She touched the sphere gingerly with her fingertip. It was wet. Taking a deep
breath, she put her hand through the surface.
It froze her fast; she could not proceed, she could not escape, she could not
move. Even her voice was captured.
After a moment Lythande surfaced. Her hair sparkled with drops of water, but her
clothes were dry. She stood frowning at Wess, lines of thought bracketing the
star on her forehead. Then her brow cleared and she grasped Wess’s wrist.
‘Don’t fight it, little sister,’ she said. ‘Don’t fight me.’
The blue star glittered in the darkness, its points sparking with new light.
Against great resistance, Lythande drew Wess’s hand from the sphere. The cuff of
Wess’s shirt was cold and sodden. In only a few seconds the water had wrinkled
her fingers. The sphere freed her suddenly and she nearly fell, but Lythande
caught and supported her.
‘What happened?’
Still holding her up, Lythande reached into the water and drew it aside like a
curtain. She urged Wess towards the division. Unwillingly, Wess took a shaky
step forward, and Lythande helped her inside. The surface closed behind them.
Lythande eased Wess down on the platform that flowed out smoothly from the
inside curve. Wess expected it to be wet, but it was resilient and smooth and
slightly warm.
‘What happened?’ she asked again.
‘The sphere is a protection against other sorcerers.’
‘I’m not a sorcerer.’
‘I believe you believe that. If I thought you were deceiving me, I would kill
you. But if you are not a sorcerer, it is only because you are not trained.’