“This is a different kind of strength.” He gestured in frustration. “You saw the forces involved when we created the sword. Don’t you recall how violent it was? Don’t you understand how close you came to dying? And you came close to dying when you were well and in perfect shape.

“Trying to unleash such forces on you tonight would kill you. Not maybe. Not possibly. I’m not saying that I’m worried, or fear it might harm you. I know what I’m talking about. I’m telling you without a doubt that it would kill you. You can’t hope to help us if you’re dead.”

“What if we used another person to help, like I did with the sword? What if you were the one to lend me power? Or maybe we could get Quinn. He’d help us. We can trust him.”

Merritt laid a hand on her shoulder. “Unlike the sword, the unique ability of a Confessor’s power requires that the person to become a Confessor must be the one who provides the life force. Another person cannot be a part of that. Another person cannot loan their life to you in such a way. It must be you, and you alone who gives yourself, your life force, into becoming a Confessor. The process would alter you. Another person can’t do it for you.”

Magda walked off a ways, clasping her hands.

She felt her world, everything she cared about, slipping through her fingers. All because she was too weak.

She wanted to tell Merritt that he was wrong, that she was strong enough. But she knew that he was right. She could hardly stand, hardly pull each breath. She remembered how she nearly died in the ordeal to create the sword. At the moment, she had nothing left to give of herself.

Merritt was right. She wouldn’t survive the attempt.

“Isn’t there another way?” she asked without turning back to him.

“The wizards who wanted to create the sword died trying to do it without what was required. The process to create a Confessor requires a prodigious amount of your strength. You don’t have it to give right now. You gave that strength to the sword. Just as those wizards died, you would die trying it without the required strength.”

“I see.”

Magda felt as if her heart was breaking. She’d thought it through and had it all figured out. She’d made the decision. It was already done as far as she’d been concerned. She needed only the formality of the magic to complete it.

In her mind, she’d gone over what she would do once she was a Confessor. She’d gone over it at least a hundred times. She had envisioned every detail until it was almost real.

And now it was ashes.