Tieran rose early the next morning, before the sunrise, as the light of dawn began to creep past the horizon.

Sela roused herself, not about to let him leave for the lake without her. “What of our companions?” she asked. “Will they travel to the lake, too?”

“No. We’ll return for them.”

“You never told me why we’re traveling with them.” She sat up and watched him tuck weapons around his body. “Do you intend to ransom them?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. He was distracted and agitated already, his features grave. Sela stretched out and touched his arm.

Tieran tensed and stilled. The moment her cool magic reached his blood, he relaxed. He moved away and opened a saddlebag. He held out clothing without a word.

Sela accepted it. She shook the rolls of cloth free. It consisted of a shift and a gown, plain yet well-made. He had spent a silver on it, perhaps a little more.

“Thank you,” she murmured, touched by the gesture. Did he feel that guilty about yesterday? Or was her honorable savage capable of occasional kindness?

She placed the gown on the bed.

A knock at the door undid her magic instantly. Tieran strode to it, knife in hand, and yanked the door open.

Sela could not hear the words the two exchanged. When Tieran closed the door, his eyes were alive with anger.

“It seems Nyan thought to strike first,” he said with eagerness she did not share. “He and his men are waiting for me.”

“Here?” she asked, frowning. “Not at the lake?”

“Here.”

“Does this lake exist, or are you tormenting me?” she grumbled.

“Perhaps I do not feel like being drowned today,” he snapped. Tieran yanked the door open once more, a new charge in his step, and strode out.

With hands not yet responding to her sleepy mind, Sela changed clothing quickly, from a squire’s ill-made tunic and breeches into Tieran’s gift. She fumbled with her boots before securing it around her calves. She snatched her cloak and whirled it on, racing after Tieran, who had already exited the inne.

When she reached the dirt road outside the inne, she was breathless. Her guardian strode towards the stables, but her focus was on the line of horsemen gathered at the edge of the village. Her eyes widened.

Tieran had not challenged one man to a duel. Dozens of Inlanders stood waiting at the bottom of the hill up which she had ridden the day before.

Sela raced into the stables after Tieran, who was readying her gelding.

“Which man is Nyan?” she asked, pausing in the doorway of the open stall.

“I’m facing all of the men of his clan,” Tieran replied calmly.

“Alone?”

“Aye.”

“And you call me the proud fool.”

He gave her an irritated look. “I will have my vengeance or die trying.”

“I’m glad you are content to die, because it appears very likely,” she retorted.

“Mage,” he growled.

“You cannot face them all at once, Tieran!”

“If you do not curb your tongue, I will chain you beside a lake, close enough for it to torment you, far enough it cannot reach you, until I grow tired of you begging me to free you.”

Sela flushed but bit back her response. Unlike yesterday, there would be no changing his mind this morning.

She whirled away and strode out of the stables. She went to the edge of the town, facing the men on horseback. She counted them, and her insides twisted.

Sixty three. Tieran had challenged sixty-three Inlanders to a battle.

The sky was clear, and only the town well whispered to her. Unlike the wells near Tieran’s uncle’s fortress, this one was not connected to a great body of water for her to call upon. It possessed enough water for her to disable maybe one man.

What was one man when Tieran would be left facing sixty-two more?

She was, again, helpless.

“Of every forsaken land to be trapped in, why am I here, where there is no water?” she muttered.

Tieran passed her, mounted on the horse Karav had left her.

“You may die, but don’t hurt my horse!” she shouted after him.

His focus was ahead of him, his eyes glowing with feral fire similar to that he displayed the night he bound them.

“What is this madness?” Citon asked, joining her.

“This is my guardian choosing death over serving me,” she replied.

“Sixty three,” Citon said. “I’d say his odds of winning are good.”

She glared up at him. “They would be, if I were close to a lake or the sea.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were concerned, mage.” His smile was faint.

One of the men on horseback dismounted, and Sela’s attention returned to her guardian. By the tension in Tieran’s body, this man was his enemy, Nyan.

She felt ill. Did she actually care if he died?

