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"Dark arts." Two words. Flat. Answering my rambling question about Silas as if the last thirty seconds hadn't happened. His hand moved away from the scar, continued to another bruise on my shoulder blade. He remained clinical and professional like he had not just been setting my skin on fire mere moments ago. But I could still feel it through the bondâthat simmering fury he'd locked down so completely it almost didn't exist. Almost, at least.
"What?" I managed, thrown by the abrupt subject change.
"Silas Vane. Shadow manipulation. Moderately rare. The cost is also moderate." His fingers worked the salve into my shoulder with methodical precision.
"And it... costs something?" I asked hesitantly.
"Everything costs." His hand moved lower. "Shadow work takes emotion. Blood magic takes years. Necromancy takes sanity." A pause. "Thermal manipulation takes warmth."
It dawned slowly on me. "Your ice," I said quietly.
"Yes."
"So what did it take..." I trailed off.
