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“I’m pointing out that I risked my neck to heal you so you could help your brother win Lady Riona’s hand in marriage. I haven’t gained anything from helping you, save for the enjoyment of watching the court’s favor turn on Eamon last night. I would appreciate it if you would stop looking at me like you want to flay the flesh from my bones.”
“Begin, then.”
The duke nodded. “You’ve heard the folk tales about blood magic, but a lot of truth has been distorted over the centuries, a lot of our knowledge lost. I’ve been studying it for years, and even I know only the basics. I want to understand it, though. I want to understand why some people are able to wield powers the like of which only the Old Gods knew,” he said, a spark of excitement in his eyes. It was the same look that came over Walther’s face whenever he described a battle he’d studied—a scholar’s excitement. “Even if it never comes back into practice, it is an intrinsic part of our history and religion. If not for blood magic, no one would have survived the Year of One Night. There’s no telling how much knowledge we’ve lost in the millennia since.”
“So you’re playing with forbidden magic you know hardly anything about, and you had thegallto use it on me.”
“I did what I thought was best. What I told you when I visited you in the infirmary was true—when I was younger, my leg was shattered in a carriage accident on a journey to Kostos. The healer told me I would never walk again. Blood magic healed it.”
Auberon sat silently, waiting for him to continue. He couldn’t very well scoff; he’d felt the effects of blood magic, and he couldn’t deny that it was capable of remarkable things.
“I’d been studying blood magic for a while, an idle hobby. I never expected to use it, but that day, that saying kept repeating over and over in my head.Rijat du’omo, Iei sao.I was in more agony than I’d ever felt in my life.” Valerian absently rubbed his thigh, a shadow of that old pain passing across his face. “I can’t recall much of that week, but I remember saying those words and begging every god I could think of to help me. The next thing I knew, it felt like my leg was boiling from the inside out. I passed out from the pain, and when I woke up three days later, the bone had begun to mend. A week later, I was able to stand and walk normally. My guards called it a miracle.
“Ever since, I’ve dedicated every spare moment I can find to studying blood magic. Imagine the miracles that healers trained in blood magic could perform. Imagine the sicknesses they could cure, the pain they could ease, the wounds they could heal,” the duke pressed, leaning forward. “All the people who died in the war between my country and Kostos. All those you have lost in the war with Rivosa. How many could have been saved? Since the accident, I’ve been testing that healing incantation on myself. Minor cuts seal themselves almost immediately. Stab wounds take a little longer, due to the damage to muscles and other tissue, but—”
Auberon held up a hand. “Hold on. Youstabbedyourself?”
“Who else?” Valerian asked, as if the question surprised him. “There’s only one person I would gladly stab, and Eamon doesn’t seem likely to volunteer his services anytime soon.”
Despite himself, Auberon chuckled and gestured for the duke to continue.
“I told you I’d never used blood magic on anyone else until I helped you. I knew the magic would leave a mark—that warmth you felt—but I had assumed it would occur in your lungs, and that you would dismiss it as a side effect of the poison or antidote. It’s interesting that you felt it where I touched you. I hadn’t expected that, but I suppose it makes sense. When I used the incantation on myself, the power stayed within me, and it manifested where the injury was. When I used it on you, it created a link between us.”
Auberon frowned. All his life, he had heard tales about violent and ruthless blood mages. They weren’t men like Valerian—quiet, bookish. At least, they never remained that way for long once they’d gotten an idea of how powerful they could become. “How does it work?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out myself. Few sources survived from the Year of One Night, but I’ve pieced together some details over the years. First, it’s not truly blood magic—not the way people imagine it, at least. To the Old Gods, the magic was as much a part of them as their bones and muscle. It’s not infinite power, as the stories claim. Every Old God had a reserve. The Creator’s was the greatest, which is why the others grew jealous and launched the War of the Old Gods. They—”
“I’m familiar with the story,” Auberon cut in. “Spare me the mythology, if you will.”
“Think of it like running. If you sprint as fast as you possibly can, you’ll run out of stamina quickly, and you’ll need to rest to rebuild it. If you go slower, you can use it for longer, but it’s not as effective. That’s how the magic works, in a way.”
He raised a brow. “Until blood mages start murdering others to make themselves more powerful.”
Valerian winced. “Yes, well, the metaphor does start to break down there…”
“You’re saying that the magic is bound by physical limitations. A blood mage can use his own reserve to fuel the power, or he can take from others to add to it. So you healed me…how, exactly? Did you feel any differently?” Auberon asked, trying to pretend that his mind wasn’t reeling. He followed the Church of the Creator and knew the stories of the Old Gods, but he had only ever considered them in the abstract. It was still hard to accept the fact that the man sitting before him held a sliver of divine power.
“For lack of a better word, it…drained me to heal you. The magic took from me to give to you—a transfer of power, because the world must always be at equilibrium.”
“By that logic,” he mused, “if you were to heal a mortal wound…”
“I would die,” Valerian confirmed, his expression grave. “Unless I drew the power from someone else. I think that’s how the Cirisian First managed to grow so powerful. We’ve all heard the stories of Beltharan and Feyndaran soldiers being slaughtered in the Islands. The First must have taken from them, which allowed her to manipulate the plague and raise corpses,” he said, his nose wrinkling with disgust. “People like her are the reason why folk tales warn of blood mages. They never gave of themselves because they knew it would leave them vulnerable. I have no doubt that there were many blood mages who studied it and used it as I do, but history doesn’t record those people. History only remembers the worst among us.”
Auberon’s frown deepened. As strange as it all sounded, it made sense. It wasn’t surprising that blood mages would be tempted to kill others to overcome the limitations of their power. That Cirisian First had razed a third of Beltharos to the ground during the war. She and her soldiers shouldn’t have lasted one battle; they had been outnumbered, outmatched, and under supplied. So, rather than lead her people into a slaughter, she had raised corpses to fight alongside them. With the aid of her power, they had managed to march all the way to the capital and breach not only thecity’sdefenses, but thecastle’s.
Valerian truly seemed to want to understand blood magic, to find ways to help his people. Had Auberon been in his position—a powerless heir to an enslaved country—he might have been tempted to do the same.
“Do you understand now?” Valerian asked softly. “I wish no ill will on anyone here in Innislee. I only hope to help my people and secure them a better future. That is all I have ever wanted.”
“I do, but…if you truly want to free yourself and your country from Kostori rule, why not use blood magic to do it? With enough power, you could fell entire armies without ever meeting them on a battlefield.”
“I won’t lie and say I’ve never been tempted to try it. I imagine it every time I see the fields the Kostori have burned. Every time I meet a mother whose son was ripped from her arms to serve in King Jericho’s army. Every time I try to picture my sister’s face and realize I can no longer remember what she looked like,” Valerian said, pure grief in his voice. “I imagine doing the most unspeakable things to the Kostori, and that is precisely why I am here, asking the Rivosi king for troops. I will not allow blood magic to turn me into a monster.”
“Even if more of your people suffer because of it?”
“Creator forgive me, even then. I would give my life for them, but I will not give my soul.” Valerian stood and gazed down at him. “You’ll keep your vow of secrecy?”
Auberon stood, as well. If only hewerean oath breaker. He understood Valerian’s reasoning for studying blood magic, but he also knew how the Rivosans would react if they found out that the duke was dabbling in forbidden magic. If Valerian managed to make it out of the city with his life, he would be forced to flee to Kenter. One more obstacle to Drystan’s betrothal would be cleared.
