Magic? Father had used magic on me?

Ohhhh no. I knew I had gotten too lucky with this life. Father smiled guiltily, snuggled me tight, and checked with Warren who rushed around throwing several items into a bag. He stuck his head in the corridor to look for others where he and Father proceeded to stealth down it until we reached a side set of stairs leading down. We passed unused spare rooms, a large library, and storage space. Warren unlocked the heavy oak door at the end of the way.

The gray stone walls were lined with tall bookshelves of intricately bound books. Two armchairs took up corners, and Father’s eyes flashed again to set the sconces ablaze while Warren set the bag on a small square table. A large stone pedestal sat in the center of the room. Four feet tall with a circular, slightly concave surface, I could only imagine this with its elegant etching on the top was why we were here.

“I will help you with this, Eagan,” Warren spoke quietly, locking the door. “However, I will have to leave the filling of the symbol up to you.”

“That’s fine. I planned on being the one to do it.”

He handed me to Warren to dig from the bag two items I couldn’t see until it was too late. Not that I could have done anything anyway. One was a paintbrush of fine, thick bristles. The other was a small knife with a ruby and amber handle. Father took my right hand, uncurled my fingers, and sliced the blade across my palm. He hurriedly set the knife down and replaced its presence with the brush bristles. I shrieked bloody murder, or I at least tried. I remained silenced. Still, I thrashed and freely let my eyes overflow with the waterfall that gushed.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I’ll get through this as quickly as I can,” Father promised, shaking and blinking back tears himself.

He kissed my forehead and reluctantly squeezed my hand to get more blood on the brush. When it was coated to his satisfaction, Father started to paint the indented etching. He brought the brush back when he needed more, and on the process went.

I had been a little kidding about the crazy ritual thing. What kind of world was this, what kind of god was Iteus then that this ceremony required my hand sliced open and my blood used to fill a design? Honestly, what had Father even seen from a simple glance alone to bring us to this moment? I kicked and struggled harder, yet Warren kept a steady hold. He showered me with calming words and comforting touches I didn’t care for.

“If only my Blessing was strong enough to have numbed the pain as well as keep her silent,” Father mumbled to hide his quivering voice.

“You’re almost done,” Warren encouraged as Father came for more blood.

Two last squeezes of my hand completed the painting. While the amount of blood required wasn’t much, I was obviously a small baby who’d spent half the day throwing up my body’s resources. My still-developing vision blurred and slowed as a frigid tingle settled in my hands and feet. Father dropped the brush onto the floor and yanked a blanket from the bag to create another nest upon the pedestal. Warren placed me within it as whispered crying finally escaped my lips.

“It’s wearing off,” Father groaned. He rubbed his palm against his temple and pushed back the sound with another burst of his flaming eyes.

“I’ll be quick.”

Warren pressed his hands upon the stone and prayed. The words were soft and rolling, not dark and harsh, but what he spoke wasn’t Iteusian. I had no idea what he was willing or requesting. Father cleaned my hand with a cloth before taking a container of Syara’s Grace to spread a fingerful upon my cut. The glittery goop warmed and eased my injury as I knew the medicine to do. I don’t know how I hadn’t realized it was magical too. The deep cut now winced as a shiny, thin line when Father wiped it away a minute later. He glanced at Warren expectantly.

Whatever good result they wished for, it didn’t come. A chilling, thick pulse like the deep roll of sea wave drummed throughout the pedestal before fading. Warren retracted his hands and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Eagan.”

“Shit,” Father cursed. It was tired, dispirited, and had none of the normal impact. “Evianna is different then.”

Um…

“What are you going to do?” Warren asked.

“As I said, at least I have this confirmation. I see no reason to let it be known and going forward I can prevent it from coming to light.”

“What about Princess Renira? Don’t you think she should be told the truth about her daughter?”

Or maybe just let her daughter know the truth?

“She’s the last person I would tell. I can’t imagine anything good coming out of word getting around either, can you?”

“No,” Warren agreed dismally. “No, I can’t.”

“It’ll be better for everyone if this is kept between us two. You will keep this secret for me, won’t you?” Father pleaded.

“Always, Eagan,” Warren promised.

With a relieved exhale, Father rest his head against his friend’s shoulder. Warren linked his arm across Father’s back and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

“The Blessing is draining your energy quickly. You should take Princess Evianna and leave before the silencing wears off. I’ll clean up,” he prompted.

“Her hand just needs a bit more healing.”

Father swiped another thin layer of Syara’s Grace upon my palm. There was no line to be seen a minute later. My tear-streaked face was also wiped with a wet cloth. Bundled up in Father’s arms the pain ebbed away as exhaustion from the ordeal swept in. I couldn’t help but to start drifting off as Father stealthily brought us out of the Chapel.

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” he whispered right before I fell asleep. “I’ll keep you safe.”