The Weaver's Source

Chapter 67

I remained by the thick door, watching curiously as Grigore wandered about the room. It was a small bathroom, attached to one of the numerous guest rooms and held no more than a stone tub, piles of towels and spices and numerous wooden buckets. Just like every other room in this dreary place, it was dark. Daylight just about managed to slip in through the thin window but the majority of the light came from the candles now lit about the room. I wasn't sure I wanted more light though. In every corner was a grotesque gargoyle, something that I saw in every room. Three remained on the wall apart from one. It's clawed animal legs remained but the body was scattered across the floor in broken lumps of stone with congealed blood spattered beneath it. There was a lot of it and certain there were bits of flesh as well.

Grigore hadn't been surprised that the blood had been left and had in fact thanked Filip. I had wondered why but I guessed the blood would be of some use to him. Rothberg was used to Weavers after all and actually tried to be helpful to them.

I watched Grigore intently as he hunkered by the shattered bloody gargoyle, holding up his hand with some kind of ward flickering between his fingers. I hadn't seen him hunt like this but he did only have a broken stone and a lot of blood to try and guess what was roaming about the thin dark halls.

I was content in watching my Weaver work, curious about the wards he would conjure and how the varying colours would flicker across his scarred face, listening to his song grow and dim, my tongue enjoying his taste. My curious gaze faltered though when Filip came and stood beside me.

I didn't know why but I felt myself shy away from him. I folded my arms protectively around myself and lowered my gaze to the floor, cringing a little when I felt his eyes hovered over my face and slipped over me. I felt Grigore's attention stir, flicking to me, giving me a sense of security I clung to.

"Why do you follow around a Weaver?" Filip asked curiously. He sounded honest and kind. I didn't understand why I was reacting like this, why I felt something from him I didn't like. My magic wasn't even reacting to him. "Weavers often do dangerous jobs and will, quite honestly, get killed doing it. So why follow one? He's just going to die."

That annoyed me and scared me at the same time as the dream of this morning loomed. I had been close to losing Grigore once before and convinced the black dog was going to end him. Both times I had felt Grigore was going to be taken from me and both times he hadn't. Both times I made sure of it. But I still dreamt of him dying, of failing to keep him strong and alive. It made me cold inside and shake with dread. I didn't know what I would do if I had lost him and I knew I one day would. Lillith had been strong. She fought alongside her Weaver with her great sword and her thick armour. But she still lost Jon. She still failed. She couldn't keep him safe forever. I too would eventually fail Grigore. He would be killed by something I couldn't protect him against.

"He won't die." I said stiffly, trying to cover up the fear I had. "I won't let him."

Filip gave me a curious glance and shrugged his shoulders. "All Weavers die. All of them will eventually find a monster that's too strong for them. Even Weavers with pretty Sources do." He added slyly with a knowing smirk.

I gripped myself harder, a little unnerved that I hadn't managed to keep my magic to myself. I didn't like him knowing, it felt like he was intruding, but my eyes stuck out like a sore thumb. I couldn't stop people recognising the shift in colour.

Abruptly Grigore stopped what he was doing, irritation curling about him as he rose stiffly. He strode towards me, eyes dark and his brow furrowed thickly. He arrested my wrist and tugged me into his chest, curling an arm about my shoulders securely, letting his magic swamp me, soothing me with his song.