The woman had paused for half a breath before kneading her seed bread with more fervor. “What I have read is the Wanderer was furious at his queen’s betrayal. It is said one night, he stole into the chambers of his children and poisoned his own heirs. When his bride discovered her young ones thrashing and near death, the Wanderer vowed the antidote if she would tell him how to become a master of all the crafts, just like a god.”

“Did she tell him?”

“In desperation, the god-queen told the Wanderer how to mark bones of those who’d gone to the gods’ hall and summon a lingering piece of the soul left behind. Then the bone of the dead would be fastened to the Wanderer’s living body, feeding new strength from the dead into his own soul. Since the fallen soul had already touched the magic of the gods’ hall, the sagas say the Wanderer could then take slivers of wisdom from the soul he’d absorbed; he could borrow from the dead’s former strength. With the additional soul, old scars healed, youth filled the Wanderer’s bones, and like many of the gods, his skill with the blade grew tenfold. But it was a curse. With its strengths, the Wanderer also took on the cruelty and the vices of the dead bones. Each time made the Wanderer dangerously greedy for battle, blood, power.

“Disgusted by his corruption, the gods took back their daughter and her young ones, and marked the Wanderer with the scar of silver, leaving him to suffer alone until he met Salur. That is the legend of the silver scars. Who knows if it is true, but we both know when a melder uses their craft recklessly, they do not stay the same, don’t we, girl? Be wary of those scars, child. Never use the curse in your blood.”

As a child, I vowed to Gammal I would never be reckless. To save Kael was the first I’d used my craft.

Still, I could not deny the sense of power that hummed in my blood as I drew him back from death.

Was it truly possible to fall prey to the desire for more? Is that what King Damir wanted? A melder with insatiable desire to feed their own craft?

But how would such a thing grow the king’s influence?

I thumbed through a few pages of the old poems and tales, stopping on the warning from the god of wisdom when he gifted the Wanderer his magic.

To harm the living, craft mirrors the pain.

To split the soul, craft sacrifices the blood.

To curse the body, craft devours the mind.

To bind dead and living, craft corrupts the heart.

Kael had used his craft only to shape blades, never to cause pain. The same could be said for Hilda and Edvin. Did Emi Nightlark feel pain when she harmed the living bone?