If so, was it because of what happened the day before? Her thoughts about him had changed within the span of a breath, when he chose to spare his enemy’s family. She did not want to think it changed … well, everything between them.

“You are both young,” Citon observed.

She had never paid much attention to Tieran’s age. But compared to the seasoned warrior he spoke to, he appeared young. She was one and twenty seasons, and she guessed Tieran to be five and twenty.

“He is as lost as you,” Citon added. “At least you knew of you mages and magic. He knew nothing but the Inlands before you.”

“I did not choose to be born a mage or to make him my warrior,” she objected.

“Neither of you did. But both of you could stand to try to understand one another better. You are bonded for life. You are the only water mage, the first in a hundred seasons. And I have only heard of a mage-warrior fighting like he does in legends. Combined, no king or priest can control either of you. Everyone in the inne overheard your fight yesterday. If freedom is what both of you want, you have a better chance of obtaining it than any other mage and warrior in history, assuming you can become allies.”

The words were gruff and gentle, spoken in a tone that reminded her enough of Karav, her eyes watered.

Sela could not refute the truth in his words, as much as her anger wanted her to.

“By the end of the day, I might not have a warrior,” she returned with no heat. “He chooses his own fate.”

“Yet here you are, wishing you were near a puddle, so you could help him.”

She said nothing, uncertain why she bothered trying to talk Tieran out of it, when his death would ensure her freedom. Against her better sense, was she starting to care for the obstinate savage?

She could not identify what compelled her to watch when she was better off hiding and waiting for their bond to break. His death was a possibility this morning, but she wanted to be nowhere else.

Whatever discussion Tieran and his enemy held, it was quick. Tieran stepped away and drew his sword, while Nyan strode back towards his line of men and motioned for everyone to dismount.

“This is madness,” she whispered.

“It may be in our best interest to help, if he needs it,” Lord Winlin said, joining them. He stood to the other side of Citon, but he was close enough for her to pick up on the enchantment in his air.

She leaned around Citon and eyed him. “Do you not wish to become my warrior, if he fails?”

“Stranded in the Inlands with my brother hunting me and Citon waiting for the right moment to chain me and ransom me to my king?” Lord Winlin shook his head. “You would complicate my situation.”

If anyone had tried to tell her it was not an honor to be a warrior to the water mage, her father – and Karav – would have struck the ignorant fool down. Yet she had met two mage-warriors who did not view her guardianship as an honor but as an impediment to their freedom.

At times like this, she wanted to go home, where she was never frightened, even if that meant she became a broodmare for her arrogant cousin.

She scowled, hating this thought as well. Both her father and Karav believed her to be the strongest mage ever born. What would they think if she chose to cower behind her uncle’s throne?

If she could almost hold her own with her Inlander guardian, she was not as weak as she often felt.

Six men, excluding Nyan, charged Tieran, and her irritation fled.

His movements were unnatural. She had the sense once again that he was moving while the others stood still, for, several breaths later, all six men were dead on the ground. Had she blinked, she would have missed half the battle.

“That is why I will never challenge your warrior,” Lord Winlin said. “Whatever blood is in his veins, it’s more than mage-warrior magic.”

“Aye,” Citon agreed. “The first time I saw him fight, I knew him to be different.”

She glanced at him then back. She had never considered Tieran’s otherworldly speed to be rooted in anything other than his fury and natural prowess. Karav had never moved this quickly, but Karav was more than twice Tieran’s age, and capable of cleaving three men in a row in half from his size and brute strength alone. Did Tieran’s ability have anything to do with the odd trace of water magic she sensed in him from time to time?

“What else is there?” she asked, puzzled as to how he possessed any magic at all beyond that which bound him to her.

“Many ancient magics were lost over time, and more than elemental magic exists in the realm. Moonburrians, Dracons, and the Sorcerer across the sea all possess a different form of magic,” Lord Winlin replied. “Perhaps his blood was mixed with one of them. Or perhaps, his ancestors were mages.”

“There is also the possibility he draws part of his ability from you as well,” Citon said to her. “With his natural abilities enhanced by your bond, you may be the source.”

