Page 174 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 18

Just one more step.

Imogene stared at the salt circle ringing her and the second circle she'd painstakingly drawn opposite it.

One more step and she would call a familiaris sanctii and bond the creature to her. A goal achieved. A step forward in the life she wanted for herself.

A success.

After two unending weeks of study and preparation for this moment. Hours she'd thrown herself into, both fascinated by the sanctii with each piece of new information she had gained and simultaneously aware she was using that fascination, using her bone-deep certainty that this was what she should do to cloak the equal bone-deep certainty that she missed Jean-Paul like fire every second she let herself think about him.

It didn't matter that she knew it was ridiculous. Didn't matter that she barely knew him. Didn't matter one whit what perfectly rational and logical arguments she came up with to convince herself she’d done the right thing when she'd had crept out of his bed at dawn, gone home to change and pack, and then reported to Colonel Ferritine to tell him she wanted to take part in the training—and, what was more, she could leave Lumia early if that would be useful.

The captain had looked at her oddly for a moment, and she'd wondered if he could somehow tell where she’d spent the night. Or that she was so eager to leave the city for reasons other than the allure of a sanctii. But he had nodded and agreed in the end, and she'd come here to Cylienne, a small village in the middle of nowhere. East of Lumia by several days’ carriage ride. Only important in the scheme of things because of the barracks here that was used for various training activities. The sanctii school being one of them. Of course, she hadn't had to endure several days in a carriage. She'd been given permission to use the portal at the Cylienne barracks to make her journey. The others chosen to attempt a bonding had followed over the next two days, seven other officers of various ages, though most, like her, were still only lieutenants. She was the only woman among them this time. Somehow that made her only more determined to succeed.

She'd buried herself in the books they told her to read and practiced everything she had been taught. She knew the ritual she was about to perform forward and backward and, quite possibly, could have recited it in her sleep. But that didn't change the fact that just then, when she should be focused only on the ritual and the fact that she was about to summon a sanctii, there was a small part of her mind wondering what Jean-Paul would think if he could see her now.

Would he murmur a proud "Well done, Lieutenant," or would he be shocked? Or worse, indifferent, having already forgotten her?

No.

No time to pine over something out of reach. She needed to think about the sanctii. Once they made their bond, he would be hers for life—or until she released him. A far more important moment in her life than a night in the bed of a man she still wanted but couldn't have.

She wrenched her thoughts back to the circle and the chamber where she stood. Looked down at the brazier floating in the channel of water between the two circles.

So. A choice. One she could make for herself. One that was hers and hers alone.

She stepped a little closer to the edge of the circle, careful that her boots didn't brush the salt. She wore black breeches with her uniform. A skirt in a circle where one had to move could cause unforeseen accidents.

A breath to center. Another to focus her attention down to nothing but here and now. Then she drew the silver dagger from her belt, lifted her hand to hover over the brazier, then pricked her finger to drip blood into the flames. It was rare to use blood in water magic, but it was water of a kind. And bonds needed to be sealed.

As the drops hit the coals, the tiny sizzle each impact made thrumming through her, she began to speak the words. A steady stream of complex precise commands. At least they were in Illvyan, not the sanctii tongue. That sounded like gravel and ash given voice, and though she had learned more of it in her time at Cylienne, she wasn't adept enough to speak it now while also pouring her power out over the flame and the blood and into the circle beyond.

It took less time than she expected. She was still repeating the words of the ritual for only the second time when a sanctii appeared in the circle beyond her.

She didn't stop talking, didn't so much as allow herself to flinch. The way the sanctii appeared was always startling to a degree. As though human minds could never quite get used to another living being just stepping out of thin air.

The sanctii stood quietly, making no attempt to break the circle. She had been warned that some resisted, but he seemed ...attentive rather than reluctant. The linen—or something near to it—pants and tunic he wore were black, making him appear almost part of the shadows not entirely chased away by the fire. But only almost. He was too solid to be a dream, his body, tall and strong. The arms bared by the tunic were heavily muscled, the skin mottled gray and black that reflected the glow of the brazier coals, the red gleaming over the near silver lines that cut through parts of the gray. The gray tones of his face were broken by a bold slash of black across his eyes, shadowing them even more than usual. A sanctii's eyes were inky black, no whites visible. His reflected the firelight, too, the flashes of red in their depths almost mesmerizing.

But she couldn't afford distraction. She had to complete the ritual.

"What shall I call you?" she asked carefully. The summons should compel him to answer truthfully. To make him give her a name to use to complete the bond. But some sanctii chose not to answer at all. Without the name, there could be no bond. They knew that as well as the mages did. Those who chose to speak were choosing to be bound. No one quite knew why they agreed. Access to the human world seemed to please them in some way they didn’t choose to explain.

"Ikarus," the sanctii said. His voice did indeed sound like his throat might be made of rock, but Imogene detected no hesitation in it.

"Ikarus," she repeated. "I am Imogene."

He tilted his head at her. "Female."

"Yes." She had been told to speak truth in the circle. "Does that matter?"

Ikarus shrugged, muscles rolling under his skin. "No difference. Strong magic." That time his voice sounded almost approving.

Satisfaction swept through her. She nodded at the sanctii. "You know what I will ask next?"

That wasn't exactly sticking to the script. Perhaps she would regret it, but he had made no move to attempt to break her magic yet. And she would rather their bond be forged as she meant to continue. With him as a partner to her magic, not just a servant to fetch and carry and perform magical tasks to order as a servant might sweep her room or wash her clothes. He would need to follow orders sometimes, as she herself did, but she wanted an ally, not an enemy compelled.

"Yes," Ikarus replied.

Her hand was still dripping blood into the brazier. She needed to finish this before she did something foolish like grow faint. She straightened her shoulders. Held the sanctii's gaze unflinching. And spoke the words to bind him to her.

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