“Hello. I am Tessanna Delone,” she said, her voice cruel and hard. “You wished to speak with me?”

Qurrah wondered where the soft, giggling girl of the day before had gone.

“My thoughts refuse to waiver,” he said. “I had to see your face, lest I lose my mind forever.”

“You should let it go then,” she said. “I did years ago. The freedom is a thrill.”

She outstretched her left arm over the fountain. The dagger pressed the underside, just above her elbow.

“Why do you bleed yourself?” he asked her. “Why the runes? Why the pain?”

“You ever ask people why they fuck?” she shot back. “Feels good. Feels normal. Anyone ever ask you why the scent of the dead riles your blood?”

Red anger filled his pale face. “How dare you…”

“You want to speak to me? Fine. Let’s see how obsessed you really are.”

The dagger slashed, quick and vicious. This was not like her previous days of carving, instead she cut one long, open wound that poured blood like a crimson rain into the fountain. Tessanna closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She clenched her muscles, and then the flow grew in power. Qurrah stared, his mouth agape. When she reopened her eyes, her entire countenance had changed. She giggled.

“I’m sorry. I’m having too much fun. Here come the guards.”

Several armored men bullied themselves past Qurrah, the necromancer unaware of their approach. They surrounded the girl, their swords drawn.

“Enough’s enough,” the lead guard said. “You won’t make a fuss, right?”

“Of course not,” he heard her say. “But you might have to grab me. I won’t fight too much.” She giggled again. Something carnal underneath the sound made Qurrah tremble. Unlike the cold shiver when he had seen her eyes, this one was one of fire.