Rory didn’t. He was waiting. When it dawned on me why, the spring was not so cold. Permission. He was waiting for me to grant it. I nodded at his bloodied thumb. “Go on.” A line drew between Rory’s brows. He held out his hand and I took it—his skin rough and warm—bringing it to my mouth. “What name, with blood, would you give the Omens?” I whispered. “My name is Rodrick Myndacious.” With shocking gentleness, Rory pressed his bloodied thumb to my lips. The sound of his exhale thrummed through the cathedral. “What’s yours?”
