“That – that doesn’t mean anything,” said Will. “Names get mixed up, there was an uprising here too –,”
“You want more proof than that?” As he stepped past her, she acted fast, seizing his wrist and holding him in place even as he tried to wrestle free. In just as swift a movement, she pulled her wand from her coat pocket, and hooking her thumb under his fingers to expose his palm, she pressed it against his skin. His fingers closed around it, squeezing angrily.
“You must know the legends. What colour is the blood of a god?”
“If you don’t let me –,”
“What colour?” she spat,
“Blue!” he exclaimed bitterly,
Will felt a sharp pain in his hand, like a razor being dragged deeply through the meat of his palm, followed by a swelling heat on the surface of his skin. He ripped his hand away and looked, his eyes wide as he saw a single tendril of blood spiralling down his arm.
“It’s a trick,” he whispered, but watched as Anala held up her hand and dragged the tip of her wand across it. The skin split, and oozing from her lifeline came a couple drops of new, red blood.
“We’re not the same, Will,” she said. “In more ways than you think. My blood might be magickal, but it is mortal. And yours, it is the blood of a god.
He watched his blood lustre like melted lapis. “H – how?” He had bled many times, when he’d fallen, when he’d been struck, when Wilmina had been too weak to draw from herself in her rituals. But never had his blood looked anything but ordinary.