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the layers of clothes and cloak. Only toned
muscle greeted him. “Is that what you do to
summon the change: first think of what you
want to become?”
“With limits. I need a clear image within
my mind, or else it will not work at all.”
“So you cannot change into something you
have not seen.”
“I can invent certain traits—eye color,
build, hair—but not the creature itself.” A
hideous smile bloomed on her mouth. “Use
that lovely magic of yours. Change your
pretty eyes,” the spider dared. “Change their
color.”
Gods damn him, but he tried. He thought of
brown eyes. Pictured Chaol’s bronze eyes,
fierce after one of their sparring sessions. Not
how they had been before his friend had sailed
to the southern continent.
Had Chaol managed to be healed? Had he