“Diaval’s been at this a long time,” Tanya said softly. “She’s immune to most venoms and poisons. It won’t kill her. It won’t be a pleasant experience throughout the ritual either, but that’s what you get with magic. It’s never pleasant. When a goblin creates on the scale of magic, it always changes them, always.” She smiled humorlessly. “I originally wanted to follow that path, but it wasn’t for me. Which ended up being good for all of us, eh?”

Her gaze shifted to Soren, who watched Diaval’s work with an intensity to his lilac eyes that he normally reserved for intimidating or fighting his foes. “Take care of him, Janneke,” she said. “I know we aren’t close. I know I’ve never been what you may consider kind. That’s how I am,” she explained. “But Soren is the one thing I have left in the world. I can see that he loves you dearly. Don’t take that for granted.”

“I won’t. I promise,” I said.

She took my hands in hers and squeezed. “He’s doing a good job of hiding it, but I’ve taken care of him since he was a babe. He’s in pain, turmoil. All of this, it’s making him second-guess everything and shaking him to the core. Please, keep him safe, even from himself.”

“I promise,” I repeated.

A fevered look passed in Tanya’s gaze. “Swear it. An oath. Please.”

We locked eyes and I nodded. “I swear by the gods by whom my people swear. I will keep him safe. If I break my oath, may the land open to swallow me, the sea rise to drown me, and the sky fall upon me.”

A cold feeling passed through me as we gripped each other’s forearms; it grew hotter and hotter until both of us winced with the pain, but neither of us let go. When it finally died down and we let go, the spot where our forearms met was branded with a small Eihwaz rune. It was done, then. For that second, the magic of the oath rooted us both to the ground, and the tremor of the very earth itself rocked beneath our feet as if recognizing my words.

The others still hadn’t noticed anything, and we were quick to rejoin them. I pulled down my sleeve to cover the new brand on my arm.

From where she sat, Diaval was now chanting louder in another unknown language, her hands running across a black blade that shined slick as oil. I might’ve not been able to understand her words by themselves, but I could feel their meaning deep in my bones. It was a blessing.

She stood then, knife hidden behind her back with one hand, and pressed her forehead to the filly’s. “Forgive me,” she whispered, and with a flash of the blade, blood came pouring down into the circle.

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