Ink of My Bones, Blood of My Hands

I bowed my obedience, but inside my hopes blossomed like a rare evening flower.  He had let slip a clue: the day for which I was born.  Never had I known why he had chosen me as servant, above other boys.  And so I spent the day as instructed, bathing in scalding water and fasting on bitter tea.  What could it mean that I was born for this?

Silver and Seaweed

But where could he be going? She had to find out. He almost never left since the second accident. And what about that locket had enraged him? It could be a trap, one of his loyalty tests; he could be waiting just outside to spring on her the moment she disobeyed him, but the risk was worth it. He made threats and turned nasty on occasion, sure enough, but he needed her more than she needed him now, so no chance he would do anything irreparable to punish her.

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Ink of My Bones, Blood of My Hands

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Their bodies returned to the tar pit, the fierce source of his power; and this was the work of my hated lord and master.
From the Archives:
The Bone House
I am my father’s son, poisoned by the same rituals that have turned his flesh to rock.