“What’s wrong with him—I can see it, but I can’t fix it.”
Judah sat straight up, tears drying. “What do you mean, you can see it?”
The tower was quiet. The only sound was the gentle rush of the room’s broken edges carving away the breeze. The magus was pale, his lips slightly parted; there was something wild in his eyes. But when he spoke, his voice was calm. “It’s easier if I show you,” he said.
* * *
From his satchel, he took a bundle of soft leather. Inside was a folding knife, a small mirror and a square of cloth. As he spread the cloth on the floor and laid the knife and mirror on top of it, his movements were deliberate, almost reverent. He glanced at the sky, which was the same cheerful blue it had been all day. Out of nowhere, Judah wondered what she would do if there were a storm. Be cold and wet, she supposed.
“It would be easier at night. Something about the moon; I never really understood it.” He hesitated, then said, “Honestly, I’m a little nervous about this. I think the reason that Theron doesn’t like this tower—the reason this part of the House was abandoned—was because the ritual that happened here made it an uncomfortable place to be. But you say you don’t feel anything.”
“Why does that make you nervous?”
“Because you should feel it. I do, and by rights, you should be...well, a lot more sensitive than I am. You must have developed some fairly strong defenses is what I’m trying to say, and since nobody ever taught you how, they won’t be the kind I understand. I’m not sure what’s going to happen if we breach them.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’m actually not the world’s most talented Worker. I’m only here because I’m pale enough to not look completely bizarre with blond hair, and healing is a useful enough skill to get me in anywhere I needed to be.”
“Worker,” Judah said.
He took up the knife and, without flinching, made a small cut on the inside of his arm. Not for the first time, Judah noticed: his skin was ridged with old scars, most neat and cleanly healed. The blood dripped down his arm and pooled on the surface of the mirror. He drew a symbol in it with one finger: like a letter, but not any letter she knew. “This is Work,” he said. “And that’s a sigil. It’s like...what you see when you close your eyes, only most people can’t make sense of it. Everyone has one, all unique.”
Disgusted and transfixed, Judah said, “A song sung only once and never again.”
He smiled. “I guess you could say sigils are the sheet music. This is my teacher, Derie’s. And this—” he drew a second symbol next to the first “—is my mother’s. She’s very strong too, but farther away. When I do this, it’s like calling their names. Asking for help. They’re not actually here, but you can communicate with them.”
“Like Gavin and me,” she said.
“Exactly. It’s Work that binds you. A very powerful Work, done by a very powerful Worker who died long ago.” The blood on the tray was beginning to clot. The magus hesitated, then drew a third sigil.
This one felt different from the others. There was life there, in the swirls and hashes, and...personality. The sigil pricked at her, caught her and held her. “That one feels different,” she said carefully. “Why does it feel different?”
“Because it’s your mother’s,” he said. “You have her blood.”
Judah felt dazed. “My mother?”
“She was one of us. Not from my caravan, but I did see her once, when I was a child. I knew your father better.” Carefully, the magus wiped the third sigil out. Judah felt as if a piece of her was being torn away. He must have seen, because he gave her a kind smile. “Some people can Work with the sigils of the dead. But I’m sorry, I’m not that strong.”
“My father,” she said.
“His name was Tobin,” the magus said. “Your mother was Maia. They were both incredibly powerful, but...especially Maia. That story you told me. To survive that, for you—”
Something in his tone reminded her of the creepy Wilmerian, all those months ago: when he’d talked about eating clay, when he’d gawked at her hair. But it didn’t matter. Maia and Tobin. Her parents were people. Her parents had names. A thought occurred to her, so huge and marvelous and fearsome that it drove