“My father and Karav – my former protector – used to say I was stronger than any mage he had ever heard of,” she said, considering. “But they spoilt me. I assumed it was flattery, because no one living had ever met another water mage.”

“Have you ever been to the great ocean?”

“Karav would not take me there.”

“He knew, or sensed, enough of your ability to know the danger,” Lord Winlin said. “Citon and I can sense it, too. Your magic is ancient, powerful.”

Sela nodded. Citon and Lord Winlin continued to talk, but her attention was on Tieran.

Twenty men charged her guardian.

The swarm of men surrounded him, whose blade was visible tearing through them. She did not need to witness him in action to understand he would never retreat. He would win or die where he stood.

Sela watched, breathless, as her warrior cut down man after man. She began to realize twenty men could not attack him all at once. There was no room to maneuver or fit them all in the limited space surrounding him. Tieran was masterfully managing the flow of attackers in such a way, no more than five at a time posed a threat to his life.

More than once, she flinched when a blow landed on him and willed him to his feet when he was knocked off balance.

“Good,” Citon said, eyes riveted to the battle.

“No part of this is good!” she replied.

As if hearing her, one of the men outside the twenty attacking Tieran mounted and drew a bow. He aimed and shot it. Tieran deflected the first arrow with instincts that defied the abilities of any normal man. But busy fighting off two men, the second arrow lodged itself in his shoulder.

Sela’s breath caught, as much from the thought he really could die, as from the mad display of agility and power he possessed. The longer she stood, the more awestruck she became. He did not move as a man but as a god. There was nothing natural or human about his ability, and she began to understand how tolerant he was of her, when he could have cut her down with little more than a thought. She posed no threat to him on any level, and he had never once hit or hurt her. He scared her, yes, but this seemed to be to cover his pain and to hide his true character from her.

I want to hate him, she thought, while simultaneously acknowledging it was impossible. If anything, she was drawn to him, curious about him, concerned for him. Admiring his skill was not enough. She admired him.

Sometime later, Tieran stood, chest heaving and clothing soaked in blood, amidst the twenty-six men he had cut down. The bowman took aim at him again. Rather than wait to deflect, the cagey Inlander whipped out a knife and threw it. It buried itself in the archer’s throat, and the man toppled off his horse.

Tieran pointed his sword at Nyan in what Sela took to be a direct challenge. If the man cared at all for saving the lives of the rest of his men, he would agree.

Instead, Nyan shouted for the rest of them to attack. Two more archers prepared to fire, while the remaining forty men charged.

Tieran disappeared into the flood of warriors, and Sela wrung her hands, hating how helpless she was to help.

“Now?” Lord Winlin asked, reaching for the broadsword at his back.

“Now,” Citon confirmed. “Avoid the man he challenged.”

The two warriors jogged into the melee. They hacked paths through the attackers and headed towards Tieran, whose sword flashed and blurred as it moved.

Enthralled in the battle, Sela did not notice the presence of someone behind her before he spoke.

“Tieran’s slave.”

“I’m not a slave. I’m a …” She stopped, not recognizing the voice. Sela turned to face the speaker and stepped back.

“His mate?” Nyan was behind her, sword drawn.

It took her a moment to recover from her surprise. “Of course not,” she replied. “He is my servant.”

Tieran’s enemy smiled and then laughed.

She pursed her lips. “Why can you Inland savages not accept that a woman is capable of being anyone’s master?”

“With a face and body like yours, you are more likely to be a whore.” Nyan’s gaze was hard and appraising, with a familiar flicker of wildness she had witnessed more than once from Tieran.

She crossed her arms, wishing she had thought to grab her dagger before running after Tieran earlier.

Nyan moved towards her, and she shifted away smoothly.

“Did you murder his sisters?” she asked.

“All three,” Nyan said with a ruthless smile. He moved towards her again, and she hurried out of his reach.

Sela glanced back towards the battle, judging the three mage-warriors to be too preoccupied to help. If she kept the seasoned man talking long enough, one of them might notice her danger. She tested her connection to the village’s well. Would it be enough to save her, if the mage-warriors could not?

