The Blood Wars Trilogy Omnibus: Volumes 1 - 3

by T. A. Miles

  Ashwin sighed and gently cast Nera off. “And then Korsten. Needing so much, and wanting nothing. He, like Sharlotte, loves someone who has strayed from him. His concept of love will never be clear. He will look to it as a source of pain, if he can ever look away from that which currently hurts him. He is not as strong as you, Adrea, but he is far from weak. I don’t know sometimes if I am pushing him too hard, or not enough. He trains diligently, but his heart is elsewhere. He refuses to open up even a little to anyone other than Merran, and I think that is only because Merran was there, in Haddowyn, when … his life was stolen from him. That’s how he sees it and he believes that Merran is his link back to that life. That isn’t healthy, but when Merran is away he buries himself even deeper. Perhaps….”

  A glimpse of red appeared in the corner of his vision, different from the rest in that it was moving, fluttering. There had been no cocoons ready that evening to let out a newly born soul-keeper to fulfill its destiny. For an instant Ashwin wondered if he would witness yet another one’s return and, seeing that it was Analee, he suffered an instant of panic. It flared in his chest and forced quick warmth to his eyes that evaporated the moment he looked over his shoulder and saw that Korsten accompanied the butterfly.

  Relieved, Ashwin started to smile. However, his relief was as short-lived as his initial panic. Korsten was staggering, about to fall flat on his face, his sleeves soaked with blood. Ashwin went to him, just in time for him to collapse against him. Korsten murmured one word before losing consciousness, a familiar name that disturbed Ashwin as much as the blood.

  Before Sharlotte’s thoughtless and selfish attack on Korsten, that could well have led to his death, Ashwin couldn’t recall the last time he’d been genuinely angry. And now he was angry again, truly. This time with Korsten. He believed his depressed student had progressed beyond suicide attempts. Renmyr Camirey may not have been the best motive to wanting to live, but it was a motive all the same. Or so, Ashwin thought. What changed that? Did he finally come to understand that his lover could not be saved as he would save him? And who would have been so callous as to bring him to that understanding just now, while he was still healing and not prepared to have anything explained to him in blunt terms?

  Ashwin felt inclined to suspect the black-robed man perched on the edge of Korsten’s bed, who also happened to be Korsten’s best chance at survival with Merran still absent. But why would Eisleth tell him something like that? Unless Korsten asked. Eisleth wasn’t interested in toying with people or interfering with another Mage-Superior’s method at raising a student, but he wouldn’t lie if he’d been asked to give an answer about something directly. Still, Ashwin had trouble picturing Korsten going to Eisleth for anything at all, least of all advice or support in matters of the heart.

  “It wasn’t suicide,” the darker image of Ashwin finally announced.

  And Ashwin said, “A difficult accident, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “It would be,” Eisleth replied. Then he lifted one of Korsten’s arms, displaying the formerly damaged area of soft flesh. The skin still appeared somewhat damaged, even after more than an hour of a Mage-Superior’s efforts to heal it. “You see how difficult the wound is? Each time I close it, the skin reopens. The wound is smaller and less blood escapes each time, but that should not be happening at all. We both know what kind of poison rejects the healing spells of mages.”

  “The Vadryn’s touch,” Ashwin confirmed. And then he added, “He left the Seminary.”

  “There are no Vadryn here,” Eisleth pointed out needlessly. “Certainly none of the level that could do this kind of damage, even if a spy had found its way through the Barriers, again.”

  Ashwin frowned automatically, fighting tears of regret in the same instant. What Eisleth referred to was the one topic Ashwin had difficulty facing. It had been a mistake. Not Ashwin’s first, doubtfully his last, but certainly his most dire.

  “At any rate,” Eisleth continued. “It wasn’t suicide. I suspect that he Reached to someplace outside of the Seminary, encountered a demon, then returned.”

  “To die in the garden?” Ashwin murmured a little unreasonably. He was currently too upset to be as generous as he usually was with even his most defiant students, of which Korsten was assuredly one.

