Tandor folded back the filthy fabric. A clear diamond-shaped piece of glass slid out. As it rolled into his hand, strands of icefire bent and curled, stretching to its glittering surface, and simply disappeared there. The strands tugged at him, at the very power of his being. A low keening sound grew louder and louder.
Tandor snapped the fabric back over the stone. A sink.
All the icefire the children collected would be stored in that stone from where you could mine it but where it was useless to him, unless he could remove the sinks . . . He grabbed his dagger, but knew too well that his grandfather used to neuter Imperfects with sinks. Once the stone was inside the body, removing it always killed the subject. The Knights had outsmarted him.
While he stood there, wracking his brain for