“Tieran says you did not murder them honorably,” she said, hedging. The water in the well was weak. She called it to her.

“I showed them an Inlander’s justice for wrongs committed by their grandfather.”

“And what form did that justice take?”

Nyan told her in detail.

Sela’s breath caught, and she ceased moving away, too disturbed by the pictures his words painted in her mind to be aware of her danger simultaneously. How was this level of depravity possible?

When he finished, he smiled again.

“You really did those things?” She managed to swallow back the bile in her throat. “I understand why Tieran wishes you dead.” How she kept her tone level, she did not know. She viewed Tieran’s actions the previous day in a new light.

Before she had recovered enough to move, Nyan wrapped his hand in her hair and wrenched her head back. “Then you will also understand why this savage will not let you live, either.” His breath reeked of stale mead and something putrid she did not wish to identify.

“You do not want to do this,” she said, grimacing. Desperately, she stretched her senses towards the well in the middle of the town, urging it to hurry. Its response was tiny but eager.

“Murder his bitch? I do.” Nyan held the sharp edge of the sword to her throat. “I will do to you what I did to his sisters.” He grabbed her arm and began dragging her away, towards one of the buildings in town.

“I’m not his bitch,” she objected again.

“He favors you, or he wouldn’t travel with you.”

Sela went for fear of slitting her own throat on his sword if she resisted. She gave one last look towards the battle before it disappeared behind the building.

Nyan kept the sword at her throat, forcing her to remain still. He tore off her cloak and sliced through the laces of her gown, his blade piercing her skin as he did so. He shoved her face first against the wall and lowered the sword. His hands grabbed at her breasts and butt and the sacred hollow between her legs. He wrenched her gown off and pulled her shift up.

Rather than cry out or fight, Sela closed her eyes, ignoring the hands grabbing her body. No fear penetrated her mind – only Nyan’s explanation of how he murdered Tieran’s sisters. Fury unfurled with her, a different kind of anger than any she had ever felt. Whether it was hers, or Tieran’s rage was wearing off on her, she could not tell.

Seconds later, water dripped down upon her from above. Sela looked up towards the clear sky and the smoke-like form of water moving and curling above her.

Nyan’s rough hand brushed her thigh, and she unleashed the water against him.

He gave a startled curse before he was lifted into the air, his limbs and midsection gripped by the murky tentacles of well water. She pushed her shift down, unconcerned with her own disheveled condition when faced with the man who had raped and murdered all three of Tieran’s sisters.

She stood, frozen in her anger, unable to process her emotions in a way that would allow her to act. Karav had warned her against ever taking a life, unless absolutely necessary. She had not thought it possible to want someone dead, for her soft heart to urge her to kill.

Before today, she had never met anyone who deserved to die.

Nyan shouted unintelligible words. Her focus was on the water. Her anger drew more of it, from the water stored in the innes, to the barrels of mead, to the tiny stream half a league away she had not felt before adrenaline and the cool energy of magic hit her blood.

Clouds formed overhead, moving too fast to be natural, and filled with more water that responded to her summons. Lightning rippled through them. More water amassed around Nyan, supplementing the tiny bit of power in the well water to keep him afloat and away from her.

The fresh, cool trickle of water through her was refreshing after several moons in the dry Inlands. Sela turned her face towards the droplets of water, rejoicing in the flow of her power and unconcerned by the man held tightly within her grip.

“Sela!” Tieran’s urgent shout preceded him by a breath or two.

She faced him as he rounded the corner. He was coated in blood, his sword drawn.

Tieran’s gaze swept over her before he looked up. He trotted to her. He drew her against his muscular, wired body instinctively, and she relaxed. His hot blood was no match for her cool magic. He shuddered, though the feral fury in his gaze did not settle with his blood.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“No,” she replied. “But he ruined the gown you bought me.”

Tieran released his breath. “The gown does not concern me!”

“I wanted to crush him but …” She looked up briefly before returning her gaze to Tieran’s. “I think you should.”

“You won’t beg me to spare him this day?”

“No,” she whispered. “What you do to him will be justice.”

