A bookmark. A page. I blinked and stared at the page, wondering why it was I had not turned to it before. A bookmark. A spell. I should have opened to it by the mark automatically. Unless my actions had been controlled—
A bookmark. An enchantment. A formula for...
"Immortality," I said aloud and looked up at him. "Immortality, on Lammas Night."
"Aloren—"
"You sonuvabitch."
It all crashed over me, hurting worse than anything I'd ever felt in any of the battles at the war. I just stared at him in silence.
"You bastard," I said, my heart hurting. "You—you tried to cast this, didn't you?"
"Aloren, you must understand—"
"And it backfired! And you were stuck here! Until I came along." The rage burned in my belly, the Light reacting to it. A light blue glow began to flower about me.
"Were you going to possess me?" I snarled, standing. A flash of Light crackled out of my hand and hit the book. I heard Jesamen scream, staring in horror at the ashes that had been his salvation. "Were you going to weaken me, and then try to overcome me? Or did you just want a partner?" I swallowed, and my voice fell into a dangerous whisper. Now the rage was controlled. I realized, belatedly, that I had destroyed my salvation as well, but I did not care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
Save one thing.
"You used me," I growled. "You preyed on me, you bastard. And now I'm going to give you exactly what you wanted."
Jesamen's face blurred—fear, anger, astonishment. "If you destroy me," he hissed, "you die, too! Anything you do to me will echo back onto you! Don't you realize what you've done?"
I smiled coldly. "Jesamen, you know what?"
Fear flowered higher in his eyes, and I saw the realizations clicking into place there.
"This is the second time you've messed with something you couldn't control."
And then I opened my hands, sent my wish to the well, and released the light upon us.
The clatter of dishes snapped Maakus out of whatever spell he had fallen into. He blinked, staring at the wall behind Benzamin until his sight cleared. Only then did he allow himself to look at the magus, who was smiling congenially at the young girl, busy at clearing away the dishes.
Maakus stared at her for a while, the flickering at the edge of his mind growing stronger. His glance flashed from Benzamin, to the scroll and the journal, to the girl—
To the necklace with the silver locket around the girl's neck—
'The child," he said abruptly. "Where did she get that locket?"
The High Lord smiled at him, and the madrigal felt a familiar chill. "It's her, isn't it?" Maakus asked as the child silently left the room. "She's actually—"
"Madrigal, listen to me. Did Aloren ever state in her journal why she went to the war?"
Maakus shook his head.