Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
BALE
The Elite Wing is more subdued than usual as we set out for the northeast of Torridaig.
Did I make a mistake by eliminating the usual race to the pillars?
No challenge, no pumping blood, no rivalry?
For my right and left wings today, it probably feels boring and undeserved to step into a position without fighting for it, and while Maia probably isn’t bothered, we all know Idallia loses interest when she isn’t losing.
Flying on my left wing, Idallia is quiet and visibly troubled this morning. As usual, the team takes its cues from her. If she’s quiet, they’re quiet. If she’s worked up, their energy reflects her mood. She holds out the palm of her hand, and everyone jumps into it.
Including me.
My lips pull back in irritation, baring my fangs to the cold wind. I call forth more inner heat to counter the high mountain air, since my expression remains grim.
Isn’t that what I trained her for? Leadership?
But what about the hard decisions? The ones your heart doesn’t want to make but your head knows you must.
I glance at Rimblaze. His feathers glow hot and bright, and he looks overjoyed to finally be flying at Fyrestar’s side again.
Idallia looks the opposite. Is she angry?
She’s definitely upset. Rimblaze is flying out on a mission with us for the first time since his rebirth, and she obviously didn’t like my imposing that yesterday, panic surging across her face like a wildfire she couldn’t put out.
But Rimblaze is ready, and I’ve already been holding back on giving him his final tests simply to avoid that awful look on Idallia’s face.
Because we’ve all seen it before—and far worse. When Embersol took so long to come back three years ago, and we all started to doubt, I think she nearly died of grief.
Her vampire-repelling torque flashes in my eyes, but she hasn’t looked at me once. The way she paled on the mountain terrace yesterday twists inside me again, but these are warbirds, and war is one more failed Council meeting away. I need everyone who can fight, and Rimblaze is ready.
I glance behind me at the rest of the team. It doesn’t help that Kellan is throwing his renewed sullenness into everything. He’ll be off on a mission by himself soon, though, and I’m counting on the break helping to calm the tension that’s been growing ever since he carried Idallia home.
The memory of her wrapping herself around his dragon’s body and clinging to his back slices through me.
I quickly push the stab of jealousy aside, hoping to actually be rid of it this time.
The last thing I need right now is to think like a man instead of a king.
I’ve already been doing too much of that for too long.
My frustrated, fire-licked snarl is loud enough to make Fyrestar turn his head. Our gazes meet, his igniting in question. The wind whistling past shouts at me to answer, even as my gut and the dragon I am both tell me to shut the fuck up and not lose what I have.
Sick with the same indecision that’s plagued me for decades, I break eye contact with Fyrestar and turn back to the horizon. Bloodwold is dead ahead.
Those golden eyes—the only phoenix to have them. Does Idallia never suspect why? Does Fyrestar?
The early morning sun blazing in my eyes might not burn away my worries, but it helps drive them to the back of my mind.
So does the beauty of Torridaig as the central mountainous forests give way to a moorland terrain of snaking, silver rivers and wild, gorse-and-heather-dotted hillsides.
Hamlets break up the landscape, few and far between.
Southern Torridaig is much tamer and more populated, especially around the lake country.
Today’s flight to the east will soon take us toward cultivated land and larger settlements as these rough uplands turn into grassy valleys and swaths of trees, but here, the craggy, wild terrain rolls endlessly below, the air stirs the soul, the light fills it, and the warm, bright sunshine feels far holier than any distant, cold light of the stars.
We reach the city of Porthwood by midday and land at the local garrison. Rimblaze shows signs of fatigue, but that’s to be expected. He hasn’t flown this far in one go in his current lifetime, and our pace was the same as usual—blistering.
I meet with Titan James, the commander of Porthwood’s soldiers, and explain our mission to him while the team settles their wing guards into a large inner courtyard with several good perching trees.
Titan’s office feels small and confined after being in the sky all morning. “I know you usually pursue instantly if you think you can recover any of our people before blood traffickers cross into Bloodwold, but I need you to hold off this time—at least while we’re here.”
“Hold off?” He frowns at me.
“Have your soldiers keep close watch at night, as usual, but if they see anything suspicious, they need to go straight to the nearest member of the Elite Wing.” I tell him where the team will be positioned around the city, waiting in case of news.