Her mage-warrior’s jaw was clenched tight, his eyes on her face. They gazed at one another long enough for her to grow self-conscious beneath his intense scrutiny. She wanted to tell him she knew what the man ensnared in her water had done but could not voice the horrific truth. She understood Tieran’s anger and why he had disregarded his duty to her. She imagined his suffering and could only wonder how he lived through the dark days after his sisters’ murders. He had been forced to become her warrior amidst it all. In that moment, she saw past the duty she had arrogantly assumed he would perform, and peered into the soul of a man in pain, who had done his best to honor his oath to her, in spite of the agony and loss tearing him apart.

They were bound by magic, but in that moment, she felt as if they were truly connecting for the first time.

Uncomfortable with the intimacy of peering into his heart, she eased out of Tieran’s grip.

He released her, gaze on hers.

It was rare when Sela could think of nothing to say. She looked away finally and released her hold on the water. Nyan dropped to the ground hard enough to daze him. Overhead, the small clouds cleared, and the water snaked away, returning to where it had come from.

Sela walked away.

No sound came from behind her, and she turned the corner, leaving Tieran to his vengeance.

“Are you well?” Panting and bloody, Citon strode towards her from the direction of the battle. The sounds of dozens of men fighting had died down to the clash of a handful of swords.

She nodded and hugged herself, unable to shake the images in her head. “Are they all dead?” she asked.

“Almost.”

“Good.” Without looking at him, she walked towards the inne.

“Sela, are you hurt?” Citon called after her, concern in his tone.

“No,” she answered quietly.

“Vinian is sleeping. But if you need to speak to him, wake him.”

She retreated to the inne. Sela climbed the stairs to her room, entered, and sat on the bed.

She felt both ill and angry, vindicated Tieran would exact his revenge and sorrowful for the loss of his sisters. The feelings were too intense to be hers alone. Was their bond strong enough to convey his emotions to her, as well as hers to him? Or had his emotions been so powerful, they were conveyed to her this once when she used her power? She had felt his pain real enough for it to be hers. Was this yet another indication he was more than a mage-warrior?

Had she not heard Nyan’s confession directly, she would not have believed anyone to be capable of such heinous acts against a child. Karav had always protected her from danger, but she never knew he shielded her from the darkest truths in the world.

Seated on the bed, she pressed her back to the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her thoughts were muddled, and she let her mind float among them. She tried not to think about what Tieran was capable of doing to his enemy, or how long he spent doing it. He was, after all, an Inlander accustomed to brutal clan wars.

Hours passed, and the day grew on. Dusk darkened the sky outside the window, and a cool breeze swept through.

Tieran’s touch on her arm caused her to jerk away. Sela recoiled, afraid to find the Inlander who threatened her in her room.

Tieran dropped his hand. He was clean, his hair wet. No signs of blood remained on his body or clothes. He studied her and then turned away, tossing his weapons into a pile on the other pallet. The pallet sank beneath his weight as he sat at the other end of the bed from her.

The silence was charged, unpleasant. She wondered if he was reliving the deaths of his sisters or if he were dissatisfied with his vengeance. She had never seen him quite like this. She did not think him capable of the vulnerability she sensed.

After a hesitation, she crawled forward and settled behind him. Uncertain what to do, or even if she should touch him, she finally shifted close enough for their backs to meet and leaned against him. Her head dropped back against his shoulders. The tension in his back eased.

“Are we leaving tomorrow?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“West?”

“Northwest.”

Sela could think of nothing else to ask and subsided into silence.

“Did he hurt you?” Tieran asked in the lethal voice more dangerous than a shout.

“No.”

“Would you tell me if he did?”

“You would know if I lied.”

“Then why do you feel the way you do?” he pressed.

“He wanted to do to me what he did to your sisters,” she whispered. “I did not know such evil existed.”

“He is not the only one capable of committing evil.”

Sela swallowed, aware of how deep Tieran’s violent streak ran. It was not the time to remind him he had spared her and the wife and child of his enemy. Even he had limitations. She doubted those bounds applied to his enemy. She did not want to imagine what he had done.

