"Placing it and waking it are different things. Waking it has more consequences and isn’t a decision I’ll let you make tonight.”
“I thought you only had Vaelor abilities, not those of a Siren or Saren or whatever your kind are called.”
He chuckled. “Yes. If I have Saren gifts they won’t be awakened until Sarenal’s wards open.”
“Don’t you need those…gifts to put it in me?”
He held it carefully. "The Arrolyn was forged to recognize bloodline, not magic. I do not need Saren power to place it."
"And you know how?"
A pause. "Not exactly."
"Eravic."
"The ones who created it accounted for that. If the placement is wrong, if the timing is wrong, if anything about it is not correct—" He shrugged. "It will not take."
"So your plan is to press an ancient magical object into my chest and hope?"
"When you say it like that, it sounds less reassuring."
"It sounds exactly as alarming as it is."
He laughed. "I will not force it. If you are uncomfortable, we wait."
I looked down at the Arrolyn, then back at him. "My mother trusted you."
His expression softened. "Yes."
"So do I."
A long silence. Then: "Will it hurt?"
His expression turned serious. "I do not know."
My eyebrow lifted. "You do not know?"
"I have never done it before."
"And yet you are the one doing it?"
"I am apparently the most qualified person available."
"That is not comforting."
"It was not intended to be."
I looked at the Arrolyn in his hand. It was smaller than I would have expected. Black and smooth and small, about the size of the tip of an arrow.
I frowned. “It looks quite unimpressive. Are you sure you found the right one?”
He barked a laugh. “There is only one, and I am certain this is correct. Whenever I hold it I feel the ancestors whispering.”
“How strange,” I murmured. In truth it sounded terrifying to have dead relatives whispering and even worse yet that he has been carrying it in his cloak which means he must have them whispering at him all day.
I decide not to ask further questions.
“I am ready,” I said.