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He shrugged, a casual movement that wasn’t. “Remember the daughters of the trading partners I mentioned? A bastard, however little my father thinks of them, makes a perfect lure in trade negotiations.”

“Surely said bastards would not go along with such a scheme if they were so neglected growing up.”

“If it meant escaping hostile living conditions? Or because it was either that or the death of someone they loved? Most would. Have, in fact.”

“Is that what caused the rift between you and your father?”

“That, and puberty.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand?—”

“You haven’t heard the rumors? I’m surprised.”

Again, it was bitterly said. “I’d heard you were a spell caster—something you confirmed in Eastmead—but I can’t see how that?—”

“I’m not just a spell caster. I’m a blood witch.”

“And?”

Surprise rippled through his expression. “You do understand what a blood witch is, don’t you?”

“Blood is your power and, through it, you’re able to create formidable spells. To repeat, so?”

He stared at me for a few seconds longer, then threw his head back and roared with laughter. It was a warm, rich sound that had prickles of desire skating across my skin and a smile tugging at my lips.

“Wife, you have no idea how relieved I am.”

“Husband, I have no ideawhythat should be so.” I took another sip of shamoke. “You forget what I am—a Strega who can call forth fire and command animals. Why would I in any way cast aspersions on someone capable of calling magic from blood, be it theirs or that of a sacrifice?”

“I guess because that’s the only reaction I’ve gotten for too many years now.”

“But why? I’d have thought your father would appreciate having a son with such a powerful weapon at his disposal.”

“Except it isnota weapon. It cannot be used to kill, only to alter or protect.”

Protection would still make it a formidable and worthwhile weapon in any sane person’s opinion, surely. “Why?”

“Blood is life, not death. It has always been so.” He shrugged. “But there’s also the fact that it is considered a ‘woman’s weapon’.”

I let my gaze wander down his magnificent length. “Well, I have to say from the little I’ve seen, you’re definitely not a woman. And thank Túxn for that.”

“I’m glad the attraction runs both ways.”

My eyebrows rose again even as my heart beat a little bit faster. “Does it? Because there’s been little sign of reciprocation.”

“And this surprises you, given neither of us had a choice in the matter of our marriage?”

“I guess not.” I hesitated, then, because I did not want to linger on the possibility of attraction, added, “I suspect neither of the reasons given are the true cause of the rift.”

“You see more than most.” He took a drink. “My father now believes he was spelled into bedding my mother in order to produce a son who might one day rule the kingdom her people could not take by force.”

Which certainly explained why Aric had never grieved for his wife. “Who were your mother’s people?”

“They’re from Angola, the largest of the floating islands in the Black Claw Sea.”

“I had no idea there was an antagonistic history between Zephrine and the islands.”

“That’s because history always favors the victor over the conquered.”