And that love was not just unchecked indulgence. That kindness was not just benevolent condescension. That compassion was not just prayerful pity.
She looked into Aruk’s eyes. “She ruined me for what he intended—to use my power to bring other kingdoms under his heel.”
“You would have been the tyrant sorcerer,” he said in a gruff voice.
“Yes. Probably he would have lied to me, said our kingdom was under attack and he needed me to cast my spells to destroy the enemy. But what difference would my ignorance make to those I would have killed or harmed? No difference, so a tyrant I would have been.” She drew another long, shuddering breath. “When I understood what he’d done, I attacked him—though not with magic. My mother taught me never to use spells that weren’t contained by wards, so no innocents were harmed in the scaling. Instead I went after him with a dagger, but I was no warrior. And he plunged it into my heart instead.”
Rigid Aruk became. “What?”
“My mother saved me.” Tears wavered through her voice. “Her magic was bound with the rune, so she used blood magic to heal me. That was when I learned what it was, because never did she teach it to me. That scaling, she survived. A small cut only opened over her own breast. Then in her rage, she used blood magic against my father—the scaling killed her. But the spell didn’t even touch him. We didn’t know that he wore wards to protect himself. Perhaps fearing that one day I might turn on him with my magic. But I never turned on him again.”
“Not where he could see,” Aruk said.
“No.” Pain clogged her throat. “He branded me with the mark because although I would not use my magic to further his ambitions, my usefulness wasn’t over. I could be bred to produce another child with magic—and if I was bred to someone who also had magic, even more powerful the child would be. But Solegius of Aremond’s power had been rising, and that sorcerer had most of the strong magic users in these southern realms killed so no one might stand against him. And my father did not want to settle for a someone such as a mere healer.”
“That is why you told me to cover my ward and never to return.” Realization pushed through the harsh mask his expression had become. “Because I am from the Dead Lands, and any child of mine would hold strong magic.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “He would have captured you, tied you to a bed, and bred you to me—and perhaps bred you to many other women, too. Just in case my child turned out as disappointing to him as I did.”
“You are no disappointment,” Aruk said forcefully, holding her face in his hands. “So you stayed to save those who he tried to execute. When did you decide to run?”
“When he found Prince Wanieer. No powerful magic does that prince have, but my father is desperate. So I became desperate, too.” So desperate, she’d spelled the ship and spent two months drowning in her lungs. “My father’s wards meant that my magic couldn’t touch him, and I couldn’t fight him with a sword, so I went in search of someone who could help.”
And it was Aruk she’d found. A man whom she’d fallen in love with. A man who might no longer want to take this job, now that he knew she’d used blood magic over and over again.
Her heart aching, she hesitantly asked, “Will you still help me?”
“I will,” he vowed hoarsely. “I will kill him for you.”
Tremulously she smiled, and closed her eyes in sheer relief, before pressing a grateful kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Aruk. I would have done anything. But I’m so glad it will be you.”
He nodded, his jaw clenching. “But no more blood magic. Whatever needs done, we will find another way. Not one that risks your life every time.”
Jalisa could not make that promise. “Some things are worth risking my life for.”
“And you have hired me to risk mine. So no more blood magic. We will end your father without it.”
She nodded. “If we can.”
“We can,” he said fiercely, then paused and gave her a wry look. “As soon as we get off this island.”
Jalisa laughed. “Yes,” she agreed. “I think we must do that first.”
7
Aruk the Fettered
The Smoking Islands
Aruk would have given anything to stay forever on this island with his princess. Jalisa was nothing like the fantasy woman he’d conjured as a companion the first six months he’d been stranded here. Instead she was far more incredible than he’d ever imagined. Never had she complained of the roughness of their living or the work they must do. Always she helped when she could—and when she could not, some other task she would complete for him. She made him laugh and made him think and made him smile and made him ache with need for her.