Chapter 42 #2
“The curse is of the mind, not the heart.” He sat straighter. “For instance, you think you feel safe with your family with every reset because you know them. But that's not the only reason. They are always in your heart, so you trust them easier than you would anyone else.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“It is true. And that is how you'll remember me.” His dark gaze pinned me in place.
A flutter of nerves rippled in my gut. Still, I smiled, pretending he was wrong. “I may be your prisoner, but what makes you think you have my heart, Lord Nightblade?”
He leaned in, closer than before. “What makes you think I don't?”
Every nerve in my body ignited at his candor. I had to calm my breathing to focus. “Maybe because I say so.”
“You say a lot of things, mage.” He took a swig of his drink. “Things a male isn't likely to forget.”
He was talking about last night again. All the embarrassing parts about my drunken confession. And there was no point denying anything because every word spoken had been true.
“At least I'm not a closed book.”
“And who is?” he contested, as if he didn't know.
“You. I know so little about you it's next to nothing.”
He inched back and gave me a knowing stare. “You know enough not to hate that you like me.”
I chuckled at first, then felt exposed under that pondering look. Instead of shying away, I decided to go with it. “I want to know more about you. Maybe... I want to like more, too.” I couldn't believe I just said that. Those few words were possibly the most forward I'd ever been—when not drunk.
Wolfe watched me intently, as if trying to read my soul. “There's not a lot to like about me, Ziyka.”
“Why don't you tell me, and I'll decide?”
His eyes darkened as he considered my request. Then his gaze shifted, slow, deliberate, scanning the tavern until it landed on a group of boisterous Fae males near the hearth.
They were hunched over a wide, rune-carved board, the surface glowing faintly in the firelight.
One of them slammed a cluster of shimmering stones down with a victorious shout, shaking the table and earning a round of groans from the others.
Wolfe looked back at me, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Why don't we play a game?”
“That game?” I gestured toward the table. He nodded. “I don't know how to play. You'd win.”
His fingers traced the rim of his mug like he was already picturing his prize. “It's called Wyrdstones. It's a chance game, so we both have the same odds. How about we do five rounds? If you win, I'll answer three questions. No evading. No lies.”
My spirits lifted. “Really? Three questions with one win? In one go?”
“Yes.”
“And I get to ask you anything?”
“Anything. But if I win...” He let the moment hang in the air, taunting and teasing. “You'll give me something I want.”
What would he want from me? That was so vague, but damn did I ever want to find out, and that made his offer seem fair.
“Okay,” I agreed carefully. “How do we play?”
“The stones are imbued with magic. You need to roll three and try to match the colors. If you do, you win.”
“That's it?”
His eyes glittered. “That's it.”
“Then let's play.”
“Are you sure you want to gamble with me just to get some answers?”
“Are you scared I'll win?” I smirked.
“No. I'm not worried about myself, Ziyka. Just giving you the chance to change your mind while you still can. You might like what I want to take from you, especially if I win five times.”
“But you could lose five times, and I could win.” I gave him a challenging stare.
“Let's just play.”
He closed his hand, made a tight fist, then opened it again, and out rolled three shimmering stones onto the table.
Each one was as smooth as river glass, carved with fine lines that pulsed with faint color.
One red, one green, one a cool shade of blue.
Each then changed color to something else entirely.
“Ladies first.”
I picked up the stones. They buzzed faintly and were warm against my skin.
I rolled. The stones tumbled with a clatter and landed scattered. Green, blue, red.
“No match,” Wolfe said with mock sympathy. “Shame.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Don't gloat yet.”
He rolled next and his set came up with two blue stones and one pulsing gold. He clicked his tongue. “Luckless tonight.”
“Round two?”
“Round two.”
I leaned forward and rolled again. I watched eagerly as the stones settled to one, two, three purple. Three in a row. I won. “Yay me.”
Wolfe smiled despite himself. “Looks like I underestimated you.”
I grinned. “Oh, you definitely did.”
He opened his palms wide. “Go on, then, ask me your questions, Ziyka.”
I thought about what I should ask. If this was my only win, I didn't want to waste it with pointless questions. I decided on asking the right things that allowed me to strip down the layers of the dark prince.
“What's your favorite thing to do when you're completely alone?”
He stilled. “That's what you want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I like flying my dragons. There's nothing like it.”
