“How did you come to inhabit a sword, anyway?” “The usual way.” “I have no idea what that might be.” “Sorcerer-smith,” he said, dropping her hand. “Forge the sword, quench the steel in the blood of the one you wish to bind.” “Really! How much blood does that take? Do you have to use leeches?” Sarkis stared at the ceiling, his lips moving silently. “I was stabbed through the heart, actually.” “Dear gods! Didn’t that hurt?” “A great deal. Are we ready to leave this accursed house?” “It’s not that accursed. I mean, the fireplace draws very badly, but you get used to it.”
