Epilogue
The hounds bounded back into his quarters, all seven of them, and he was glad for the mutable properties of the Coven's interior " and not for the first time " though he doubted that whosoever had laid those initial enchantments upon the grounds and buildings had designed, or thought, that they would be used quite as Atticus was manipulating them now.
Not when the back portion of his own quarters had grown in size to a little over an acre, to give the creatures room to race about in a fashion that they wouldn't bother his work, though in general they were well behaved and not interfering with his work.
He stood, staring, towards the five doors on the far side of his chambers. At one, in particular. The only one that he hadn't opened yet.
As he looked on, Stranger pushed his head up underneath Atticus hand. The geas that lay upon the beasts let them assume normal size within the Coven, lest their mere presence alone destroy things. After much nuzzling on the Hounds part, Atticus looked down.
Come, play" the Hounds thoughts, basic as they were, filtered into Atticus through the auspices of telepathy Bluefire had allowed him to instil in the beasts.
"Not now, I'm thinking?" Atticus only response, as he stared at that doorway. The moment lingered, and he glanced then to the crown that lay on a shelf of its own, closer to his personal living area than work area. His entire quarters, to one degree or another, was dedicated to the study of his Craft " either through practical or hypothetical means, books, treatises, minor artefacts and other items that bordered just above the mundane. The crown, finely wrought by magic, and of precious metals, sat by itself.
Play. Your leash sits on the shelf. the thought came at him from Pagan, who now entered the room as well, nuzzling up beneath his other hand. Come.
"What leash?" Atticus asked almost off hand, not really paying mind.
The one you long for, with that Pagan padded over towards the shelf, and circled twice beneath it, looking up at the crown.
By this time, Atticus had followed her and taken it off the shelf, frowning at both the beasts and turning his back to them, crown in hand as he continued to look at it. "It's not a leash' it's a crown?"
Images flooded through his mind.
Stone walls...
Iron bars"
A golden cage to house an exotic bird that could mimic human speech"
Too many words, Man. Stranger and Pagan both trotted back out through the door which opened into the yard. Atticus glanced after them, a mere cursory gesture, and returned his attention to the crown.
He couldn't help but think the mutts were nothing but trouble; either that, or they were part of his salvation and could teach him more of his humanity than he had the natural instinct for " or perhaps it was to simply hone that natural instinct which had been suppressed"
His mind wandered, still he fingered the crown. And Bluefire began to glow.
As he looked down at the crown, turning it in his hands, he murmured quietly. Not words of magic, simply a name. Each turn of quiet left his lips a horizontal line, and each murmured verse of the name left them turning subtly upwards at the corners, into a smile.
The crown was turned over and over again, Bluefire's cerulean radiance flowing down through his arm to cover the item as he turned it. Each turn, the crown grew a little smaller, not losing mass or weight, but being made more dense, more compact; all the while the crown would retain all the other aspects it held before.
His eyes went to the doors again as he worked, hardly aware of what he was crafting. There was the paddock for the Hounds, and the doorway to Horizon on one side of the unopened door. On the other side a doorway keyed to the Kiergaardian gate system, and one last doorway which opened inside the city proper. That middle door of the five remained unopened, and transfixing his attention.
"It's not a leash?" he murmured quietly, the crown " the circlet of precious metals " now encircled the ring finger of his right hand, and Bluefire's glow had faded away. He wished for a moment, upon looking down to see what had been wrought, that changing the size of something like he'd just done was not quite as mundane an event for himself. Then perhaps he'd have more conscious control over it. Instead, it was autonomous. Something akin to drawing a breath.
Though many mages were, he was not usually given to using clich' affectations such as magical rings.
But the crown never sat upon the shelf again.
