whispered her voice. “And Domenico…” Then came a sob.
Another flicker in the air, and then it seemed as if the boy were surrounded by a snowfall, little dots of flickering white wheeling and curling about them…
But then Sancia realized. They were not snowflakes.
They were moths. And the air was filled with the sound of their wings.
It’s him, thought Sancia. He’s here. He’s come. This is when Crasedes arrived.
“What are all these butterflies here?” whispered the boy.
“They’re…They’re here to help me,” said Ofelia’s voice, sniffing. “The moths came in through the window. They came to me while I slept. And…I think they are a miracle, my love. They can save you.”
The boy looked around through drooping eyelids. “Save me from what?”
Then there was another flicker in the air, and Sancia saw her: an echo of Ofelia Dandolo, bending over the broken little boy in the bed.
She leaned down to kiss him on the brow. “From what I did to you, my love,” she whispered. “And…And I am so sorry…”
Then another burst of sigils tore into them.
Both of them screamed as the sigils flashed in their minds, twisting them, contorting them, bending their bodies, their souls, their spirits. Sancia felt themselves dissolving, all these moments contracting, dwindling, diminishing, as if the past minutes of their lives were being boiled down to nothing but residue, to be replaced by instances of time just a few minutes previously…
She felt the realization crack through Berenice’s mind.
Sancia barely understood Berenice’s understanding. Part of it was that the concept was too complex for her—but the other obstacle was that she could not think, for she was sure she was going to die.
Then the body under her fingertips surged forward, and suddenly the world was nothing but screaming.
The sigils and the visions and the alterations snapped away. Berenice and Sancia opened their eyes and stumbled back in horror as Gregor popped up, his eyes wild and mad. He was screaming, bellowing, roaring at them, every vein in his head visible, every ligament in his neck stretched to the point of breaking.
Berenice screamed and tumbled to the ground as she fell back, and Sancia barely stayed standing. She watched as her friend heaved and strained at the bonds around his arms and chest and legs. The chair creaked and wrenched below him.
“Oh God!” screamed Orso’s voice somewhere. “Holy shit!”
“Were sigils retained?” demanded Valeria. “Was process successful?”
Sancia was too terrified to respond. She just watched in mute fear as her friend snarled and growled like a wild boar, straining at the ropes, rocking back and forth in a mad, furious, helpless struggle…
And then he stopped and glared at her. He bent forward, and flexed with his legs…
There was a loud pop from the chair as something stretched to the point of breaking.
“Orso!” screamed Sancia. “Dart him now, dart him now!”
Orso fumbled for the dolorspina dart one-handed. Gregor leaned forward, growling, his eyes leaking tears and strings of drool hanging from his mouth from exertion, and there was another sharp, twangy pop from within the chair.
“Do it!” shrieked Sancia. “He’s going to break fre—”
Orso cried out, leapt forward, and planted a dolorspina dart in the back of Gregor’s shoulder. Gregor ripped to the side, snapping his teeth, and nearly bit off one of Orso’s fingers.
“Scrumming hell!” shouted Orso.
Gregor heaved and heaved at the ropes, panting loudly, but each effort was weaker and weaker. It was clear the dart was having an effect: his eyes became unfocused, and each of his movements grew a little drunker and less coordinated. Finally his head drooped on his chest and he exhaled mightily, spraying drool from his lips and down his beard, and he glared at Sancia, half-conscious but helpless. Then he went still.
“Holy shit,” said Orso. “Holy shit.”
There was a silence as they stared at