Chapter 13 #2
Scowling, I digest that as poorly as I digest most food. Does Bale think it’s that easy? “My quill ran out of ink.”
Bale huffs again. I can’t tell if there’s humor in it this time or not.
Already feeling the tips of my toes going numb, I move my feet closer to his again. “How can I write when I don’t know anything about myself? There’s nowhere to start the story.”
His eyes blaze, twin embers in the night. “You know exactly who you are. You’ve had more than two hundred years to figure it out. Just be that person. Write that story.”
“I know who I am.” My tone rises to match his. “It’s what I am that’s the problem.”
“Why is it a problem?” he snaps.
“Because there’s no one else like me,” I snap back. “I’m alone.”
He pitches forward. “How the fuck are you alone, Idallia?” The low thunder in his voice raises goose bumps on my arms and sets my hair on end. “Everyone circles you like you’re the starsdamned sun, and you don’t even notice because you’re so busy isolating yourself with your warbirds.”
My jaw drops. I snap it shut. Sybil’s voice slips like a river current through my head, telling me that I unify, that I’m their cause. “That’s not true. I eat meals with the team. We train together. I spend time with Sybil and Stuart.”
“Yes. You’ve lived two hundred and twenty-six years and have seven friends. Ten with your birds.”
My eyes start to sting. Seven means he’s not even counting himself. Or maybe he’s not counting Kellan. “How many friends do you have?” I challenge.
He stares at me, no heat in his gaze. “Absolutely none.”
I inhale sharply. I guess he wasn’t counting himself then. “Stuart would be disappointed you feel that way.”
Bale closes his eyes again. Shadows swirl around him, darkening the night. “We train tomorrow morning, first thing,” he rumbles, utterly changing the subject. “You need to practice.”
My eyes don’t sting again from his criticism. They do not. “Why am I even here if I’m so useless?”
Blazing eyes pierce the gloom again, brightening Bale’s whole face.
I can’t tear my eyes from him—his corded neck, square jaw, strong nose, and hard gaze, staring straight back at me.
His inner fire seethes like it wants to roll out of his mouth and burn me alive.
Voice a flat menace, he tightly utters, “Don’t ever say that again. ”
Glaring at him, I drag my legs up under me. I can keep myself warm. “I don’t know what to make of that. You just told me I need the practice.”
“Everyone needs practice. That’s how you get better, stay sharp, win. You want to win, don’t you?”
“Of course I want to win,” I grind out. “Who doesn’t?”
He grunts in answer. He doesn’t speak again, and the silence feels so thick it coats my skin.
We sit there, the night stars crawling overhead, the moon small and bright.
I’m too aware of Bale and stupidly try to guess his thoughts.
My body confines me like a prison I need to escape, and my mind races, going back over our conversation enough times that I start to regret certain things I said.
Near dawn, my stomach rumbles. I ignore it because I don’t have any food. I’d assumed we’d go back to the inn for breakfast and rest, but now it seems we’ll be sparring in the morning, and I’ll have to do it on an empty stomach.
I close my eyes. Maybe I can at least get a few minutes of sleep before I get my ass kicked by the Dragon King.
A swirling of crisp autumn leaves and fiery wind teases my nostrils, and my gut tenses.
Those dry, woodsy scents always cling to Bale like a second skin, and I open my eyes, finding him right in front of me.
He holds out an apple, arching his brows as if daring me to take it, and my heart flips wildly.
The fruit looks black in the pre-dawn light, but I know it’s red.
I only eat red apples because green ones make my tongue feel numb.
Has Bale noticed that preference too?
My mouth waters, and my insides rumble again. “Why do you have that?”
He eyes the apple with exaggerated longing. “It was for me, but I think you need it more.”
I snort, smiling. “Never in your life.”
He smiles back, and damn if the sun doesn’t crest the horizon at the exact same time.
“Fine, it was for you,” he reluctantly admits. “Just in case.”
A little fire blooms beneath my ribs. “I wish I could eat like everyone else.” Maybe it’s a family trait that I can’t.
“Being like everyone else is overvalued. The best thing you can be is you.”
A lump rises in my throat as I take the apple from him. “How do you always say the right thing? Years of diplomatic training?”
“I don’t know about that,” he says wryly, sitting back on his heels with his arms draped casually over his knees. “We argue a lot.”
“That’s all right.” I shrug. “We’re not friends.”
His mouth thins. “Idallia…”
I wave off whatever he’s going to say—or not say—and take a bite. I can’t help the face I make. I can barely chew and have the strong urge to spit it out.
