Harihn flinched. “No!” he cried. “Do not tempt me with your evil! I would never gain power by such ends.”
“Now you see what an awesome responsibility the Magefolk carry,” Aurian said. “Such power is a constant temptation—and a constant burden. Think of the slaughter, if I backed you in a revolution. Think of the deaths on my conscience then. But to use my power to save a life—I cannot believe that to be an ill deed.”
Harihn sighed. “I think I understand—a little. Lady, leave me for a while, go tend to your husband. I have much to think upon—and much to regret.”
They had almost talked the journey out. Aurian was surprised to see the city around them once more, and the ornate contours of the Prince’s boathouse in the distance. But she could not begrudge the time she had taken to reach some form of understanding with Harihn. His fear of sorcery was the fear of all his people, and in a way they were right, she thought, remembering with a shudder the Nihilim that Miathan had unleashed, and the terrifying ferocity of Eliseth’s storm. Those two had sold their souls for power, and the thought sickened her. Would she finish up like that? Never, Aurian vowed to herself. Not wanting to think about it, she went to the stern to check on Anvar.
He was sleeping, but his eyes opened at her approach, as though in some way he sensed her proximity. Perhaps he did. When she had pulled Anvar back from death, their very souls had touched. Who else could say they had shared such closeness? Yet Aurian found herself reluctant to approach him. She was stricken with guilt that she had abandoned him to such suffering. How could she face him now? He must hate her, surely? But as she hesitated, he reached for her hand, holding on to it with surprising strength, as though she were still his only anchor on life. “I thought you wouldn’t come,” he whispered. “I almost let go. I’m sorry, Aurian. I should have known better.”
Aurian stared at him, tears in her eyes. He was sorry? “Oh, Anvar,” she murmured. “How can you ever forgive me?”
“You came,” he said. “You’re always there when it matters. Why did it take me so long to realize that?”
Aurian was completely taken aback. “I made a proper mess of things with my temper this time,” she insisted. “I should never have left you like that. You can hit me when you’re feeling better—I deserve it.”
“No.” The stubborn set of Anvar’s jaw was an echo of her own.
“Then I’ll do it myself!” She made a parody of punching herself in the jaw and falling over, and he laughed. Oh, thank the Gods that he was all right, that she had arrived in time. In an excess of relief she hugged him, and felt his arms tighten round her shoulders.
“Have you found Sara?” His words were like a drench of icy water. Aurian pulled away from him, frowning. Always bloody Sara! And how in the world was she going to tell him that Sara had betrayed him—had abandoned him for a King and not lifted one finger to find him, let alone help him. It would break him for sure. She looked away from the hope in his eyes. “Sara is fine,” she evaded. “She came out of this better than any of us.”
To her intense relief, at that moment the barge bumped up against the edge of Harihn’s jetty. “Here we are!” she said briskly. “Let’s get you inside, and get you cleaned up and fed. Bohan—that’s the enormous fellow—will take care of you. Don’t worry, you can trust him. When you’ve rested, I’ll tell you everything that’s been happening.” Quickly she beckoned to Bohan to take Anvar up to her rooms, and got out of the way before he had time to ask her any more awkward questions.
Anvar lay in bed, watching the light breeze stir the filmy gauze canopy that protected him against insects. Silken sheets felt cool and luxurious against his newly bathed skin. This time, for some reason, the Healing had not had its usual enervating effect, and he felt alert and tingling with life—and fabulously hungry. Not surprising, he mused, feeling his protruding ribs with bony fingers. His body tensed as he recalled the horrors of the slave camp, and his hands flew automatically to the unyielding iron collar, the mark of slavery that had still to be removed from his neck. “No!” he told himself firmly. He mustn’t think of that.Tt was all over now. Aurian had come for him, as he had prayed she would. She had saved him again.
Anvar was reminded of his first meeting with the Mage, when he had run away from the Academy’s kitchens. He had awakened between clean sheets in a room in the Garrison, with all his hurts Healed, to see her smiling at him. He had not trusted her then. But this time I’ll do better, he promised himself. He would repay her by taking care of her, at least until her child was born. The Gods knew, she needed him, though he would have a hard time convincing her. She was so bloody stubborn and independent! He would just have to make her understand. And Sara, too, he thought guiltily. How could he reconcile the two? Sara would never tolerate having the Mage with them.
“Tough!” Anvar, speaking aloud, startled himself with his own vehemence—and his own conclusions. But the truth had begun to dawn on him during his imprisonment in the cells below the slave market. Sara, the love of his childhood, tugged at his heart. How could she not? But she was no longer an innocent girl. She had hardened. There was a calculation now in her manner—something tainted, that he dared not trust. It had taken their time alone, when they were shipwrecked, to show it to him. Aurian’s absence then had left a void within him—as though part of himself had gone. Gods, how he had missed her! How his heart had lifted, to see her again! The thought of the Mage had given him courage—had given him hope through all the terror and torment. He had known that she would come—it was Aurian that he trusted. Not Sara. Aurian.
But you love Sara, part of Anvar’s mind protested, and he knew it was true. But did he love what she was now—or what she once had been? And did he love Aurian? She was a friend, a true companion, but a Mage? Could I love a Mage? he asked himself. Gods, I don’t know. I just don’t know. But I know who I’d rather have beside me in a tight spot!
Anvar heard the door opening, and the rattle of a tray being set down. Someone moved on the other side of the gauze that shrouded his bed. It must be the taciturn Bohan, bringing some food. But to his surprise, it was Aurian who thrust aside the curtains. Anvar smiled, delighted to see her again, even after only an hour’s absence.
“How are you feeling?” Aurian asked.
Anvar thought she looked worried. Was she still feeling guilty about his suffering in the slave camp? “I’m fine,” he hastened to reassure her. “In fact, I don’t need to be in bed at all—except that your friend Bohan put me here and made me stay!”
Aurian made a droll face. “He did that to me, too,” she told him sympathetically. “Sometimes he’s a little overzealous. Here, I’ve brought you something to eat.” She put the tray down on the bed, forestalling him as he made a grab for the food. “I know you’re ravenous, but take it slowly,” she warned him. “We don’t want you making yourself sick.”
Anvar nodded, knowing that she was right. “Where are we?” he asked her, between bites. “What is this place?”
Aurian grinned. “Ostentatious, isn’t it?” she said. “It belongs to the Khisal—the Prince. He rescued me from the Arena, and—”
“He rescued you from the what?”
Aurian paused to pour herself some wine. “I suppose I had better start from the beginning,” she said. While he ate, she told him of her dealings with the Leviathan, her discovery that he had been captured, and her terrible trek upriver in search of him.
“I’m sorry about your hair,” Anvar interrupted. “It was so beautiful . . .”
Aurian shrugged. “It just wasn’t practical in this heat,” she said, but the compliment made her smile, nonetheless. “Besides,” she went on quietly, “I missed having you around to brush it for me.”