Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IDALLIA
Bale doesn’t return for a long time. I know he doesn’t go far.
I can feel him nearby like an ember on my skin.
He’s the start of something hot, burning to ignite.
As I wait for him, a decent meal finally in my stomach but nerves cramping my belly, I tell myself all the reasons this infatuation with Bale Cinderheart is a terrible thing.
He’s the Dragon King.
I’m old, but he’s really old. It’s all relative, though, isn’t it? He’s a healthy adult dragon shifter, and I’m a healthy adult…whatever I am.
He’s solitary and always has been. He accused me of isolating myself, but he’s worse. Didn’t he just proclaim himself friendless? It’s not true, but if that’s the way he feels, it must be a lonely existence.
Most of our conversations of any length turn into arguments.
He’s the leader. He makes the decisions. He’s the one in charge. I get to weigh in, and Bale often asks for my opinion, but apart from that, the power dynamics are troubling.
How mine are my birds? If I no longer want to be part of the Elite Wing or work for Bale, what happens to them? Their everlife is tied to Drayke Mountain, to Bale. He created them, so aren’t they really his, no matter how mine they feel?
Unease swoops through me like a host of sparrows. If I’m to have a witch’s hope of living normally as part of the Elite Wing and with my warbirds, I need to get over my starstruck obsession with Bale.
But what if something were to happen? Would it really be so bad? Would I reject what I secretly long for just because Bale is Torridaig’s king, and he can tell me what to do, and I’m supposed to listen?
How well do I listen now? We usually talk as equals—or at least I feel that way, even if it’s not true. Bale makes me feel that way. Isn’t that good?
Sighing, I put a stop to my circular thoughts and remind myself that Bale has not—in any way, shape, or form—asked me to be with him.
Not long after, Fyrestar returns to the tree above. Rim follows him in.
“How was breakfast?” I ask, looking up.
“Plentiful.” Fyrestar’s golden eyes match the tree’s golden leaves.
Rim trills a satisfied sound, fluffing his wings as he settles on a branch.
My phoenixes blend so perfectly into the autumn woods with the blazing yellows, pink-tipped greens, startling reds, and fiery oranges, that only the glinting of their bright eyes and sharp talons gives them away. “Rabbits everywhere.”
I smile. “How many did you eat?”
“Enough to not need lunch.” Fyrestar gives Rim a proud look. “And Rimblaze caught two more than I did.”
“Hopefully not so many that a stomachache is on the way.”
“Only too many rats give me a stomachache,” Rim says. He’s just like Sol that way.
“I trust you ate your breakfast too?” Bale’s deep, slightly rasping voice emerges from the woods before he does.
I pivot to face him. After all my racing thoughts and nervous pacing, the shock of him is brutal.
I nod, my breath locked in my lungs. His lightly tanned skin is flushed, as if he’s still warm from being in his dragon form, but his hair is damp and slicked back, the softly curling, dark-brown ends dripping beads of water that catch the morning sunlight and glitter like gems.
I swallow hard. “And you?” I finally manage.
Bale nods. “But I’m not the one turning my nose up at meals half the time.” He glances into the tree. “The warbirds are right—rabbits everywhere.”
“It must take a hundred to fill you,” I murmur.
He shrugs, his gaze coming back to me. “There are fewer rabbits now.”
A laugh unfreezes my lungs. Bale looks startled by the sound, as though he can’t imagine being funny. Maybe that’s what happens when you don’t have any friends.
“My difficult relationship with food isn’t by choice. I’d love to be normal.” His expression darkens, and I suppress a groan. I forgot. I’m supposed to embrace my individuality. “I just mean, my head says eat, and my stomach says no thank you.”
Rita and Gerard used to have fits about me going for days without eating anything, so maybe they did care about me in their own way. Or maybe they just worried their gold would stop coming if I accidentally starved to death. It became less of an issue after everyone determined I wasn’t human.
“Eating outdoors is always easier,” I say thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s the sunshine?” I’m absolutely fishing for clues, but Bale doesn’t seem to notice. Or else ignores me.
Looking up, he calls softly to Rim and Fyrestar. They swoop down and land beside us in the clearing. Bale lays an affectionate hand on both, and I take advantage of their nearness to praise how well they kept watch with us last night when they could’ve rested.
“Do you want to sleep now while we spar?” I ask them.
“Unless you plan on training in silence, I doubt that’ll happen,” Fyrestar answers.
Half-laughing, I ask, “Are we so loud?” That can’t be good. At least no Bloodwold vampires will be out and about during daylight hours.
