Free Spellfire by Jessica Andersen Page B

yanked him close, eyes going narrow. “Listen up, and listen good. This isn’t like any oath you’ve taken before. It’s not some weak-assed compulsion spell; it’s the real deal. If you break your word, you break your connection to the boar bloodline, understand? So be really fucking sure.”
    “What do you care if the bloodline rejects me?” Rabbit said, voice low enough that only the closest onlookers would hear. “You never wanted to accept me in the first place.”
    “This isn’t about what I want. It’s about saving the godsdamned world.”
    “So what are you waiting for?”
    Glaring, Red-Boar reached into his robe and withdrew a familiar leather pouch. It was worked with crimson and gold threads that twined together to outline the boar bloodline’s glyph, along with the sigils of the warrior and the mind-bender, just like the marks on the old man’s wrist. They were his damned ashes. Rabbit should know; he was the one who’d filled the bag and ritually sealed it into a hollow at the base of the altar. His eyes went to the spot, where now there was a darker smear of new, damp mortar, and his gut tightened.
    He wasn’t just going to be swearing on his own blood. He was going to be using his father’s ashes.
    “Pretty fucked up, huh?” Red-Boar looked at the bag for a moment, then said, “Hold out your hands.”
    Rabbit reached his bloody fingers to take the bag, but instead of handing it over, Red-Boar upended the thing and dumped its contents. The ashes were gray and crumbly, and the whole mess hit Rabbit’s palms and poofed up in his face as he drew in a startled breath. And sucked up his father’s remains.
    There were exclamations from the others, a couple of gags and lots of shifting feet, but Rabbit forced himself to hold it together as a dark taste hit his sinuses and the back of his throat, making him want to cough. His palms burned where the ashes mixed with his blood, and strange magic ate into him like acid, roughening his voice when he grated, “Get on with it.”
    Red-Boar tucked the empty leather pouch into his robe, used the knife to slash his own palms, and then took both of Rabbit’s hands in his, letting their blood mingle. And, whether or not the old man liked that they were related, the blood-link formed instantly. Red-Boar’s power poured into Rabbit and flared through his veins, until he could feel the old bastard in every damn corner of his being. It was the first time he and his old man had linked up, the first time he’d felt the extra resonance that came from shared DNA. Which was ironic, really, considering that his old man was dead and he didn’t have magic of his own anymore.
    “Concentrate on your bloodline mark and repeat after me.” Red-Boar rattled off a spell in the old tongue, one that Rabbit normally wouldn’t have been able to remember, never mind repeat. But somehow the words translated themselves in his head, grabbing on to him, burning themselves into his mind: “. . . by my own blood and the bones of my ancestor, I swear to obey my Keeper’s three demands.” His stomach clutched but he said the words, putting himself under Red-Boar’s command. Making the old man his fucking Keeper.
    As he said the last of it, lines of fiery pain burned across his palms and then caught, flaming blue for a moment before they guttered and died, leaving his skin scoured clean of ashes and blood.
    “By the Boar Oath, here is your first order,” Red-Boar said without preamble. “Obey your king without exception.” Rabbit felt the order take root, dig in, and twine itself into a hard little knot at the back of his head, where his magic used to be. It wasn’t painful so much as intrusive. Unsettling, knowing the threat was there. His old man continued, “By the Boar Oath, here is your second order: Do not physically hurt any of your teammates—Nightkeeper,
winikin
, human, it doesn’t matter. Don’t hurt them.” Which only went to prove that Dez had written the