A man could only grant one endowment in his life, and when that endowment was granted, it created a magic channel, a bond between lord and vassal that could only be broken by death. If the lord died, the endowment returned to its giver. If the vassal died, the lord lost the attributes he had gained.

But if a man like Sylvarresta granted his wit to Raj Ahten, he would give not only his own wit, but also all the wit he received from his Dedicates, plus all wit he might ever receive in the future. As a vector, Sylvarresta became a living conduit. He would give Raj Ahten the wit he had taken, and might even be used to channel the wit of hundreds to Raj Ahten.

“You can give it to me, with the proper incentive,” Raj Ahten assured him. “What of your people? You care for them, don’t you. You have trusted friends, servants, among your Dedicates? Your sacrifice could save them. If I have to kill you, I won’t leave your Dedicates alive—men and women who can no longer offer endowments, men and women who might seek vengeance against me.”

“I can’t!” Sylvarresta said.

“Not even to buy the lives of a hundred vassals, a thousand?”

Iome hated this, hated the pregnant silence that followed. Raj Ahten had to get the endowment willingly. Some lords sought to assure the necessary degree of longing through love, others by offering lucre. Raj Ahten used blackmail.

“What of your beautiful wife—my cousin?” Raj Ahten asked. “What of her life? Would you give the endowment to buy her life? To buy her sanity. You would not want to see such a lovely thing ill-used.”

“Don’t do it!” Iome’s mother said. “He can’t break me!”

“You could save her life. Not only would she keep it, but she would remain on the throne, ruling as regent in my stead. The throne she loves so much.”

King Sylvarresta turned to his queen, jaw quivering. He nodded, hesitantly.

“No!” Venetta Sylvarresta cried. In that moment, she spun and ran. Iome thought she would hit the wall, but realized too late that she’d not headed for the wall, but for the full-length windows behind the Days.

Suddenly, faster than sight could account, Raj Ahten was at her side, holding her right wrist. Venetta struggled in his grasp.

She turned to him, grimacing. “Please!” she said, grasping Raj Ahten’s own wrist.

Then, suddenly, she squeezed, digging her nails into the Wolf Lord’s wrist until blood flowed. With a victorious cry, she looked Raj Ahten in the eyes.

Venetta shouted to her husband, “Now you see how to kill a Wolf Lord, my sweet!”

Iome suddenly remembered the clear lacquer on the nails, and she understood—the Queen’s distress had been a ruse, a plot to get Raj Ahten near so that she could plunge her poisoned fingernails into his flesh.