Water Spell (Guardians of the Realm Book 1)

by Lizzy Ford

  “Have I yet to hurt you?” he asked, anger creeping into his voice.

  “No.”

  “I demanded you yield, but I never forced you.” He pushed her back, until she rested against the wall, and lifted her chin. “I have not raised a hand to you.”

  “I know,” she said, eyes on his. “I just wanted to be free.”

  “Listen closely, mage,” his voice turned to a growl. “You are bound to me. If you ever put anything between us – a secret, a lie, and may your gods help you if you draw a weapon on me – I will do whatever it takes to teach you never to do it again. Neither of us wanted this fate, but I will not tolerate you killing us both because you are upset!”

  Her eyes watered again at the coiled predator before her.

  “And you are free, because I am free,” he added more quietly. “I don’t care if you cause wars with every kingdom in the realm or defy every law written. I will protect you. But if you deny or defy me, if you hide anything, if you refuse to yield when I order it, I will show you how Inlanders treat their enemies. Your scars will never heal. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said hoarsely. Her body shook from cold, fear and pain.

  As with the last time, he grew calmer the longer he touched her. The danger was gone from his features, the feral Inlander tamed once more.

  “I never meant to hurt you,” she said again.

  “That is the only reason you are still alive.”

  His honesty terrified her. He eased away from her, his eyes traveling down her body. They paused on her side, where red blood bloomed against the pale color of her clothes.

  “Remove your gown,” he said and turned away.

  For a moment, she did not move, afraid of what he meant to do.

  “Now,” he growled, reaching for his saddlebag.

  Trembling, Sela obeyed and clutched the drenched gown against her chest to cover the front her body. He pulled free a small bag and unrolled its contents: salve, bone needle and horsehair thread, and clean linen bandages. Tieran sat on the pallet and motioned her to him. Sela neared. He gripped her hips and turned her back to him, pulling her to stand between his thighs.

  Face hot, Sela winced as he wiped blood and mud from her side. She ventured a look at the gash over her right hip. She glanced at his face, surprised at how calm he was after the fury he displayed moments before. She felt no different despite the wound on her hand.

  “Is it deep?” she asked, worried by the sight of blood.

  “No.” Tieran peered at the wound before leaning back to grab his tools. “That angle … did you stab yourself?”

  She flushed. She did not have to tell him aloud she fell on her knife.

  “You stabbed yourself,” he repeated more quietly, this time amused. “In the day since you left my side, you have almost murdered yourself twice. How are you alive at all?”

  “I did fight off two men!” she retorted.

  “And stabbed yourself.”

  She shivered, hating to be exposed to him physically and mentally.

  “Did the binding hurt?” she asked, recalling his strange reaction.

  “The opposite,” he replied gruffly. “Like a release from a lifetime of lust.” He wiped the bubbling blood away again.

  “Oh.” She was too uncomfortable standing naked in front of him to ask what he meant.

  His ministrations paused. “You cannot tell me you have never known a man,” Tieran said.

  “I have not,” she replied. “Karav said no man wanted anything to do with a she-mage even if I had been more appealing and learned to hold my tongue.”

  Tieran snorted. At the first prick of the needle, she jerked away. He gripped her hips again and pulled her back.

  “Shame. Your body would please a man.”

  “We are not savages like you Inlanders,” she said, bristling.

  “You have the tongue of an Inland woman.”

  It did not sound like a compliment.

  His next stab with the needle was less gentle. She swiped at his hand.

  Tieran snatched the gown and tossed it. Sela flushed, folding her arms across her breasts and made further uneasy by being completely naked in front of a stranger.

  “Savage is what will happen if you are not still,” he warned. “Have you never been stabbed before?”

  “No.”

  “Karav said you were strong and brave. What would he think now?”

  Her breath caught. They hurt more than they should have. She stared at the wall. She clenched her jaw and did not move when Tieran stuck her again with the needle. Gritting her teeth, she bore through it in silence until he stopped. She sighed when he wiped the wound down.

  “What is your name, mage?” Tieran asked.

  “What does the name of a slave matter to a savage?” she shot back.

  He stood, one hand on her hip to keep her from moving. Sela sighed but did not resist, instead resting against his body, eyes on the ground. Naked, she was all too aware of his size and warmth against her cold skin.

  “Name,” he said softly.

  “Sela.”

  “You are not a slave, but don’t defy me, Sela.”

  She nodded with some difficulty. Tieran leaned over and pulled a tunic free from his saddlebag. He handed it to her. She clutched it against her chest but did not move until he nudged her away. Pulling it on quickly. It reached her knees, but she still felt exposed. She sat on the pallet, knees to her chest. He was still for a moment, gaze on her.

  She sensed he did not know what to do next and guessed they were both on new ground. An Inlander who knew nothing of magic, and the water mage who wanted to be free.

  Could he hear those thoughts as well? Why had Karav never been able to read her mind? What made this savage special?

  “Stay here,” Tieran said at last. He turned and left.

