As he spoke, Bast’s eyes grew paler, until they were the pure blue of a clear noontime sky. “I swear by all the salt in me: if you run counter to my desire, the remainder of your brief mortal span will be an orchestra of misery. I swear by stone and oak and elm: I’ll make a game of you. I’ll follow you unseen and smother any spark of joy you find. You’ll never know a woman’s touch, a breath of rest, a moment’s peace of mind.” Bast’s eyes were now the pale blue-white of lightning, his voice tight and fierce. “And I swear by the night sky and the ever-moving moon: if you lead my master to
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