Keara stayed perfectly still, only her eyes seeming to move, tracking Ten's movement. He cautiously optimistic. Most slaves would try to flee the first time they saw a blade.
"This shouldn't hurt too badly," he said, taking her middle finger and pricking it deeply with the point of the dagger. She bled quickly and cleanly, and Tennison held her hand over bowl, letting the blood drip into the ash.
"Sanguis sacrificum," he chanted softly. In a move that seemed very odd, given the sanctity of the spell casting, Ten put the bowl back down and pulled a plaster out of his pocket. Silently, he wrapped it around the wound on Keara's finger, bringing it to his lips for a small kiss, before he re-placed her hand back at her side.