“Clashing swords don’t exactly offer the same level of peace as the roosting wall,” Fyrestar answers dryly.
Rim clicks his beak, narrowing his amber eyes on the tree they just vacated. “And those branches don’t feel anything like my nest.”
I chuckle. “Do you think you might be a little spoiled by your big, cozy roosts back home?”
“More like spoiled by you,” Bale rumbles.
I look over sharply, but there’s no reproof in his expression. It’s…warm.
I turn back to my birds, blushing. “Don’t they deserve some spoiling?”
“I suppose everyone does,” Bale acknowledges more easily than I would’ve expected. When was the last time someone spoiled Bale Cinderheart? Probably never.
From what I’ve heard about his parents, and especially his father, they weren’t generous with anything—gold, protection, or affection. Bale didn’t turn out anything like them.
A lump lodges in my chest, but it’s not gold or protection that makes the feeling mushroom into something that sits achingly on my heart.
It’s my unexpected breakfast, food left at my feet without any warning or expectation.
It’s the attention he gives the warbirds that they soak up like sunshine, making their inner fire glow even brighter with happiness.
“Let’s hope the Bloodwold scum don’t take too long to make a raid on Porthwood,” Bale says, smoothing a wayward feather on Rim’s neck. “Then you can get back to your comfortable nests and Embersol.”
Rim tweets a protest even as he leans into Bale’s hand. “I wasn’t complaining. Just…observing.”
Bale’s lips curve into a smile that’s only for the thirteen phoenixes—indulgent, caring, and proud. This side of him always makes me melt like butter in the sun.
Suppressing a sigh, I drink in the sight of them together. Do I want a raid to come sooner? Or later? I’m conflicted about spending this much time alone with Bale. I crave it, but I know it’s not good for me.
“Rest or watch,” Bale says with a final stroke down Rim’s fire-warm neck. His hands drop away from both phoenixes and move to the hilts of his swords. “Just stay back and don’t interfere on Idallia’s behalf. She trains solo today.”
“Solo?” I arch challenging brows. “I thought I was training with you.”
Something almost eager brightens his features as he draws one sword, leaving the other at his hip. “If you think semantics will save you from getting your hide handed to you, you’re wrong.”
I smirk. He smirks back, and I feel his wordless dare all the way down to the marrow of my bones.
Fyrestar and Rimblaze flutter back into the tree they seem to have chosen, despite the reportedly uncomfortable branches, and I unsheathe the swords at my hips and twirl them in my hands. My blades sing as they cut through the air. Speed. Precision. Strength. I have it all. So does Bale.
I don’t even try to hold back my grin as I start a slow circle, forcing the Dragon King to turn with me. “You can shift. I’ll still fight you.”
Bale huffs, a slightly mocking bend to his lips. “You don’t need to know how to fight a dragon. You need to know how to fight things your own size and strength.”
“You want to shrink, then?”
His smile turns more genuine. “Cealastra made me this way.” He transfers his blade to his nondominant hand.
My eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare.”
“I give the orders here.”
My mind jumps back to my earlier thoughts about our balance of power. Or imbalance. I lift my chin. “A weretiger isn’t my size or strength. A werebear is even worse.”
A sudden wave of shadows spills from him, the inky outline of a huge dragon nearly taking form.
I arch a brow. “Looks like your dragon wants to come out to play.”
Something flickers in Bale’s expression as he draws the darkness back inside. “You don’t want to play with him.”
“Why not?” I cock my head. “Afraid of me?”
His lips twitch. “You’re lucky I’m in charge and not the animal in me.”
My legs turn heavy, slowing my footsteps. The unexpected purr in his voice drags like a weight through my belly. “Why is that?” I ask.
“Because I let you be who you want to be. He wants to snatch you up and lock you in a tower for safekeeping.”
My jaw slowly drops. “Let me?” I say hoarsely.
His eyes narrow. “Figure of speech.”
I manage to keep slowly circling without tripping over my own feet. “Dragons are natural hoarders.”
“We only keep the good stuff,” he promises in a husky voice.
A shiver chases his words through me. “You chose me for the Elite Wing. Not exactly the safest job,” I point out.
“Which is why we train.”
I can’t argue with that. “And we can start as soon as you stop patronizing me.” I look pointedly at his sword, and he reluctantly switches his blade back to his dominant hand.
“Satisfied?” he asks.
Not in the least. The flirtatiousness of our exchange terrifies me.