Vellindra laughed. “You wear my work like a scarf and call it your own.”
“How long before the witch notices?” he asked. the elven slave and the great witchs curser patched
The gift was small but exacting: a ritual that asked for something hardly given to those in bondage—ownership. Liera clenched the cloth until the fibers bit her palm. The patch thrummed, and for the first time since the witch had marked her, Liera felt something like authorship over her own fate. Vellindra laughed