“Have you?”
At the note of scepticism in his tone, she looked up and glared at him. “Yes! I accepted a marriage proposal just before you took me away!”
His gaze did not waver. “Yet you do not love him.”
She stared at him, suddenly hollow inside. It was pointless to deny it. He could see the truth in her mind. “Plenty of women do not marry for love.”
“But they would, if they had the choice. You have the choice. But you are still thinking like the girl you were in Fyre,” he told her. “The girl you were supposed to be in Fyre.”
“It was… the best choice,” she protested.
“It was the least challenging for you. That isn’t very fair on your fiancé.”
“It’s hardly fair on anyone to have you as a rival.”
He shook his head. “No. I am not his rival. You do not love me, either. You never have.”
A shiver ran over her skin. I did once, but not in a romantic or even carnal way. It was a spiritual love, based on a lie. And now I know he is not an Angel, and what he really is, I feel… She was not sure what she felt. Disappointment. Anger. Guilt. And a strange, uneasy hope. I am not considering his offer, she told herself. He is the Raen. Cruel and controlling.
“You judge me on the worst of what you have heard of me.”
“I read the mind of a witness, who saw you murder a man,” she told him.
He nodded. “At the Worweau Market. Yes. He was planning, with the help of other sorcerers, to kill me.”
“Oh.”
“I do what I must to keep the worlds from falling into chaos, and that includes dealing with those who would disrupt them. That cannot be done without some violence.” His voice darkened. “I killed some of the corrupt priests at the Mountain Temple who bred with the tainted women imprisoned there. You have also killed a priest.”
She winced. “I didn’t mean to,” she protested.
“No. You did not,” he acknowledged. “That it torments you despite this, and despite his nature, is to your credit.” He paused. “I choose carefully those I invite to my world, Rielle. At least explore this other choice before you dismiss it for a short life with a man you do not love. I can provide a teacher better than any of the Travellers can. They mean well, but a sorcerer of great strength learns best from another sorcerer with great strength. Once you know your true potential, you can choose whether to stay, leave, rejoin the Travellers or return to your world.”
“They would not take me back.”
“They might. They do not like me, but they also do not hate me. You know this.”
She looked away. He was right. The Travellers feared the risk of losing their freedom to travel and trade. She remembered what Yaikha had said: “As my father and his father before him said: the Raen may not hesitate to kill, and we may not agree with his reasons, but he does not do it for enjoyment.”
And not all people in the worlds hated him. He was loved in some. But he inspired fear even in those who loved him, as anyone with immense magical strength would. As Angels did.
He was not the Angel. But that did not mean what she had seen in him–what had made her certain he wasn’t the man the worlds feared–was false. She had seen kindness. Warmth.
He wanted to teach her magic.
She frowned. This man told me I was forgiven for using magic, and that I could do so for self-defence. But he had no right to. I should obey the Angels…
His eyebrows rose. “Either there are no Angels and your soul is safe, or they exist and your soul is already forfeit.”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. He was right. To think otherwise was to ignore the teachings of the priests. The punishment did not come in levels of severity according to the amount of magic used. Like physical death, your soul couldn’t be partly destroyed. So I may as well learn magic.
Yet that was what he wanted her to think.
“Of course,” he added, “once you learn how to prevent ageing, and if you don’t invite a violent death, you may never have to face the Angels.”
She found herself staring at him again. “You would teach me that?” she asked, her voice weak. Agelessness! Living forever! All the time in the worlds to paint and weave–or work at improving the lives of people like the serfs in Zun.
His gaze was unwavering as he nodded his head. She searched for some sign of deception–more deception–and found none. Not that I would see it. After a thousand cycles a person would be very good at hiding their true intentions.