Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
VANDER
Iwatch Larellin sleep. She’s been out for two days now, her small body wracked with fever.
Her breathing is low and even, only rasping dryly at intervals. She still burns. Lenka tends her wound, wiping it clean and packing it with more herbs and charred flowers.
“The fever must break soon.” Lenka rewraps her leg and pulls the blankets over her. “If it doesn’t, I don’t know if she’ll ever wake.”
“She’ll survive.” I rub a hand along my jaw, the hair there scruffy and thick.
Lenka gives me a kind look. “Of course, Sire.”
“Brother.” Faraday leans into the room. “We need to talk.”
I glance at Larellin, her pale skin and bright pink cheeks.
She dreams. I can sense her in the fevered fog, her eyes moving, her mouth sometimes making silent words.
As for me, I keep hearing her cracking voice singing about me, about my people.
The lies the mortals tell themselves shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but hearing those words from her lips was a potent poison, one that’s been festering inside me ever since.
“It’s about Sela,” Rivon calls from the hallway.
I stand and stretch. How long have I been sitting here?
“I’ll keep watch.” Lenka takes my seat, a book in her hand as she settles in. “Go on, Sire. You’ve done all you can.”
I don’t know if that’s true. Larellin was nothing but terrified from the moment I rescued her from that black stone. Maybe I should’ve been different toward her. Maybe I should’ve … I don’t know. The fact is I don’t know how to treat a mortal, especially not a female mortal.
With one last look at her, I follow Fyan into the hall and down to the den.
“What’s this about Sela?” I walk to the fire and toss another log on, sparks rising up the chimney.
“I heard whispers, plenty of them.” Rivon sits on the couch, a pipe between his lips as he puffs lightly. “The DaySilver Clan knows about our Bargain. They’ve been sniffing around in the local villages, asking plenty of questions.”
“Lucky for us no one knows anything about our Bargain.” Faraday kicks his feet up on the coffee table.
“Someone saw Vander arrive with her. They know. Sela is keen to meet the mortal.” Rivon puffs heartily on his pipe and blows a smoke ring.
“She’ll never set foot in this keep.” I lean against the hearth, the fire’s heat nothing compared to my own. “She’ll never touch Larellin.”
“Even so, she has spies watching.” He sighs. “They saw her fall.”
“Fuck.” Fyan shakes his head, his dark hair falling haphazardly around his shoulders. “They’re closer than we thought.”
“We’ve been lax over the last few decades, languishing here while Sela has strengthened her Clan.” Rivon glowers.
“The Clan she stole,” Faraday corrects. “The only ones left from her purge.”
“Even so, she thinks she’s the one who’ll break the curse.”
“She’s killed every one of her Bargains with the mortal realm.” I stare into the flames. “Either through anger or sheer malevolence. She can’t keep her mortals alive, much less find the one to break the curse.”
“The whispers told me that’s why she’s come for your Bargain.”
I turn to stare at Rivon. “What?”
He nods. “The mortals know better than to make any more separate Bargains with Sela or her clan. She’ll have to wait 20 years to have another chance at a mortal, and even then, the Arbiter may choose another of the DragonKin, just as she chose you for this turning of the Bargain.”
I force myself to stay steady, to breathe through the rage that tries to rise in my blood. “She thinks she can take what’s mine?”
“I think her goal is clear. She wants to take the throne for herself. Part of that is ensuring that you never get a chance to end the curse.”
My hatred for Sela is a never-cooling ember, but at the thought of her coming for Larellin, it flares into a wildfire. “She will never have Larellin.”
“She can try.” Fyan tosses a knife in the air and catches it. “In fact, I’d like her to try it.”
Brin strides in, a wine goblet in one hand. “There’s a meeting?” He pauses and looks around the room, his wolf-yellow eyes wary. “And I’m not invited?”
“Sit.” I wave him toward the couches.
“Okay.” Still unsure, he glances around and sits opposite Rivon. “What’s going on then? Is the mortal all right?”
“She will be. Lenka is tending to her.” I say a silent prayer to the gods for the fever to break.
“Then why all the long faces?” He sips his wine.
Upstairs, Larellin whimpers, the sound of it like a blade to my heart. Her suffering—it’s my fault.
“Sela is going to try to steal the mortal.” Faraday leans over and sniffs Brin’s cup then frowns. “That better not be the sangria I traded with that obsidian witch for. I almost lost one of my nuts for that bottle.”
Brin grins and takes a big gulp. “I don’t know what it is. I just like how it makes me feel.”
Faraday reaches for the cup, but Brin yanks it away with a growl. “Give it here, you mutt!” He jumps over the couch and rounds on Brin.
“Tough words coming from an overgrown bat,” Brin taunts.
Larellin moans, pain woven into the sound.
“I’ll use your hide for a rug!” Faraday lunges.
Brin bares his fangs.
“Enough!” I bellow.
Faraday and Brin freeze, both of them turning to gawk at me.
“Post Firefolk at all the entrances to the keep. If Sela tries anything, at least we’ll know she’s coming.” I stalk toward the door. “Maintain regular patrols. Rivon, let me know if you hear anything more from the villagers. And if anyone sees Sela, alert me immediately.”
“She wouldn’t dare try anything.” Brin hands his cup to Faraday.
“She’s dared plenty over the past centuries. This would be nothing for her.” I stop in the doorway, tension radiating through me. “I won’t let her take what’s mine. Never again.” I leave and head straight for Larellin.
Behind me, Brin and Faraday trade recriminations over who’s to blame for setting me off.
The truth is, neither of them is the reason.
Their silly little tiffs are nothing new, and in fact, tend to be rather amusing.
But I’m not in the mood. Not when my mortal is suffering and not when my greatest enemy is on my doorstep.
Larellin wakes late in the night.
I stop breathing and watch her, making sure I haven’t imagined it.
“Mama?” she calls, her voice weak and small, her eyes still shut tight.
“You’re going to be all right.”
“I’m so sorry.” A tear rolls from the corner of her eye.
I wipe it away. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m so sorry, Mama.”
She’s delirious, the fever taking a heavy toll. “I tried to be strong when Papa …” Her voice fades out. “I’m sorry.”
More tears. Gods, why do they rip apart my insides? Just seeing her cry is a special sort of torture, one I’ve never experienced.
Taking her hand, I lean forward. “No. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“You.” She turns toward me, her eyelids fluttering open. “Vander?”
“I’m here.”
“I’m in Oblivion.” She seems to be saying it more to herself than to me. “Mama’s not here. I’m not … I’m …”
“You’re safe.” I press her small hand between my palms. Cooler now, her skin doesn’t radiate as much strange heat like before. “I swear it.”
“Safe? In a dragon’s lair?” Her voice is raspy and quiet. She looks at me again, her eyes barely open.
“Yes.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
She watches me for a little while longer, then closes her eyes.
I think perhaps she’s fallen back asleep, but then she says in barely a whisper, “Thank you.”