  “Perhaps he knew or hoped that someone would be there to help him, as surely he was in no condition to help himself,” Eisleth suggested. “You are his mentor. Perhaps he Reached directly to you.”

  “You know how rare that ability is,” Ashwin replied, staggered by the idea of it manifesting in Korsten. “To be able to Reach to individuals rather than simply places. And if so, why wouldn’t he have gone straight to Merran, his physician and friend?”

  “Why don’t you ask him when he wakes?” Eisleth said coolly. He performed a Healing spell once more over both Korsten’s arms, waited a few minutes to be sure the spell had succeeded over the demonic infection, then took his leave.

  Ashwin took the other Mage-Superior’s place at the edge of the bed, letting go of his anger as soon as he looked upon Korsten’s expressionless face. It was virtually impossible to stay mad at him. “When I said that Renmyr Camirey would be yours to deal with, I didn’t mean you alone. And now what has he done to you?” He lightly touched Korsten’s left arm, carefully tracing the fading scar. It would never fade completely. The marks made by the Vadryn never did. That thought drew Ashwin’s attention to the sealed wound at Korsten’s neck.

  How could you? Ashwin asked silently of a demon he’d yet to meet. Or perhaps he was speaking to the man. How could you do this to him, to someone who loved you so much? Ashwin’s gaze drifted back to Korsten’s face, serene and without expression. He looked younger this way, almost innocent. Perhaps, in his way, he was innocent. In comparison to Adrea … who had always been far too aware of the world and people around her to be naïve. She was suspicious of everyone, especially her mentor. Winning her trust had been no easy task. Winning her heart was perhaps a harder fought battle. And here I am back at the beginning. Try not to worry, dearest Adrea. I know better than to confuse the two of you. I know it is only a part of you that resides in him, more like what a mother would pass to her child … but what a charming coincidence that’s come of what could have been a bitter irony. Your chosen is a man, but one who is also a lover of men. It is not entirely hopeless, my love for him.

  Ashwin lightly traced the shape of Korsten’s cheek. And then he bent down to plant a weightless kiss on the other man’s forehead. I do love him, Adrea. Very much. Thank you for sending him.

  On that note, Ashwin decided to leave and would have done so, but Korsten lifted his hand just a little in his sleep and caught hold of his mentor’s hair. Smiling gently, Ashwin disentangled the blond locks from his student’s loose grip. Korsten’s beautifully long fingers curled around Ashwin’s hand in the process, holding unconsciously.

  “All right,” Ashwin gave in, sitting back down. “If you insist. But I do plan to lecture you thoroughly, come morning.”

  Sunlight coaxed Korsten awake. He was alive, physically. He must have succeeded in casting the Reach spell from Haddowyn. He couldn’t remember much after that.

  Blinking away lingering sleepiness, he spotted Analee first, in her typical place on the bed curtains. Turning his head away from the butterfly, Korsten set his gaze upon a portrait of supreme loveliness, lying fully clothed upon the bedding beside him, touching him nowhere except where their hands were linked. When Korsten realized that he was the one holding, he let go. Green eyes fluttered open as the man beside him woke.

  “You didn’t have to stay,” Korsten told his mentor.

  “You didn’t have to come back,” Ashwin replied, issuing his kindly smile. “But I’m very glad that you did.”

  Remorse slipped into Korsten’s drained heart and began to fill the empty places, along with something else, newly born, that he couldn’t label. He didn’t try. �
��I didn’t intend to leave. It was … stupidity on my part, and selfishness. I realize this must be difficult to believe right now, but I want to learn. I want you to teach me. I don’t want this … what happened to me, to happen to anyone else. Not to anyone, ever.”

  “So, you did come to me, then,” Ashwin replied, sitting up. He added with a patient smile, “Because I am your mentor. Very well, I’ll keep you, but you must promise me one thing, Korsten.”

  “What?”