That made me smile. I'd gotten a taste, so I knew what he meant. “Nothing feels more freeing.”
“No, nothing. And there’s nothing like being one of the few who can.”
“Why don’t more people do it? I can’t imagine there aren’t others fantasizing about flying dragons.”
“There are probably thousands. But dragons don’t bond with just anyone.
Their magic ties them to certain bloodlines, and it’s almost always Fae who can command darkness, fire, and the Void.
I’ve never seen them bond with another being.
Some dragons won’t even let outsiders near.
You’re the first mage I’ve ever seen a dragon accept. ”
I couldn’t help but wonder what other dormant powers stirred within me. “I guess I’m lucky then.”
“Very.”
“Garick and Arielle told me about Azilgieth, the Dragon Isle. What’s it like there?”
A grin tugged at the corners of his lips.
“Amazing. Imagine a kingdom with only dragons.” His eyes glinted with reminiscence.
“Azilgieth’s a sanctuary where the first riders forged their bonds and dragons bound themselves to bloodlines.
The air is thick with their songs and the land hums with their magic.
There are so many of them, all shapes, sizes, and colors, soaring through the skies in endless flight. ”
The image stole my breath. Gods, what I would give to see it. “That sounds like a dream. How often do you go there?”
“Not as often as I’d like. Before my father died I would spend months at a time training the dragons for new riders going through the royal academy and tending to the older ones who could no longer fly.
Now my Lord Commander duties in the King’s Guard take most of my time, so I’ve left my nephews in charge. ”
It struck me then; this was the first time Wolfe had mentioned family apart from his mother. “You have nephews?”
“I have many, but the ones I mean are from my oldest aunt. They’re just as obsessed with dragons as I am.”
“I want to fly again.” I lowered my voice, remembering his warning about keeping certain things secret.
He stiffened, jaw clenching, eyes narrowing. “Riding a dragon is no easy task, Ziyka. Just because you managed to do it once, it doesn't mean it will always be simple.”
“I know. But come on, how can you stop me from doing something so amazing and rare? If I could do it once, it means I'm supposed to do it again. And again.”
A cold smile eased across his lips. “You're pushing your luck, mage. Those are my dragons. Not yours.”
“And you're being an asshole again.”
At first, he frowned, then he chuckled. “You really are pushing your luck. How about we talk about it another time?”
“Does that mean you'll consider it?”
“Is that one of your questions?” He cocked his head and set his shoulders back.
“You know it's not. Just tell me you'll consider it and possibly teach me to fly.”
“Woman.” The deep groan in his voice seeped into my core.
“Please.”
He bit the inside of his lip and considered my request for a moment. “Fine. I'll consider it.”
“Yay! When?”
“Next question, Ziyka. Or game over.”
I pretended to pout but bit back a smile. “I can't wait for you to consider it. And teach me to fly.”
“Gods be good.”
I stared at him as I thought of the next question to ask. It came to me, pushing through the myriad of other things I wanted to know. “What do you fear most?”
He released a slow, ragged sigh, and his chest caved. “Not living.”
“Like not doing what you want while you can?”
“Yes and no. I guess I mean the step beyond that.
I fear being death. Being dead and not feeling anything yet you're still alive. I fear not living the life I was supposed to live and spending the rest of eternity as a shell.” I knew he wanted nothing more than to claim his kingdom, but there was an undertone of something more in his voice that told me his worry ran deeper than what he'd said.
“That won't happen to you.” I shook my head.
“You sound certain.”
“I just... can't imagine that it will.”
“War and too much time changes a person in the worst of ways.”
“But there are other things that keep your soul alive. Things like peace, compassion, happiness... love.”
His expression shifted, becoming tender in a way that stole my breath. He looked at me as if I'd just reminded him what it felt like to believe in something good and he was allowed to want everything I'd just named.
“Then maybe there's hope for me yet.” His voice carried a note of wonder, as if the possibility surprised him. “Next question, Ziyka.”
“Did you ever get married?” The question escaped before I could contemplate its appropriacy.
“No.” His answer was immediate, definitive.
“Not in three hundred years?” I couldn't keep the incredulity from my voice.
“No.”
“What about girlfriends or love interests?” My cheeks warmed as I realized how transparent I was being.
“Yes.” The corner of his mouth twitched at my obvious fishing. And maybe it was also possible he sensed the pang of envy that raced through me.