Yet some still did. The witches, who were all highly respected within the Dead Lands. For they did not bind their magic, and they knew spells, yet only in the most dire of circumstances would use them—such as a child dying of infection or sickness, or the most fatal of injuries. Because most injuries would heal. They simply took time and patience and left a scar.
Outside of the Dead Lands, spells were used more carelessly. Healers were common even for the most minor of pains. But because the scaling could not be known, healers always resided in warded chambers or huts, so the consequences of the magic could not escape and harm an innocent person. And within that hut, the healer would keep small animals such as mice or insects for the scaling to target.
Yet a ship could not fit in a warded chamber. So Aruk believed that an innocent must have been affected by the scaling.
“A witch would never cast a spell on a ship like this,” he said.
That was true. But still, a witch was the reason Jalisa had known the spell. But she thought this warrior might disapprove of how she’d cast it even more vehemently than he disapproved of the spell already.
“Do you think kindness and love would keep it afloat?” she teased him. For those were the magics that had no scaling. Pure they were, working change not by stealing from elsewhere, but by adding themselves to the world, like a low flame beneath a pot of water, slowly warming it.
Though in truth…kindness and love would keep this boat afloat. Because this spell had not been of pure magic, but everything Jalisa had been taught of magic was born from love.
As if she thought he mocked him with mention of true magic and love, Aruk cast her a dark look, shaking his head. “How do we sail?”
“With but a thought from its captain.” Which she gave now. The breeze suddenly picked up, filling the sails. The creaking ship began to slide across the water.
And though he disliked the magic behind it, the spell was done. No more fine winds would be stolen to create it.
“You should take the ship!” she called over the new sound of rushing water against the bow. “When my father is dead and your duty calls you away!”
For that is what Aruk had said—he could not marry because of duty. And his voyage had been interrupted, so after his job for her was done, he would sail away again.
Now the thought of his leaving filled her chest with a tight ache. “Will you ever return to Savadon, warrior?”
He grunted, jaw tight. “You told me that I should not.”
“It would not be so dangerous with my father dead.” She grinned at him, fluttering her lashes. “And if you please me in my bed the first night, perhaps I would take you again.”
So fierce and determined his expression became. “I would please you so well that you will abandon your plan to take many others to your bed.”
“Well, I would not take them all at once!” she teased. “Or perhaps I would. When I am queen, who is to tell me how to behave?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Will you be a selfish queen, then, demanding men to warm your bed—so that I might have to return to you for different reason?”
To kill another tyrant, as her father was. Hurt speared through her then. He spoke as if she would take lovers without regard for whether they wanted her or not. As if she would order them to her bed instead of only seeking the same pleasure that he’d given by wanting her so much.
Tightly she said, “If what I do harms no one, what issue do you have?”
“You think those you take to your bed will not fall in love with you and be destroyed when you are done with them? That is no harm?”
She laughed, though beneath it lay pain, sharpening. “Is that all it takes to fall in love? Are you not in danger, then, for asking to spend a night with me? Suddenly the fee you wanted seems not so insignificant or so cheap. I did not know one night would earn me your heart.”
Though they both knew it would not. So she did not know why he suddenly disapproved of her hope that she would find love and pleasure in someone’s arms. For he was not staying to give it.
“You are welcome to the ship,” she said tautly when he gave no immediate response. “We will add it to your fee. What duty did you say calls you away?”
“Aremond’s tournament,” he said, voice harsh.
She knew of that tournament. Dozens of warriors had passed through Savadon on their way to seek some relic in the realms north of the Illwind Sea. Whoever brought the relic back to Aremond won the tournament’s prize—a pile of gold.