“What’s wrong?” Bale leans toward me again. “Is the apple bad?”
Shaking my head, I force down the mouthful. “I don’t think so. It’s me. Nothing tasted right yesterday, either.”
Frowning, he reaches out. “Do you mind?” His hands hover near my neck over the torque.
I shake my head, my pulse surging. I hope he doesn’t hear the difference.
Bale grips the metal, his warm fingers sliding against my skin as he gently tugs the torque open enough to slip it off my neck.
He sets it aside, and I touch my throat.
My deep breath feels like the first I’ve taken since putting it on.
“Great stars, that’s a relief.” The prickling heat instantly fades.
Bale nods to the fruit in my hand. “Try the apple now.”
I take a cautious bite and then groan, dabbing at the juice on my lip. “It’s good. Finally.” His eyes dip to my mouth, and embers pop in my belly. My breathing speeds up. “No wonder the potatoes yesterday tasted like rust.”
He quirks a brow. “Have you eaten a lot of rust lately?”
“Oh, bucketfuls.” I take another bite. “Good stuff.”
He chuckles. The sound dies when he glances at the torque. “Put it back on at nightfall. For now, leave it off.”
I nod, happy to oblige, and rub my neck, erasing the lingering feel of the enchanted silver from my skin. “Why would the torque make food taste strange?”
He moves back to his position against the tree across from me, his brow creasing in thought.
He stretches his legs out again, his feet just next to mine.
“The magic in that metal is strong. It has a bite—just like vampire teeth. It could be like when someone wears too much perfume. The strong smell leaves you nauseous and suppresses your appetite, but it’s not so bad that you’ll actually be sick. ”
I despise strong smells and understand what Bale means.
“Like that fae emissary? The one who came to announce the old queen’s death?
” I smile even though it wasn’t funny at the time.
My headache lasted for days, and my birds barely left their roosts.
“We could smell her all over the mountain for a month after she left.”
Bale’s low laughter feels like an extra blanket when he’s already close enough to heat me through. “She was nauseating for several reasons.”
“She was especially obnoxious after she realized she wasn’t getting into your pants.” Mortification fills me. I can’t believe I just said that.
His eyes flash with humor. “You noticed that, did you?” His easy reply lessens my embarrassment. His smile helps too.
“I’m pretty sure everyone did.”
“I could barely stand the smell of her in the cavernous throne room. Imagine contaminating my bed with that much perfume? I’d have to throw it down the mountain and get a new one.”
Laughing, I bite into my apple again.
Fyrestar and Rimblaze swoop down from the branches above, their plumage glowing the same fiery colors as the dawn.
“Going hunting,” Rim says. One warm, bright-red feather on his head is askew from sleep. Reaching out, I smooth it back into place.
I quickly lower my hand and resist patting him longer than necessary. He’ll want to look all grown up in front of Bale. “Happy hunting. Don’t bring me back anything.”
Rim warbles a laugh, his expression shining with delight. He’s on a mission, going hunting with Fyrestar, and getting extra time with Bale. Life is good.
“I’ll keep him in sight,” Fyrestar assures me.
I nod and wave them off, taking my last bites of apple as I watch them clear the treetops and disappear.
When I turn back around, Bale is taking a basket of figs and a small wheel of cheese from his pack.
My chewing slows. “Why do you have all that?”
“I think we’ve established it’s not for me.”
The way my chest tightens should be considered a grave medical condition in all six kingdoms of Ellonrift. “Thank you.”
He leaves the food at my feet and stands. “I take care of what’s mine.”
My belly swoops violently. All food forgotten, I murmur, “You take care of everyone.” I shouldn’t feel special. I shouldn’t wonder. I should eat my breakfast and stop staring at Bale like he’s made of stars.
Except…isn’t he?
Bale shifts into scales. “Eat up, Sunshine, because after I hunt, we cross swords.”
Sunshine? The dam holding my denial in place breaks inside me, and there’s no way the dragon in front of me doesn’t hear my suddenly scorching blood rush through my veins.
Rooted in place, I watch as Bale lifts into the sky and angles in the direction Rim and Fyrestar took. If he hunts with them, I’ll hear about it for months. It’ll be the highlight of their year.
My held breath seeps out of me once I lose sight of him. I don’t know what Bale’s craving for breakfast, but my stomach sinks with the awareness of what I want and maybe can’t resist.
I’m pretty sure the only thing that can save me from a terrible mistake is Bale not wanting me the way I want him. But for the first time, true doubt sneaks in. Maybe he doesn’t.
But what in the blazing stars happens if he does?