“The power is in me now,” the spider said simply. “I listened to it.” Dorian let a tendril of his magic snake toward the spider. She tensed. But his magic brushed up against her, gentle and inquisitive as a cat. Raw magic, to be shaped as he desired. He willed it toward her—willed it to find that seed of power within her. To learn it. “What are you doing,” the spider breathed, shifting on her feet. His magic wrapped around her, and he could feel it—each hateful, horrible year of existence. Each— His mouth dried out. Bile surged in his throat at the scent his magic detected. He’d never forget
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