The hilt vibrated with each failing beat of the boy’s heart.
Once, twice, thrice…
She waited. No more.
She reached forward and uncapped the top of the hilt. The hollow handle had been carved from an infant’s leg bone, taken from the godling child stolen by the Cabal four centuries ago.
With all ready, Mirra climbed atop the flowstone altar. She straddled the boy, one leg on each side of his chest. She lifted the hem of her robe and squatted over the open handle of the dagger. She removed the plug of linen from between her legs. She allowed her menstra blood to flow and drip into the hollow handle.
Menstra to bless… she recited. Or in this case… curse.
It did not take long. It never did.
The bone hilt twitched.
The beat of a new heart, black and poisoned.
Once, twice, thrice…