Chapter Eight

T he next day, Evienne sent a note to Orion and Lord Lùtair inviting them to attend a lecture she would be giving at the Academie du Sangviere that afternoon. She readied herself and set off to the school, which was a part of the palace complex.

She arrived a bit early in case either of the Beitarans decided to accept her invitation. She was at the podium organizing her notes—which she hardly needed at this point—when she heard footsteps coming from the far end of the empty hall.

She looked up to find Orion making his way down the long aisle that ran the length of the hall. Mahogany tables lined the space on either side and would soon be full of students.

“High Sangviere, thank you for your invitation to join the lecture. Solon sends his regrets; he was summoned to meet with Queen Aldith,” Orion said as he neared her.

“Professor, good morning. I am glad you are able to be here. Please, feel free to take a seat anywhere you like; the students should be arriving any moment.” Evienne smiled at him. She had to keep things professional, but she hardly knew what to do with herself after the way he whispered in her ear the night before. What had that been about?

He smiled at her and nodded, turning to take a seat on the very end of the front row. Perfect—now she would have to look at him the whole time.

The students began filing in, their conversations filling the hall with a buzz. After everyone seemed settled, Evienne stepped up to the podium and cleared her throat.

Today’s lecture was on, arguably, the most important concept a Sangviere could learn. There were many facets to blood magic, but the more morally questionable applications had caused the Sangviere—and, by extension, Ichorna—to gain a negative reputation amongst the other magical peoples of Domhan na Rùin.She began her practiced lecture, laying out the history of their blood magic methodically before arriving at her main point.

“It is critical for us to wield our magic with respect and integrity; the rules we follow as Sangviere have been put in place to help us build and maintain connections with the other nations of Domhan na Rùin. It was our irresponsible use of the Valsang in centuries past that estranged us from our neighbors,” Evienne spoke confidently, trying to fix her gaze on a point at the back of the room. More aptly, trying not to look directly at Orion.

“Can anyone tell me why, other than maintaining our reputation, we do not practice the Valsang?”

A young mage near the back of the hall raised her hand, and Evienne called on her to answer.

“The art of the Valsang is said to corrupt the soul of the wielder and, if used often, will eventually cause the Sangviere to go mad.”

“That is correct. The Valsang is never to be used. To become a Sangviere is to disown this vein of our magical heritage. The ability to control other human beings with our magic is too great a risk, to ourselves and to Ichorna’s international interests.”

Evienne paused to let her words sink in. Of course this wasn’t the first time the students were hearing this, but as High Sangviere, she hoped her warning would carry additional weight to drive the message home.

Evienne’s students listened intently as she explained that, due to the Gevaud crisis of the past decade, the Sangviere were using their Regne du Sang more regularly. It was the most effective way to combat the creatures. They would not, however, loosen any restrictions around the use of the Valsang. If a Sangviere was ever found to have used this dark magic, they would be faced with a life sentence in prison, left in complete isolation with their magic bound.

Orion raised his hand from where he sat in the front row.

“Everyone, we have an important guest with us today; Professor Doehlan is visiting from Beitar for the millennium celebration,” Evienne said, and students murmured surprised exclamations in response. “Professor, please ask your question.”

“Thank you, High Sangviere. I want to be sure I understand the nuance you are describing. The Regne du Sang, on its own, is not considered a dark magic when wielded with the Sangviere’s own blood, correct? It is only when spells are powered by the blood of another that it becomes the Valsang?”

Evienne nodded, “Yes, that’s correct, professor.”

“When was the last time a Sangviere used the Valsang?” He asked—and seemed genuinely curious, so Evienne decided to give an honest answer.

“About two hundred years ago,” she said, and his brows rose in surprise.

“What happened two hundred years ago?” He asked. Evienne didn’t know quite what to make of his curiosity. It could be just that; he was a professor, after all. Could he be seeking information for something more nefarious? The answer to this particular question was common knowledge, though, so she supposed no real harm could come from answering.

“King Bastille du Pont sat upon Ichorna’s throne at that time. He is the one who built the Centrale Lumine and expanded our Rail system. Part of bringing Ichorna back into the good graces of the other nations of Domhan na Rùin was making a good faith effort to avoid the aspects of our magic that cause our neighbors distress. He gave us technology that would be appealing to the world while making us less threatening as a magical force. Does that answer your question, professor?”

Orion nodded, considering her words.

“Are there any other questions before we conclude?” She asked, surveying the students. No one raised a hand. “Class dismissed.”

She gathered her papers and made her way over to where Orion now stood waiting for her.

“What an interesting lecture; I had no idea that there was a whole facet of the Sangviere’s magic that is outlawed. What a curious choice,” he said as she gestured for him to lead the way. They began walking toward the doors of the lecture hall.

“Yes, well, we did what we must to be less threatening to those outside of Ichorna. Even the necromancers of Daosbor are more appealing than blood mages, it seems,” Evienne said with a small laugh.

“Fascinating. Thank you again for the invitation,” Orion said, stopping just outside the door of the hall. They now stood in a lovely cloister, the crisp breeze gently rustling the bushes and small trees that populated the little garden at the center.

Evienne smiled at him. “Of course, it was lovely to have you,” she said lightly.

A wicked gleam lit his eyes then, and—despite her every effort not to—she was suddenly thinking of how her back had tingled when he whispered in her ear.

“When you have me, Evienne, it will be more than just lovely,” he said, his rich voice barely more than a whisper. He smirked at her, his black hair falling onto his cheek. Evienne was frozen; she knew her mouth must be agape, but she couldn’t manage to move. She just stared at him, taking in every detail as he studied her right back.

“Have a good afternoon,” he said with a bit of laughter in his voice as he turned and strode away. Evienne stared after him and tried desperately to convince herself to forget what had just happened.