“I tried to convince him, but he refused to believe you were my servant,” she said, needing to lighten the mood of the tiny room.

Tieran snorted.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“Minor.”

Sela straightened. “I can heal you.”

He peeled off his tunic. Her eyes settled on the multiple lacerations – sword, arrow and dagger wounds – that had landed across his muscular upper body. His vulnerability took on a different form.

He was not distressed or vulnerable at all; he was half-dead.

“How are you still on your feet?” she demanded, alarmed. “You are the fool, Tieran! Why did you not tell me you needed my help?” She rested her hands on his back. His skin was warm, taut over muscles bulging from the intense activity of his day. The simple touch sent a charge through her that left her grateful he did not see her shiver.

The wounds on his back healed. She stood and knelt in front of him, assessing the damage. Stab wounds oozed blood, while angry slashes marred his exposed skin.

“Are you too proud and foolish to ask for my help?” she snapped.

“If I die, I won’t have the satisfaction of chaining you beside a lake.”

She glared at him and pressed her palms to the parts of his chest not bleeding.

Tieran lifted her chin, gazing down at her. His ale-hued eyes were calm, his features as unreadable as ever.

“He was rough with you,” he observed. His thumb grazed her swollen lower lip.

She lifted her chin, but he held it in place.

“You’ve never flinched when I touched you before.”

Sela’s cheeks grew warm. “He’s not the first to treat me roughly. You have not been the most attentive guardian,” she retorted. “I don’t know how I have survived this long!” She pulled away. “I can take care of myself.”

“Unless I give you a dagger.” His amusement was a relief after his tense silence.

She climbed to her feet. “Since you are the mighty warrior, you can heal yourself.” She started past him.

Tieran caught her arm. “I have not been the guardian I should have been,” he said. “To you or my sisters. I have not given my oath to you the consideration it deserves.”

“Another apology the day after the first?”

He rose, crowding her, and she immediately wished she had swallowed the words. Her attention was torn between the fiery look he gave her and the expanse of bare skin stretched across his wide chest.

She dropped her gaze. She held her breath, uncertain why his scent was winding through her senses or how she had never noticed how much wider his shoulders were than hers. She could not recall noticing his body as much as she had the past two days, despite how often he used it to intimidate her.

Tieran stretched around her to pluck his tunic off the trunk. “Choose your battles carefully, mage.” He stepped away, towards the door.

She sighed. They were back to his expectation of a quiet mage, and her inability to follow through.

“I need more freedom to speak my mind,” she said. “I need for you to listen, even if you disagree.”

He leveled a long look at her. “If it involves your protection, you have no say in the matter.”

“Karav said the same, but not everything does,” she replied. “If we are going to roam the Inlands, then why should I not request to visit a lake or river? Why should I need permission to speak my mind to you at all? You are my companion as well as my guardian. How can I travel with you without saying what I wish to?”

He wiped his face. “Speak it respectfully, and I will attempt to listen. Call me a savage, or treat me like one, and I will leave you tied beside the lake.”

“Fair enough,” she said, not expecting him to bend at all. Did he feel the shift between them as well? “Will you tell me why we’re traveling with such dangerous companions?”

“It takes gold to survive. Both their kings are willing to pay.”

“As long as you don’t sell me.” She crossed her arms.

He could not be far from her without the madness creeping up on him, but he made no effort to claim he would not.

“You’re hurt.” He motioned to her.

She glanced down. Distressed by the encounter with his enemy, she had not noticed the bloom of red on her shift. She twisted to find its source. Her lower back was stiff, the skin at one side pulling and burning.

Tieran roughly spun her until her back was to him. “Clothes off,” he ordered and reached over for the saddlebag containing their supplies of ointments and bandages.

“I can do it,” she replied.

“Now.”

Sela sighed in frustration. She hesitated, and then lifted the shift over her head until the entire length of her backside was exposed to him.

“It’s not deep,” he said, touching her.

She jerked away, unable to help recalling how his enemy’s rough hands had violated her skin.

“Settle,” Tieran said, though this time, his quiet voice carried no threat.

