“We won’t think of them now.” He crouched, skimmed his hands over her ankle, eased back when she flinched. “Tender, is it? We’ll fix it.”
She understood now, let him in. Imagined the swelling, the tendons and muscles while his fingers circled and stroked.
Then he rose. “Your throat, that’s the worst of it, and the hardest. She touched you.”
“She didn’t. Not physically.”
“And that’s the deepest wound, you see? Her power against ours. I think it will hurt to heal this, at first. You have to trust me.”
“Then I will. For this.”
“Keep your eyes on mine. I don’t have what you have, but what I have will help you lift this away.”
He closed his hands lightly, gently, around her throat, covering the raw bruises.
It did hurt. A sudden shock of pain stole her breath, had her gripping the side of the bed to hold herself in place. She fought not to cry out—weak, weak—but a moan escaped.
“I’m sorry. A little more.”
He murmured in Irish now, words that meant nothing to her, but the tone, both comfort and distress, helped her bear it. Then, as the rest, it eased. The relief made her head spin.
“It’s better.”
“It needs to be gone. I won’t leave her mark on you. I should have stopped it.”
“You did. With blinding bolts of lightning. That’s enough. It doesn’t hurt.”
She shifted away, stood. “You should take the salve for the others.”
“That’s for you. I have more.”
“I’ll be down as soon as I get dressed. We all have a lot to talk about.”
“We do.” But he stood where he was, waited.
“You lied to me.”
“I never did.”
“The absence of truth—”
“Isn’t always a lie. Sometimes it’s just personal business.”
“I told you everything about me, everything I kne
w, and you . . . What are you? A warlock?”
He winced, had to struggle not to be insulted. “Some will insist on turning that word away from its origin—which is one who does evil, even the devil—and making into a man with powers. I’ll take witch, even sorcerer, but I prefer magician, which is what I told you when we met.”
Accusations, and worse, much worse, disappointed hurt lived in her eyes.
“You know what I thought you meant.”
“I do, and there’s an absence there. Still, I do stage magic to make a living and to entertain myself. And my blood, my craft, my gift, and my honor is in white magicks. But it’s considerable to share with someone who doesn’t trust her own gifts, fáidh. What would your reaction have been, I wonder, if I’d shown you more than a bit of sleight of hand at first?”
“I don’t know.”
“My family keeps our bloodline to ourselves, not out of shame, but caution. I can wish now I’d been able to show you what I am, who I am, in its entirety, in a less dramatic way, but Nerezza took the choice out of my hands.”