It was far easier to remember the pain than the pride. The burn of the needles puncturing his flesh over and over was always easy to call up, as were the wails he set free in his mind if not out loud. Even though he had gotten used to all of that long ago, Brenley still felt a flutter in his stomach when his mother announced it was time for another rune, that something he had done held enough significance to be permanently recorded on his skin.

Tonight he lifted the box from its shelf as slowly as he could, wary of the reason he was doing so. She wouldn't tell him why, and that meant he could only speculate. What he imagined was likely far worse than what was to come, but it all seemed probable, from his mother asking him to kill a man to her putting him up for adoption. His parents didn't want him anymore. They were getting a newer, better model who studied harder and set enchantments faster.

By the time he returned to his mother's side with the needles and ink, his eyes were faintly damp and his heart had inched up into his throat.

"Brenley?" She tousled his hair and the boil swallowed, leaning into her side. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." He set the supplies gingerly on the table. "I brought them." His reply was little more than a whisper. "What is the rune for today?"

"Independence is the first..."

Bren sniffled.

His mother shifted and crouched to face him, her dress billowing out around them in a cloud of sunny fabric. "Why are you upset, darling?"

He told himself he wouldn't have cried had she not tried to comfort him. He was nine years old, almost grown up, and if she truly wanted him to, he could take care of himself. But the concern in her eyes made his stomach knot. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel bad just because he did. A pair of fat tears trailed down his cheeks, plopping onto his silk collar. "I don't want to go."

"Go where?"

His brows furrowed faintly. Didn't she already know where he was going? "I don't know. I thought you were sending me away."

Her smile both reassured and annoyed him. It meant that she didn't hate him, that he probably wasn't going anywhere, that he had simply misunderstood. But it was that misunderstanding that fueled his annoyance. Now he just looked like an idiot. He hated feeling stupid.

"I'm not sending you anywhere. I'm teaching you how to use the needles yourself. Someday you won't want me helping with your runes, so it's best if you learn to do it. It's customary to learn at ten, but I'm certain you can do it now."

Bren rubbed his sleeve across his eyes and stood taller. He couldn't imagine a time when he wouldn't want her to help, but it would still be good to learn the things that real Patrona knew, even if he had never met one besides his mother. And he was smart. She had said so, in not so many words. "Okay." He cast a sidelong glance at the box. "What do I do?"

"First you'll need your own box. It doesn't have to be the one you keep as we can do this a second time, but—"

The boil bounced on his toes, unable to keep himself from interrupting. "I have one!" He had traded an old toy with a traveling salesman for it, though he hadn't known why at the time. It seemed this had been the reason. The box was plain black with a blue lip where it opened, but on the inside, swirls of blue and white brought the ocean to mind, even though he had never seen it.

His mother rose again, pecking him on the crown of his head, and gave his shoulders a squeeze. "Go and get it then and we'll get started."