“Don’t raise the alarm. Whatever you do, keep quiet and be discreet.
We want to catch thieving vampires in the act and take them prisoner before they reach the border. ”
He nods, understanding the strategy. “Got it. Don’t let them know we’re coming.”
“We’re coming,” I emphasize. “All you and your soldiers need to do is keep a sharp eye out and alert the squadron to anything worrisome, even if it’s just a hunch.”
“I don’t enjoy raising false alarms,” he says hesitantly.
“I don’t enjoy losing my people to bloodsucking thieves. I don’t care how many false alarms you might raise. There will be one that’s real, and that’s all we need.”
I wonder for a moment if I’ve offended Titan with my tone and the clear exclusion of his garrison, who’ve been dealing with this problem for a long time, but his jaw just firms in determination. “I’ll let my soldiers know. But if you need us to step in, we’ll be ready.”
Grateful, I grip his shoulder. “I know you will be. You’ve saved many lives over the years.
” At least half the time, local garrisons along the Bloodwold border recover the victims before it’s too late, through battle or otherwise.
If it’s a question of getting caught or killed by dragon shifters—or by the rising sun—blood traffickers will often abandon their captives and run.
“We captured two Bloodwold scum recently, but they killed themselves before we could get them into prison.” His mouth thinning, Titan shakes his head. “They’re more afraid of their own king’s wrath than of yours.”
Huffing sourly, I wonder when I stopped being the most terrifying thing around. Not that I enjoyed the reputation, but it was mine.
Actually, I know when. The change happened a bit more than two centuries ago, when I started trying to protect fucking everyone after the Vampire King murdered an entire starborn royal family in cold blood.
Except for one. He spared her life to steal her vote. The Bloodthief Bride. A hard smile almost curves my mouth.
“Taking prisoners is our focus now,” I reiterate. “Capture—and make sure they don’t kill themselves.”
We don’t even know if a raid will happen in Porthwood or anywhere else.
Incidents are irregular, unpredictable, and happen in different places—sometimes not even in Torridaig.
Coming here is nothing more than a logical guess as to where blood traffickers might strike next, one I hope will pan out and help us stand against Rannigan Bloodthief at the upcoming Council.
Or…My stomach dives to the floor. There is another way to thwart him. The best way of all.
The dragon in me instantly roars in protest. Shadows creep under my skin—hot, feral magic reminding me that dragons gather and keep. We don’t let our treasures go.
Torn straight down the middle, I gruffly add, “We can stay in Porthwood for several days, but not indefinitely. If something doesn’t happen soon, we’ll have to move on.”
Titan’s expression turns grimmer than ever, and I fear I look the same. “I’ve never hoped for a raid before. It doesn’t feel right.”
“I know what you mean.” I start toward the door, wanting to get back to the team. “But I don’t plan on letting anyone cross the border and slip into the tunnels. If traffickers come, we’ll stop them.”
“Those fucking tunnels,” Titan growls.
I couldn’t agree more, an answering growl rumbling in my throat.
Not long after Rannigan introduced the magic to counter our firebreath, he began riddling the whole border on his side from northeastern Torridaig to Fanghaven with tunnels he claims are “a mining operation” and that open again under the cover of Hellwood Forest. It’s absurd.
Gildenfae brave enough to cross the border and sniff around have confirmed there’s nothing of value under that land.
The real purpose of Rannigan’s tunnels is to get his raiders and their captives underground and behind locked doors the second they reach Bloodwold.
Safe from the sun, and safe from my army.
Though not for much longer. I’ll be making my own demands during the Council, whether I have the votes to back me or not. He stops all blood raids, or I stop respecting our goddess-approved borders. Then we’ll see who’s more terrifying.
I give Titan a parting nod, and he nods back, confident in me and the Elite Wing.
As I leave his office, that hard smile finally curves my mouth, so devoid of humor it makes me wonder to what depths I could fall if I let myself.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more hate in my nearly six-hundred-year life than when that smug bastard dug his tunnels right in front of my face.
Rannigan Bloodthief must know I could’ve killed him the night he murdered the Fanghaven royals, and maybe I should have.