  Sela released her breath and leaned against the wall. She was tired, but she knew sleep was not about to come, not with a battle so close and a warrior she feared bound to her. She did not remember the last time she ate, either. Food, however, did not seem at all appealing. Resting her cheek on her knees, she waited.

  Tieran returned shortly, carrying with him a small pile of clothing and boots. He set them beside her. “I need that tunic,” he said.

  Flushing, Sela climbed to her feet. She turned her back to him and peeled off the tunic then snatched the new clothing.

  “Karav never touched you?” Tieran asked doubtfully.

  “Certainly not. He was a father to me.” Her voice trembled with the words. She dressed in the breeches and tunic. Gazing down at her wound, she frowned. It hurt more now than it had.

  “Salve will ease the burn.” Tieran handed her the small jar.

  Uneasy he had read any thought in her mind, let alone that one, she accepted it. He replaced the tunic he had reclaimed in his bag. This was an entirely different man than the one who chopped his way through half the town to reach her. She understood why Citon had not wanted to stand between them.

  Tieran reached for the jar.

  She twisted away. “I can –”

  He snatched it with one hand and gripped the back of her neck with the other, pulling her into his body once more. Sela sighed. She lifted her tunic enough for him to apply the thick salve.

  “All those men are fighting over you,” he seemed bemused by the idea. “You’re more dangerous towards yourself than anyone.”

  Her face grew red, this time in anger. She moved away from him.

  “Settle,” he warned.

  She forced herself to relax and rested against him.

  “Why?” he asked. “Why do they seek you?”

  “They want the water mage. You savages are the only people without a coast. I can control the oceans. And…” she hesitated, still uncertain of whether or not the rest was true. “…they believe I may birth the next generation of mages. The mage corps has dwindled to only around eight throughout the islands. I never thought to ask why so few mages existed.�
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  The hand on her hip stilled.

  She added quickly. “I do not know that this is true. Karav never told me this, and neither did my priests. I am the first water mage born in a hundred seasons.”

  “Karav knew.” Tieran removed his hand from beneath her tunic and tossed the jar. He stepped away from her and sat to remove his boots.

  “He kept nothing from me.”

  “This he did,” Tieran said with confidence that made her face him.

  “Why do you say this?” she asked.

  “A man does not lie beside a woman with a body like yours every night of his life and not make you his without a reason.”

  “Karav would never have touched me in any circumstance. Not all men are savages.”

  Tieran chuckled. “Aye, they are. Tell me, did Karav visit whores?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Daily, except for during this journey.”

  “That does not bode well for me.”

  She waited for him to explain. He replaced his muddy boots with dry ones then motioned for her to put on those he brought her.

  “Being near me calms you,” she observed.

  “Touching you calms me,” he replied. “A curse of a different nature. I cannot be more than a horse length from you without the madness.”

  She ignored his barb. She had never noticed if the same was true of Karav, because they were rarely separated and never for more than half a day.

  “This is why you handle me like cattle?” she asked with some frustration.

  “I handle you like cattle, because you are mine to do with as I please.” The casualness with which he said it made her face hotter.

  She bit back a response. It was not the right time to remind him that he was supposed to serve her. Feeling her rebellious streak through their bond, Tieran looked at her hard. Fear replaced her anger. She was on her feet backing away before he stood.

  He fastened a cloak around his shoulders then repacked the worn clothing, except her bloody gown. Opening the door, he led her out. Sela followed. They moved through the tavern and into the village. The battle continued, and the amount of fighters had doubled. Several buildings were on fire while the townspeople jammed the road leading away from the embattled town.

  Tieran crossed to a small barn and entered. The horses were restless.

  Sela recognized the horse Karav left her. Sorrow filled her at the sight of the gray gelding. The barn was warm, and she shivered at the cold that clung to her. Tieran saddled the horse while she rested her cheek against its cheek, rubbing its forehead. He led it out of the stall and mounted.

  Tieran had only brought one horse. Sela assumed he was angry enough to force her to walk, until he held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up in front of him. His body was warm at her back. One of his arms circled her while the other gripped the reins. Sela rested back, not fighting him as she had the first time he hauled her onto a horse.

  Tieran urged the horse forward, out of the barn. He guided the horse out of the town but did not follow the road, instead angling into the grassy savannah surrounding the town. The sounds of battle raged on.

  Only when the village was out of sight did Sela relax.

  The cold night chilled her, and she pressed herself back against Tieran. He was solid and warm, and to her dismay, comfortable. Her body fit against his as if his were made for her.

  A trickle of magic reached her, stemming from the shallow lake that had nearly drowned her, this time sorrowful that she was not returning to it.

  “We go towards the lake,” she said, cocking her head to the side.

  Tieran said nothing. They reached the hill overlooking the black mass marking the lake. It was much smaller than she recalled when fighting against it, and she was embarrassed to realize how little control she had retained over her magic once Karav was gone.

  “What is this?” Tieran’s voice was wary, sensing the magic within her stir.

  Sela shifted. “The lake speaks to me.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It’s not words,” she said. “Memories, emotion, visions. A song that flows through your blood. It becomes a part of you.”

