“None of them,” she said.
Coruth snarled. “You think me impotent compared to him?”
“No,” she said. “But I understand the difference between you. He worked magic to satisfy his desires. To get what he wanted.”
“And me?”
“You are a witch, Mother. You don’t have desires. You have responsibilities. The magic you work isn’t to make your life easier or to gain power. It’s to do the bidding of forces larger than you. To do the work of fate and destiny. That’s what witchcraft is. Not power to be squandered, but a willingness to surrender. To do what must be done, whether you like it or not.”
“You’ve learned the words,” Coruth said, “but I can see in your eyes you think it’s nonsense.”
“No-No, I-” She stammered to a stop. Changed tack. “I would never perform sorcery, Mother. Certainly not now.”
“In the court of Ulfram V you were asked to do something ‘witchlike,’ ” Coruth said. “You made fire spring between your hands. Oh yes, I saw it. I was watching.”
“The king wanted to frighten the barbarian princess, so I performed a little trick that Father taught me. That was all. I did what I was told. Wasn’t that proper?”
“A witch doesn’t take orders from a man. Not even a king. Where do you think that fire came from, girl? Did you think you were doing witchcraft? That was the fire of the pit you played with. When you made it appear, you opened a small fissure between this world and the one below.”
“You mean-”
“The pit, indeed.”
Cythera trembled in terror. Truly? That was what she’d done? “But-something might have come through!”
Coruth shook her head. “No, the rift you made was too small. This time. Can you convince me you’ll never try something like that again? Can you promise me?”
“Mother, I swear it! If I’d known, I never would have done it!”
“You say it now. But there will be other temptations. And now that you’ve read that book, you know how the power works. You know how to make even bigger holes between the worlds. Holes big enough for anything to claw its way through.”
“I swear, Mother! I swear I won’t!”
Coruth drew back as Cythera dropped her head to the table and wept. For a while the witch was silent, and simply stood watching her daughter cry. Then she nodded just once to herself.
“You know what your father was like. I know you remember. He didn’t start out that way. There was a time when he was a good man who simply wanted to help others. And he did great things, truly. Over time, as he grew more powerful, he began to see other people as weaker than himself. Well, after all, they were. In time he came to despise them for that weakness. He began to think he was superior to them, not just a great man but some wholly different sort of being, a better being. His power grew, always, and theirs kept diminishing. They grew old and died while he stayed young and strong. That kind of power can’t ever make a man a better person. In the end he locked me in a room for years, drawing on my power. He tortured you and used you, Cythera. Neither of us meant more to him than a single page of that book. No human being in this world was his equal, and he would have consigned them all to balefire rather than see one simple whim go unfulfilled. That is what sorcery does to those who use it.”
“I remember,” Cythera pleaded.
Coruth studied her carefully. “We begin your second lesson tonight. Before dawn it will be finished, and you will be well on your way to becoming a witch. Let me assure you of one thing before we begin. If I ever suspect that you are practicing sorcery, even for a moment-and no matter how pure your intentions-I will kill you on the spot. I will not hesitate a moment.”
Cythera stared up at Coruth with wide eyes.
“I’m a witch. And I will do what a witch must,” Coruth said. Then she left the room, leaving Cythera alone at the table.
With the book.
Cythera understood why. Coruth could have destroyed the book long ago. She could have thrown it on a fire and been done with it. Yet that wouldn’t have made her point utterly clear. Cythera had to be exposed to the temptation. She had to know the kind of power she could possess, if she only chose to use it.
Power. So much power between those covers. And wasn’t that what she had wanted all along? She had rebelled against the way women were forced to live in her world. She had refused to be someone’s wife, because it would mean giving up her own freedom. Her own power to make her own decisions.
The book offered the power to do just that. And so much more.
Which was exactly why she had to choose not to use it.
Her mother had told her-many times-that witchcraft wasn’t about making other people do your will. That was exactly what it should never be. A witch could try to convince others that she was right. She could show them the consequences of their actions. But she could never compel someone to do something against their will. Coruth had given her the book because in the end Cythera had to choose for herself.
It was crucial that she renounce that power on her own. And not just because of threats or warnings. She had to come to the realization on her own that she was bound to be a witch, not a sorceress, and that was the right of things.
And it was. It was the right path, to push this book away. To burn it and forget she had ever seen it. It would be an important statement, a meaningful step on her path to initiation as a witch.
She didn’t even want to touch the book again. But she picked it up off the table and went to the hearth.
A strange thrill went through her as she stood before the fire. Coruth had seen her practicing sorcery, somewhere in the future. A sorceress could marry anyone she chose. She could have Malden for her own. He would never meet her eye again if she gave in to that temptation, Coruth had said. But with the power of demons at her disposal, she could make him look on her. She could make anyone do what she wanted.
No.
She shivered, her whole body shaking as if she were consumed by frost, though the fire before her burned hot enough to singe the downy hair on her arms. She cast the book into the flames then, the flames that could never burn so hot as the pit. She watched the book burn.
I will become a witch, she thought. There is no other way. Malden-I’m sorry.
Chapter Forty-Two
The thieves of Ness gathered just before midnight, when the moon had fallen behind the city wall and Godstone Square was a bowl of ink. By starlight only they met, many of them staying to thicker shadows still, where even Malden couldn’t see their faces.
Those he could see came from every corner of the city, arriving alone, and they stood alone, not one of them whispering to a friend or an accomplice, none of them with eyes for anything but Malden on his perch.
He stood atop the Godstone, an ancient and desecrated altar deep in the Stink. A standing stone fifteen feet high that was just too big to be moved when the religion of the Bloodgod was officially put down. To most of the city’s population it had become nothing but one more landmark, but to some it was still an object of great reverence. Malden was more interested in where it was than what it had once been. The city watch rarely traveled that far from Castle Hill.
The people who lived around the square kept their windows shut at night, and could be trusted not to talk-as long as Malden didn’t say anything the city watch might pay to hear. So he would name no names tonight, nor address any of the gathered thieves directly. But they would listen, and hear him.
He had not had time to decipher Cutbill’s message. He didn’t know what orders he’d been given, or what the guildmaster had expected of him. But he was out of time, and he had better think of something quick.
Nearly a hundred men stood below him, looking up. He studied their faces carefully and suddenly realized why
