"Not him," the dying woman croaked, uncaring that the blood mage was just a few feet from her, inspecting the situation. Her voice raspy as if from beyond the grave. Was the dagger stuck in her heart, or were her lungs filling with blood as she attempted to use them?
"Hush," Lux tried to stop her from wasting both her breath and her only chance of survival. Yet she knew how difficult it had been for Alaria to overcome her fear of light magic and could imagine the intense nausea she felt towards the most unsavoury of magical crafts.
Hell, even Luxanna found it hard to control her dread as Vladimir kneeled beside her and attempted to move Alaria onto his lap. He might as well have attempted to stab her again, as she trashed and fought to stop him.
"She's on borrowed time and if you care, you'll do something."
Lux had learned so much about him from spies and their archives. She had always thought they would first meet in a war zone, and likely exchange nothing but a sequence of deadly incantations. It was sheer absurd that she immediately decided to comply with his harshly spoken orders without a single sound of protest.
There was a tranquilizing spell she had used to ease the pain of heavily wounded soldiers. She ran her hand an inch from Alaria's eyes and the woman relaxed, free from her pain and her mortal dilemma. Lux nodded towards the blood mage, hoping she was leaving her ally in good hands.
There had been too many reports of mortally wounded generals returning to the battlefield a week later, in seemingly good condition. The potency of the sanguine arts could not be denied, although the methods used were gruesome. It was said that in their pursuit of power, blood cultists would rip their own hearts out and use them as a living artifact to channel their magic through: a pulsating, swirling orb ready to unleash the horrors trapped within. But then Demacians would say many things about mages.
Placing one hand on her chest and another around the hilt of the dagger, Vladimir prepared to remove the blade. He'd tossed aside his embroidered coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. There was a pulse, a ripple that ran through the veins of his exposed forearm. The dagger came out in one swift move. The man held it near his face for a second, inspecting the blood that covered most of the blade.
"It's poisoned. She needs a donor."
He turned to the crowd, left hand still pressed against Alaria's chest. There was nothing but urgency in his eyes.
"You," he turned towards a female onlooker. She backed off in fear, an unsurprising reaction if one knew of the sacrifices blood mages would ask for." I won't hurt you. She needs the transfusion."
The woman shook her head.
"Can it be me?" Lux said and when the Noxian didn't react, she pulled him by the sleeve. "Can you use my blood?"
"Unsuitable," he said, barely turning to face her, then continued speaking to the crowd. "Please, I will reward you. You, " he gestured towards a young man "Are you a coward?"
The man was a south Noxian, one of the obviously patriotic types. A young officer, perhaps?
"Not for a Demacian I won't."
"She came here in peace. She will leave in peace. We shame Noxus if we're not true to our word."
The effort of maintaining the spell that kept Alaria's blood pressure steady served to fuel his anger, which had now become visible. His presence, threatening and imposing, spread through the air like the calm before a lighting strike. Peasant or prince, you did not want the wrath of a blood mage.
"Or do you agree with what Du Coteau's men attempted?"
The accusation was the final drop. The man walked, angrily, towards the dying Demacian.
"Roll up your sleeve. I need the artery."
He reluctantly presented his arm to Vladimir. The mage placed his fingertips along the vessel without even turning to look.
"You're intoxicated," he murmured, "but your blood type is the right one."
Then, without warning, the ritual began. It wasn't as gruesome as Lux expected, or as Vladimir's usual work was said to be. Yet one could feel the metallic taste of blood magic in the air even before the donor's veins and arteries became aglow with the enchantment, the sorcery spreading under his tan skin like a complex network of glyphs. The mage's own vessels lit up, both of his hands channelling the spell. The donor's teeth clenched. His fist tensed and relaxed, until he snarled in pain. That was when Vladimir let go of him, almost tossing him aside.
Laying Alaria on the ground, he continued his work. The curious onlookers moved a step closer as his long, loose hair fell, blocking the view to his face. Unconcerned, he placed both his hands on the woman's chest. A spiralling, whirling vortex of energy only Lux seemed to be able to sense encircled him. There was a whisper in the air, a presence, the elegant dance of a hunter. It felt almost illegal for her to look upon this scene with the eyes of a mage, the eyes that could see.
The crowd gasped and withdrew as a fountain of gore erupted from beneath Vladimir's palms. He spread his fingers and the liquid danced away, soaking into the grass.
"It's done," he whispered, his voice weak and breathless. "She's fine."
Lux rushed to inspect the cut in Alaria's blouse. She summoned a light at her fingertips and shone it on her chest, and all she could see was healthy, albeit bloodstained skin. Not even a scar.
A movement behind Lux startled her. It was a woman, tall, elegant and intimidating, who had been there throughout the magical display but Lux only now noticed. Her nails were long and predatory and her barely shoulder length hair was that morbidly vibrant shade of crimson one could only see on a Noxian. She leaned and helped Vladimir to his feet and whispered something in his ear. He whispered back, making sure no one else heard. Finally, he half-turned to face Lux and the Noxian whose blood he had taken.
"You - talk to my treasurer for your reward. I apologise for the inconvenience, Crownguard. Take your associate indoors and let her rest."
His hair was still covering most of his face, as if he had no desire to be seen. Lux, however, could make out some of the details behind the thin white veil. Were there lines at the corners of his mouth, crow's feet on the sides of his eyes? It was only a brief moment before he picked up his embroidered coat, turned away, and left the gardens, closely followed by the crimson-haired noblewoman.
In the diverse economy that Noxians had managed to build in their empire's expansion, everyone had a trade. Blood mages were merchants in their own right, and they traded in life, to achieve in a day what even the most proficient surgeon could not do in a year. While it was true they could rig the scales and bargain with the gods of death, a price had to be paid and there had been no one willing to pay it.
Lux decided against following the sorcerer and tended to her associate. Alaria's breathing was weak and her cheeks were pallid, but the woman was indeed alive and unharmed. Once the tranquillizing spell was removed, she lifted her heavy eyelids and and inspected the crown. Moments later, her lips pursed and she lowered her gaze in shame.
"It was necessary," Lux whispered in her ear. "And you can forget this happened."
Alaria attempted to get up, but soon realised her knees were too weak to hold her. The young Noxian who she owed her life to, after brief contemplation, leaned and picked her up.
"Where are you two staying? My name is Zoran, by the way."