  “Like our bond.”

  She tensed enough for his grip around her to tighten.

  “You hate being touched.” He was amused again.

  “Where I am from, men do not touch women without permission,” she told him.

  “Wrong. Where you were from. Where you are from now, the man who claims you does as he pleases.”

  “That is not lost on me,” she said archly. “Will I have every man in your hold pawing at me as they do the whores in the great hall?”

  “No, mage. Just me.”

  She shook her head.

  “What can a lake possibly tell you?” he asked doubtfully.

  “You wish to ridicule me more.”

  “Yield,” he growled, his own body tensing in warning.

  Sela obeyed and dropped her head to his chest again. He relaxed. With a deep breath, she answered.

  “It mourns me. It hoped to claim me before you did, and it envies you. It sings of wells that will no longer run low, because of the rain that comes, and it welcomes the water from the sky. It will rain in two days. The drought this season has been severe. It offers me its magic, if I wish it, to throw the warrior who scares me from his horse.”

  She expected him to lash out at her again for the words. They drew nearer the lake, and her whole body hummed with the magic. Tieran was quiet, and she continued.

  “It remembers when the river buried deep beneath the land once ran from east to west. There were trees. It mourns their loss but recalls a time even longer ago, when this was desert, so it feels fortunate. Before the desert, there was an … ocean?” She tilted her head, uncertain how an ocean could exist in the middle of an island. But the lake insisted it had.

  Was that what she felt when she and Karav had started north? The remnants of ancient water magic, left by an ocean?

  “There’s never been an ocean here,” Tieran said. “Nor magic.”

  “There is magic in all that surrounds us,” she returned. “And in our blood. The priests taught us this magic runs through all the world, from the smallest flower to the largest animal. It brings life and absorbs death. My blood flows with the wild magic of the waters. It’s a gift, one meant to bridge seas and men. But it’s dangerous. The water can try to reclaim me at its will. I was never allowed near an ocean and the lake …” She cleared her throat, not wanting to discuss what brought them to the lake in the first place.

  “Fool,” he whispered.

  “I never meant to hurt you,” she said again, frowning. “You didn’t want this either.”

  “I did not. But I took an oath to Karav, and I intend to keep it.”

  “I thought mercenary savages served no one.”

  “Inlanders take three oaths to others in our lifetimes.”

  She waited.

  “And if you call me a savage again, mage …” he added in a low voice.

  “You have no tribe, no king, no laws, no priests, no honor.”

  “And what has kept me from beating you? From forcing that body into my bed to pleasure me? What makes me let you ride instead of walk?”

  “An oath,” she said, considering. “The Inlanders have an honor code?”

  “We honor our oaths and those of others. We speak with swords, not empty words.”

  “I have never seen anyone fight as you do. Why are you not the ruler of the Inlanders?”

  “It's not our way,” he said dismissively. “My tribe is … was a mercenary tribe. We fought battles others refuse. We sold our honor for the most gold.”

  “Until someone was angry enough to destroy you. Karav said you lost your tribe,” she said. “Who did it? Another kingdom?”

  For a long moment, she did not think he would answer. The lake’s song continued in the back of her mind.

  “Other Inlanders, seeking revenge for wrongs committ
ed by the father of my father,” Tieran said at last. “While our men were at battle, the tribe swept through the villages and burned everyone to the ground. Few of us survived.”

  “You seek vengeance now.”

  “I do.” His words were quiet. “My father’s father broke an oath. Revenge was their right. It's our way. But they punished those who could not fight. They chose to be cowards instead of facing us on the battlefield.”

  For the first time since meeting, she sensed some kind of pain, the first real emotion the Inlander contained, aside from anger. Battle and killing did not cause a man like this pain.

  “You lost someone,” she assessed. “A mate?”

  “Sisters. Three of them.”

  Sela was quiet, pensive.

  “Three oaths,” she murmured. “These are your laws. Each man creates his own.”

  “Aye. It's stronger than any law your king creates and forces upon you.”

  Why was she surprised to find this man was more than a great cat caged by curious priests? Or that he did have a sense of honor, as foreign to her as it was?

  “If I took only three oaths …” She paused.

  “To your gods, king and priests?” he asked in a mocking tone.

  “No,” she said. “One to Karav and one to you.”

  “You would take an oath to me,” he repeated, amused. “I do not believe that.”

  “You should. You can read my mind,” she snapped. “If I lie, you know. If you don’t believe me, ‘tis because you choose not to.”

  “I cannot always read your thoughts, though it happens more often than I like,” he said. “Karav did not curb your tongue, but I will.”

  She shivered, this time not from cold.

  “I might save the third oath,” she said. “I took an oath to Karav when I was young. I swore to use my magic wisely, to help those who needed my magic and only to commit violence in defense.”

  “The oath you took to me would not be so noble,” he said drily.

  She rolled her eyes, not wanting to know what an Inland savage would swear a mere woman to. Polishing his weapons, fetching his food, mending his clothing. Mages did not do these things!