Read Thief’s Magic for Free Online Page A

he did not, so he came to me to seek my secrets.
    And you refused to give them to him?
    Of course not! I knew of Roporien, as anyone who moved among the powerful did. Only a fool would deny him what he sought. Since he could read it all from my mind anyway there was no point in trying to hide anything. My mistake was pride. He approached me while I was drinking one night with my friends. They were all artists of one kind or other, and I could see they were impressed and afraid. I wanted to show off and prove I was not fearful, so I invited Roporien to my home. He accepted.
    But you were afraid?
Tyen guessed.
    A little. But he was also very handsome, or so I thought at the time. I learned later that he could alter his appearance to enhance what a woman found attractive about him. It was said he had always valued artists, for that reason you consider superstitious nonsense.
    Tyen went back to read the last two paragraphs again.
    Are you saying…?
    That I took him as a lover? Yes.
    He stared at the book to remind himself that it was a collection of pages and binding that he was conversing with, not a full-grown in-the-flesh woman. Did it make it easier, somehow, to accept what she had told him without thinking less of her? He wasn’t sure.
She lived in a different time and a different place – a whole other world if that is true. Perhaps this was acceptable behaviour for a respected woman in that place and time.
    It wasn’t the scandal it would be in this time and place. But it was a stupid thing to do.
    Because it led to him making you into a book?
    Not directly. But it is dangerous to put yourself in the presence of someone who has lived so long that the lives and feelings of others are of no concern.
    He was … you invited an
old man
to your bed?
    Yes, but not as you imagine. Roporien was many, many centuries old, but, like most of the unageing, he had the body of a man in his prime.
    Unageing? But he is only mentioned in history over a fifty-year period.
    He found this world in the last fifty years of his life. As I told you, there are many, many worlds. Even a man as old as Roporien could still discover new ones.
    Tyen wanted to ask more questions about Roporien, but he also did not want to stray from Vella’s story.
    So what happened that led him to make you into a book?
    I showed him the books I had made, including a new kind that I had recently succeeded in creating that allowed the person holding it to write on the page using mere thought. But in creating it I’d had another leap of insight, and saw a way to make that writing remain invisible until the reader willed it to appear. He was impressed. In the morning I rose to find him examining the book closely. He lifted me up and laid me on the table, but I realised too late that his purpose was not seduction. Instead he began to make his own book, using my body as the sole source of his materials.
    Tyen shuddered.
He killed you.
    I am not dead.
    But you’re not walking and breathing either. Surely you aren’t happy with what was done to you?
    I am not happy, but neither am I unhappy.
    You were rich and young and I imagine you were beautiful, too. He took all of that away. I’d be furious!
    I do not feel in the way that I would if I had a whole body to express it with. I
know
that what was done was cruel and unjust. I am aware of the absence of a body somewhat like an amputee is conscious of the absence of a limb. But without it I cannot rage or grieve.
    Can you feel pain?
    No. Not since the transformation began.
    Since it began
. So most of it did not hurt?
    Yes. His work was easier once he blocked the pain.
    How did he … no, I don’t want to know.
    You do, but you fear I will be offended by your revulsion or distressed by the memory. I do not mind. Remember, I cannot feel such emotions.
    Tyen looked at the book lying open in his hands, noticing for the first time the elegance of the script, and a sadness welled up inside him. She hadn’t asked to be made