand casting the bed in a dull ruddiness. ¡°We both know what choice you¡¯re going to make, yes?¡± She smiled down at him, filled with pity and detached softness. Therin¡¯s eyes flashed into his mind, the bright blue piercing his soul as he hesitated. If he chose to end this, if he chose to deny her, she would find another way to coerce him. Maybe, after days and weeks and years of being her slave, he wouldn¡¯t care anymore about what she would make him do to Therin. But now, his mind mostly clear, he did care. If he accepted her, took her as a Mistress, and joined the Morinn, he could find a way to save Therin from this fate. He could thwart her as he learned more, he could become an invisible shield against Mara¡¯s darkness. He might never know of Noran¡¯s devotion, but he would benefit from it, thrive because of it. Therin¡¯s face hovered in his misted eyes, the perfect mouth a soft smile, the eyes outlined in dark golden lashes. Noran¡¯s heart thundered painfully as he took a shuddering breath. Therin would never know¡­any of it. He would always assume Noran was the villain of this. One day, perhaps, when he had been a roadblock long enough, Noran would be able to escape Mara, to tell Therin the truth. That grain of hope was buried deep within him, nurtured by his deep love of the boy who would never know how much he meant to Noran. He closed his eyes and nodded once, giving his consent to the witch. ¡°Promise to help me resurrect Erin,¡± whispered Mara with a wicked ecstasy. ¡°Say it.¡± She held the Knife and brand ready. ¡°I promise to help you resurrect Erin,¡± he whispered and the Knife cut his hand where she had already sliced his palm. The pain was nothing. The brand that followed, searing and heated, was distant. For deep inside his heart, the kernel of hope had taken root. Even as he pledged himself to Mara he promised Therin something else. I promise to love you, forever. I promise to never stop being your invisible bulwark. As long as I breathe, I will never give up.