She braced herself for a second touch and managed not to flinch when the cool rag grazed her torn skin. Gradually, she relaxed.

“You didn’t respond,” she prodded. “You above all other men I have known appear to have a price.”

“Inlanders respect oaths above gold. I will keep my word.” He tossed the rag and opened the jar of salve. “If they believe I will trade you for gold, all the better.”

“But would you?”

“You know that answer, Sela,” he told her. “Trust me. It’s what you want.”

Did she? Why did the idea confuse her? “I’ve only ever trusted Karav,” she said. “You have given me little reason to trust you.”

“Aside from saving your life and not doing to you what my enemy would have?” He tossed the salve and stepped away.

She replaced her shift and faced him, troubled. Of all the thoughts on her mind, trusting him was not the primary one. He studied her as if listening to words she did not voice, and she willed herself not to think.

“Say it,” he said finally.

She pursed her lips. “You already know!”

“Say it anyway.”

Sela grappled with herself before relenting. “I’ve never been on my own or stranded in a foreign land. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow or even if I’ll survive to see it. If two kingdoms are hunting me, then the other one and mine will be as well. You cannot face four armies. We have no gold, no plan, no allies, and you either don’t understand the danger of our situation or won’t share with me your plan. I have no control over my own life! Further, you have left my safety in the hands of my enemies! I’m … scared,” she said with some effort. “Is that what you want to hear? I’m scared, Tieran! I would go so far as to say I’m terrified.”

His intent gaze never left her. No retort emerged from his mouth. For once, he did not appear agitated with her outburst.

“What would make your enemies cease pursuing you?” he asked.

She blinked, not expecting him to discuss the topic with her rather than order her around. “If I resided in my own kingdom. The Inlands belong to no king. There is no army here to defend me, if we stay.”

“Perhaps. But you would also become a slave there,” he allowed. “It is believed you can create mages.”

“I don’t even in know if this is true,” she said. “This secret was allegedly stolen from the High King.”

“The truth doesn’t matter. Four kings believe it, which makes it true enough,” Tieran said. “If you’re here, you are a threat to no one.”

“True, but the king that possesses the water mage has an advantage.”

“Not only because you could fight for them,” he said. “But because of the bloodline. How long has it resided in your kingdom?”

“Five centuries. Maybe more. The High King’s line originates from Vurdu,” she explained. “That connection is not easily dismissed.”

“Except he is dead with no heir, and the war looms.”

She nodded.

“They would come for you no matter what king possessed you,” he reasoned. “A weapon strong enough to win a war would not be left in any enemy’s hands without a fight. And what would the kingdom that had you do to you, once you won its war?”

“I am not a broodmare.”

“So you claim, but what value is there in possessing a water mage if there is no war to fight and no possibility of retaining another water mage to fight a future battle?”

She flushed.

“I may have no plan, and I may be an Inland savage who has never seen the world,” Tieran said slowly. “But I know war and battle, and I know the hearts and wills of those who fight them. You are safer here than you would ever be in any king’s court. You are certainly freer.”

Sela was unable to form a rational objection to his logic. If anything, she was startled by his clear vision. “But how do we outsmart the armies of four kingdoms?”

“We make pursuing you too costly for them.”

She waited.

“We leave early.” He motioned to the bed.

“How do –”

“Quiet, mage. Lie down and sleep.”

She observed him for a moment, suspecting he did not know the answer either. Irritated, she lay down on the bed on her back. Tieran blew out the candles lighting their room and stretched out beside her. He rolled onto his side to drape an arm around him.

“Do you feel better, now that you have had your vengeance?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“So do I,” she said with a shudder. “I have never met a man I wanted to murder.”

“No one will touch you again, Sela.”

“Until I become a broodmare?” she snapped.

“Even then.”

Did he mean his words? In the dark room, she could not see his face to gauge how serious he was. After a moment, she rolled onto her side and relaxed against him.

“Unless you’re my broodmare,” he added with rare humor.

“I would choose you over Lord Winlin!” she snapped.

Tieran said nothing. Sela closed her eyes, unwilling to tell him how much peace she felt with his strength at her back and hoping he did not already know.