  “Never Reach again without knowing full well where you’re going, and why.”

  Korsten promised. He watched Ashwin to the door, but before the elder could leave, he added, “I don’t ever want to go back to Haddowyn again … though I know one day I’ll have to.”

  Ashwin looked back at him, and said, “Yes, you will.” He smiled a bit when he added, “Perhaps not by yourself the next time.”

  His mentor left him. Alone, Korsten turned onto his side and stared out at the morning sky until his view of it blurred. And then he cried for Renmyr Camirey for what he wished would be the last time.

  There was something different about him. Merran didn’t know what, but ever since he’d come back from his latest assignment, Korsten had been quieter somehow, less emotional perhaps. At first Merran was inclined to believe that they were still not on speaking terms after the series of events that became their ‘morning after’. Of course, everything had seemed fine at first. They’d discussed it, reasoned the situation through, and dealt with it. Sharlotte’s leaving and subsequently taking Lerissa with her was the excuse Korsten needed to escape circumstances he hadn’t actually come to terms with, in spite of his words. That was how Merran viewed it and he was thoroughly grateful for a legitimate excuse to be away from the Seminary for a little while afterward. He came back to Korsten still shutting himself into his room and haunting the place with his melancholy attitude, but it was different somehow.

  The confused found the source of his confusion in a training room, performing multiple contortionist feats that made his muscles ache to watch. Balance wasn’t even a dormant talent in Merran, so it always amazed him to see someone with such a strong talent for it at work. Or was it play?

  You’re not the same person I met in Haddowyn, regarding me as if I were a lunatic, hovering constantly on the verge of an emotional breakdown, wincing at the sight of blood. Well, you’d probably still wince at the sight of blood, and I have no doubt that there’s still an arrogant bastard residing in that fair skin, but you’re much stronger than you were. I can tell.

  Across the marble floor, Korsten lifted himself into a perfectly steady handstand, Analee fluttering constantly near. It was as if the bond mates were performing a dance of some sort. Korsten lowered himself slowly and rolled into an upright position. The red butterfly kissed his exposed shoulder and drifted away while her mage was approached by his audience.

  “Good evening, Merran,” Korsten said from his loosely folded position on the floor. Either his intake of the blood lilies was beginning to effect his physical appearance as it had Ashwin and others, or his Allurance had gotten even stronger in Merran’s absence. The redhead was quite breathtaking at the moment, eyes darker and skin slightly flushed after his exercises.

  “It’s been a while,” Merran commented, keeping his thoughts a secret. “Have you managed to stay out of trouble?”

  “I wish I had,” Korsten replied, somewhat glumly. “I’ve been an unfair burden on Ashwin … and you, with my selfishness.”

  Merran crouched down in front of him. He didn’t touch him, but this close, he could still feel the hurt inside of the younger mage. He said, “That all depends on what you mean by unfair.”

  Korsten smiled a bit gloomily, but said nothing. In a moment, Merran did touch him, a light connection of their hands. And then he felt the entirety of what Korsten was hiding. It concerned him.

  “What happened?”

  Korsten avoided Merran’s gaze by lowering his own. “Please, don’t let me take advantage of your generosity again.”

  Merran dampened the power he was invoking and kept his hand over Korsten’s. “I’m only trying to help you.” He let the other man absorb those words, then added, “What happened before never has to happen again, Korsten, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “I feel especially sensitive right now,” the redhead answered quietly. “Everything makes me uncomfortable.”

  “What happened?” Merran asked again.

  Korsten kept his gaze averted, waiting several moments before he said, “I went back to Haddowyn. I Reached there and … Renmyr sensed my arrival.”

  “You saw him again,” Merran guessed, wondering how Korsten had survived the encounter with a Master demon, who should have tried everything in its considerable power to either keep him or kill him.

  “I learned some things,” Korsten replied. “About both of us. Things I didn’t want to know.”

