expression when he’d offered to write Cara a letter. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the two concepts: Kiran as I’d seen him on this trip, and the blood mages of legend. Was he that good of an actor? I found myself bending over him and asking, “The stories people tell...are they true? Blood mages torture and kill to fuel spells?”
He winced, and huddled deeper into the blanket. “Yes.” His voice shook as badly as his hands. “But I don’t—I’ve never—”
“Never killed anyone for a spell?” I welcomed the sullen fire of anger growing within, burning away the frozen weight in my chest. “Remember Harken? Pollis? Jacol?”
He flinched with each name I shouted at him. It only fed the flames of my anger. He’d made their deaths sound accidental, a byproduct of his haste in casting; and the stories of blood mages talked of slow and lingering death, the kind to give a man screaming nightmares, not the instant collapse of those killed at the convoy. But did he think I was such a fool I couldn’t make the connection, with that sigil staring me in the face?
“Oh, you murdering bastard—I should have known that crap about ‘the forces of the earth’ was a lie! I should’ve seen you for what you are the moment you killed Harken!”
Kiran’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “It wasn’t a lie! The akheli—blood mages, you call them—in Ninavel, they do use forces within the earth to fuel spells...but the forces are too dangerous and wild, they can’t be channeled by a mage’s own energies alone, you need another source of power to harness them—”
“So you kill people. Steal their lives to use for your harness.” Disgust and contempt near choked me. “And what, the torture part’s just for fun?”
“No.” His voice was low, and hoarse. “Death gives power, but...violent death gives more. But I didn’t lie to you—I’m not like Ruslan, I only meant to save lives, not—”
“Ruslan! He’s a blood mage too, isn’t he? Fuck!” Cara and the others at the convoy, in the hands of a mage who carved people into bloody shreds for his spells—and he’d cast one already. Oh, gods! “How many did he kill to make this storm?”
Kiran put his hands over his face. “I don’t know,” he said, haltingly. “I hope...not more than one. He wouldn’t choose anyone—anyone possibly useful to him, like Cara or Jerik.”
“As if that makes it all right! You sick son of a bitch, don’t try to pretend you care. I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you talk about magic. I know how bad you want it—you can’t wait to murder someone again, can you?”
“You don’t know anything!” He dropped his hands, his eyes wild beneath the tangles of his dark hair. “I never wanted it, not this way!” The last part came out in a strangled shout.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I told you, I’d rather deny my magic forever than use it as Ruslan does!”
“That’s right, your little sob story about you and Ruslan—what vital facts did you leave out of that? Let me guess, you were happy to kill people so long as you were in control, but then he showed up and demanded you play his game instead, and that stuck in your throat—”
“No!” His voice cracked on the word. “Ruslan is...was...my master from the start. But I didn’t understand what blood magic was like, not until it was too late! After that I tried to renounce it, but Ruslan thinks he owns me, he’ll never let me go—”
“Oh, come on! You trained for how long to work blood magic, yet you claim you didn’t know?” What kind of a gullible mark did he take me for?
“I never—!” Kiran checked his shout. He dragged shaking hands through his hair, and drew in a slow, uneven breath. “Ruslan raised us, and he kept us isolated from most other people. He blocked our magic, except under carefully controlled conditions—he said unfettered spellcasting was too dangerous until we came of age. We only learned theory, and did exercises. There’s a ritual he performs, when we reach adulthood...” He faltered, and shut his eyes. His face turned the color of curdled milk. “The akhelashva ritual...takes a lot of power. It was the first time I saw true blood magic being worked.”
I frowned. He made Ruslan sound like a glorified version of a Taint thief handler. Gods knew Red Dal leashed his Tainters tight, and kept them ignorant until the