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The Darkest Night
ChapterThirty-Eight
The Liar
“Blood magic.”
Valerian froze, and the words hung in the air for several heartbeats. In the darkness, Auberon couldn’t make out his expression, but he would bet every gold regent he owned that it wasterrified.
“That’s how you did it, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Valerian started toward the front of the theater, but Auberon stepped into his path and pulled the dagger at his hip. “Oh, no. I’m not letting you go until you tell meexactlywhat I want to know. It’s true, isn’t it?” he demanded, his skin crawling with revulsion. “Those words you said in the infirmary—they were some sort of…spell or…incantation, weren’t they?”
The accelerated healing. The guttural tongue. The pulsing heat. He should have put it together sooner, but he’d thought only elves could use blood magic. That was what the old folk tales claimed, at least. The truth must have been twisted over the generations, but he was certain of one thing: if King Domhnall learned that Valerian wielded blood magic, he would be banished to Kenter before the night was over.
“…Don’t tell anyone,” the duke breathed. The words came out soft, pleading—not at all how Auberon had expected. “I will answer all of your questions, but you must swear that you will not tell a soul what I’ve done. I helped you, and this is all I ask in return.”
“Make your case.”
“I healed you when I could have just as easily let you wallow in that cot for weeks,” Valerian whispered. He cast a nervous glance toward the front of the theater to make sure none of the departing nobles would overhear their conversation. “It was a gamble, I know, but what I told you the day you were released from the infirmary was true. It’s not likely that I’ll win Lady Riona’s hand, and I would rather see her married to your brother than Eamon. She deserves a better man than that snake. Please, Auberon, you must believe me.”
“I must trust a man who dabbles in forbidden magic?” he scoffed. “Who else have you used your powers on? My guards had no recollection of you visiting me in the infirmary. How did you manage that?”
“An incantation that muddles memories.”
“So why didn’t you use it on me?”
“Your body was weak from the poison, and the healers’ medicine had dulled your mind. I feared the side effects of tampering with your memory, and hoped I could rely on our mutual hatred of Eamon to keep you quiet,” he said, his voice tight with desperation. “I know what you must be thinking, but even if I wanted to, I can’t change people’s thoughts or affect the outcome of the negotiations. What I did to you only increased the rate at which your body healed itself. I’ve never used the power on anyone else—I didn’t know you’d feel that…pulsing, as you called it.”
“So I was to be yourexperiment?”
Valerian began to pace, dragging a hand through his curls as his expression grew thoughtful. “It appears to be a mark of the magic, connecting us. Blood magic relies on the user’s life force for power. It follows that if I were to die while you were healing, you’d stop receiving the benefits of the magic. I think that’s what happened in Beltharos after that Cirisian elf died. The plague vanished, and the corpses she’d raised…” He tilted his head, considering. “Do you still feel it?”
“Is that really your concern right now?” Auberon snapped. “Blood magic is incredibly dangerous.”
“So is the dagger in your hand, but it depends on the wielder whether it will be used for good or ill.” The duke closed the distance between them and said, “Now, I will answer every question you have, but I don’t like discussing this in the open. Auberon, I swear on my life, I have never and will never use my powers against anyone here. You have my word. Do I have yours that you will keep this between us?”
Auberon considered all that the duke had said, wary. There was nothing in Valerian’s tone or demeanor that hinted that he was lying. More than anything, he seemedscared.The bookish young man standing before him was a far cry from the merciless, power-hungry blood mages from the folk stories. If Valerian had wanted Auberon dead, he could have killed him a dozen times over by now.
“You do,” he responded, and the duke let out a relieved breath. “But your secret remains safe only as long as Riona and the rest of her family do, too. If I hear so much as a whisper of blood magic—”
“You won’t. I wouldn’t think of it,” Valerian replied without hesitation, sounding horrified at the mere suggestion. “Come to my house later tonight, and I will explain everything in greater detail.”
Auberon agreed, and they returned to the theater. The royal party and their contingent of guards were already waiting for them at the bottom of the grand staircase. As they crossed the foyer, Valerian glanced back, tensing almost imperceptibly—as if fearing that Auberon was going to open his mouth and reveal his secret to everyone. Auberon met his gaze and shook his head once. He had made a vow, and he would keep it until Valerian gave him reason not to.
A row of carriages emblazoned with the royal crest rolled up to the front of the theater, and they filed outside. King Domhnall and his family took one, Amaris, Riona, and her father took another, and the suitors claimed the third. Drystan lingered on the street beside Auberon while Eamon and Valerian climbed inside and took their seats.
“What were you two discussing?” he whispered.
“How best to keep Eamon from winning Lady Riona’s hand in marriage.”
Drystan raised a brow, skeptical. “Is that all? After the performance, you looked as if you’d seen a ghost.”
“I was just struck with horror at the thought of anyone having to spend a lifetime with Eamon. It’s not a fate I’d wish on my worst enemy.” Auberon nodded to the carriage. “Don’t worry about what we were discussing. Focus on wearing down King Domhnall and the council, and leave me to do what I do best.”
“And have you made any progress with the mines?”