  He emanated a vast amount of sorrow and pain just then. It may not have been within his rights to do so, but Merran invoked a greater amount of magic, and stole the grief away. It wasn’t a permanent healing, but he didn’t want to see Korsten break down. He never wanted to see that again, especially not over a demon and a man otherwise, who had orchestrated an unthinkable betrayal against someone who loved him as deeply as Korsten evidently did. He still did, after everything. It wasn’t right.

  Merran leaned toward him and wrapped his arms around him, and simply held him. Korsten accepted that, and held him in return. Relief coursed through one mage and consequentially through the other as well, confirming what Merran had long known. Korsten didn’t need a lover. He needed a friend.

  “Horses and I don’t get along all that well,” Korsten said to Merran as they arrived at the stables.

  “Well, you’ll be needing one all the same,” the black-clad mage insisted, proving to be as obstinate as he ever was.

  Korsten had known the man for going on a year now. He was as unchanging as the tide, always coming and going, and slowly eating away at whatever he washed over.

  “According to Lerissa,” Korsten said. “One doesn’t become an operative until they’ve earned the rank of Adept. And that doesn’t happen for a good many years, long enough for any fine animal to die of very old age.”

  “I’ve been riding Erschal for more than three hundred years,” Merran replied, halting Korsten in his tracks. “He hasn’t gotten old on me yet.”

  “Am I to take it, then, that the oats are drizzled with a bit of special honey?”

  “The stable master says he’s got a young colt who will be perfect for you,” Merran informed when Korsten joined him again.

  “That would have been perfect for me when I was four, you mean.”

  Merran gave him the merest trace of a smile. “He’ll be a healthy young steed by the time you need him.”

  Korsten didn’t argue the matter any further. There was little point to it when Merran was the opponent. He followed the man indoors and greeted the ageless elder waiting for them. Tarin appeared a strapping, if not somewhat homely lad of no more than eighteen, but Korsten had been informed that the stable master—also a Mage-Adept with a particularly strong talent for Empathy, linked to brown on the Spectrum—was some four hundred and thirty years Korsten’s senior, and when he brought those numbers against what he thought he knew of Ashwin, he was let know that he had missed the mark by several centuries with him also. At that point, Korsten had stopped trying to guess at ages. He was sure that everyone save for a few Apprentices and fewer mages would turn out to be quite older than him anyway.

  “Here he is,” the old lad Tarin said, leading Korsten and Merran to the appropriate stall. “I knew from the moment he was born he would be perfect for you, Kor.”

  “Don’t tell me that horses are born for specific mages like the soul-keepers are.”

  Tarin laughed good-naturedly. “No,
sir. These animals are bred natural. The best ones are fed special, though. And I can tell you, with Jeselle’s roan being the sire and Eisleth’s Jenna being the mare that dropped him, he’s going to be one of the best.”

  Korsten refrained from sharing the images of a cold, sinister beast with a low threshold for tolerance that came to mind. He also assumed by that comment that animals—at least horses—weren’t effected the same way humans were by the lilies when it came to forming offspring. Without asking any further questions on the topic, he allowed himself to be led to the little would-be tyrant and was surprised, if not a little discouraged, to look in at a spirited young creature who couldn’t stand still long enough to suckle. The only aspect that reminded Korsten of himself was the fact that the colt’s mother seemed to be losing patience with her offspring. And that was still wrong because Korsten’s mother had not been the parent to lose patience with him.

  “What made you link this animal to me?” he finally asked the pleasantly grinning stable master.

  Tarin looked at him. And then, as if one needn’t ask, he said, “He’s smart, agile … about the vainest little thing you’ll come across in all the gods’ realm.” While Korsten turned helplessly red, Tarin reached in to pat the colt’s white muzzle, which was about the only part of it that wasn’t black as pitch, and added, “I guess he has a right to be. He’s a right handsome fellow. Won’t be big as his papa, but he’ll be strong and fast.”

  “Does he have a name?” Korsten asked next, not particularly enthused.

  “He will when you give him one,” Tarin replied with a shrug.