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“I need a way to keep track of someone.”
“Long term or one off?”
“Long term, regrettably. At least the next three months.”
“A pendant or charm then, no straightforward spell. Is the person willing to be tracked?”
“They could be made willing.”
“Makes things easier…” The witch turned back to her stock, examining jars and vials, twisted bones, pieces of metal. “Can be done. Not cheap, though.”
“How much?”
“Six months of your life.”
Juliana grimaced. It wasn’t much, she supposed, especially if she lived to be old. Maybe it would be like her father suggested, not a thing she would miss.
“What else would I need?” she asked, unwilling to commit to a cost just yet.
“A droplet of blood from you both,” the witch replied. “To ensure the connection.”
Juliana tensed. Witches were capable of lies. There were any number of things they could do with blood, and handing over Hawthorn’s… what if someone paid her for it? A skilled mage could kill someone from afar with a droplet of blood, or devise a poison to only kill their mark—
“A droplet only, and you can watch me do it,” the witch assured her. “Not a sliver shall be kept.”
“How does it work?”
“You both carry a trinket of some sort. Should the person move some distance away, you’ll feel a pull towards them. It’s hard to explain, easy to feel.”
“All the time?”
Mabel shook her head. “Only when you wish it.”
Juliana paused. Six months of her life for three months more of keeping him safe. Was it worth it?
You won’t get your knighthood without it, rate he’s going,said a voice inside her.
And then another, louder than it had any right to be,Do you really want him to die?
No,she realised. Much as she detested how reckless he was being, she didn’t want him dead. And not just because of her knighthood, either.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll be back with the blood.”
Convincing Hawthorn to donate a droplet of blood in the name of self-preservation was not a particularly arduous task. Walking back to the market with him was.
“Your dedication to my safety is unparalleled,” he said, smirking. “Really. It’s quite touching. I do hope my mother is paying you enough.”
“Not enough,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t sound so happy. I’m only doing this because you seem quite determined to put yourself in harm’s way.”
“Sounds like you care.”
“It’s myjob.”
Finally, mercifully, they reached the stall in question. Mabel had gathered all her ingredients around a few wooden pendants. “Pick whichever of them you like,” she said.
Hawthorn tried on every one, lamenting the crude workmanship before finally picking a black thorn. He pushed a carved flower onto Juliana.
“There needs to be something sweet about your appearance,” he told her.
