“Royal witches are protected. The Arts of Air—illusion, concealment—what use does a lady have for those?”
“Have you never tried to negotiate a ballroom without getting your”—she broke off; ladies did not mention bottoms in polite conversation—“without getting pinched?”
The flickering firelight revealed his smile. “Ah, no. But the Arts require more . . .” He made a gesture that she couldn’t quite decipher. “It’s an inner thing. And it isn’t for such uses.”
“What? Women are not intelligent enough?”
“No. It’s not that. But the Arts illusions and wards and far-seeing are used together with battle magic. And that’s something different.”
“Different how? Because women should wait quietly at home and let men protect them?”
He shook his head. “Maybe they think women shouldn’t be put at risk of being hurt.”
“Hurt?” She was beginning to feel like Eloisa’s pet parrot, repeating everything he said.
“To learn battle magic—to access the power—you have to be angry. Enraged almost. In the army, the first few times, the instructor punches you. In the face. I’m guessing most women wouldn’t want that.”
“Anger can be raised in other ways.”
“This is quicker. Blood is quicker.”
She stayed silent, considering his words. “But once you know how to latch onto the power, do you still need to be angry?”
Cameron poked the fire with his foot, wondering how to answer. He wasn’t sure he should be discussing this at all. But it was better than her bursting into tears. So far she’d been very calm. Her stunt with the gun had been foolish, but it had been brave. Seemingly calm was not the same as actually calm, though, and it was hard to know if hysterics lurked below the facade. He’d seen good men fall apart under attack, and Lady Sophia wasn’t a trained soldier. If magic distracted her, then magic they would discuss. “There’s usually plenty of emotion in the thick of battle. You can use that. But there’s another reason.”
“And that is?”
“You use battle magic to hurt someone and it hurts you. A sword is safer. You use the magic for distraction—a cramp, a twitch. Otherwise it can hurt too much. Pain makes you vulnerable.”
“What about killing? You can kill someone with battle magic, yes?”
He couldn’t help the shudder that ran down his spine. Memories he tried to suppress whispered in the back of his mind. “It’s not recommended. Not directly.”
“Why not?”
Goddess. How many questions could she ask? “Because you feel them die. Trust me. You don’t want to know what that feels like.”
“Have you ever . . . ?”
“Once. When someone was trying to kill me.”
“You obviously survived the experience.”
Survived. There was a word. He was still alive, true. But he still dreamed about it. About that moment when he’d felt everything stop. Felt the pull of terror and oblivion. Still woke from those dreams covered in sweat, if he managed not to scream. Looking into Sophia’s eyes, turned some nameless color by the firelight, he knew exactly why no one wanted women to learn battle magic. The thought of her feeling anything close to what he’d experienced was incomprehensible.
“Yes, I did. But believe me, it’s not something you want to know about.” He poked at the fire again. “Perhaps you should try to sleep. It’s been a long day.” And tomorrow would likely be longer. He’d told her that there might be good news, that they might get to return to Kingswell tomorrow, but he didn’t think it was likely.
Which left him potentially shepherding a brand-new royal witch through the countryside, trying to keep her alive.
He was starting to think that the goddess didn’t like him very much.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sophie woke with a start when a sugarjay screeched somewhere above her. It took a few seconds to remember where she was. Which was somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Caloteen. On the run. With Lieutenant Mackenzie. She was tempted to pinch herself to make sure she hadn’t dreamed the whole thing, but the blue sky above her and the ache in her bones as she rolled over seemed evidence enough. It was real. Someone had attacked the palace. Attacked the royal family.
Illvyans? Or was one of the lords trying to take advantage of King Stefan’s illness and make a play for power? There hadn’t been a lords’ rebellion in three generations. Not since Stefan’s grandfather had seized power after the last Illvyan incursion had left half the former court dead.
She shivered, partly from the unwelcome thoughts and partly from the chill morning air. Her cloak was Kingswell weight. The border of the Hellebride Peninsula, where the capital lay, was the warmest part of Anglion. It grew colder as you headed north, and now they were halfway up the country, if Lieutenant Mackenzie was telling her the truth.
She rolled toward the fire and realized then that the lieutenant wasn’t lying on the other side as he had been when she’d finally fallen asleep. She’d watched him through the low flames of the fire for an age before she’d finally slept. Too much had happened in a day for her to feel safe enough to sleep, no matter how her body, drained from the frantic portal journey, had wanted to. But she had succumbed eventually. And evidently slept too deeply to hear the lieutenant when he’d left.