Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IDALLIA
I sense where I am before I open my eyes. Three warm, heavy bodies surround me, and the air smells of cold rock, pine-wrapped mountains, and brisk autumn air. I take a deep breath, savoring the feel and scents of home.
“I knew you were alive. And now I know you’re awake.” Sybil’s voice pulls a weak smile from me.
“Let her be,” Stuart chides softly.
I open my eyes to find them seated in the chairs by my bedside. My birds occupy their usual positions, with Rim and Sol on either side of me and Fyrestar warming my feet. To my instant relief, they look fine. Fyrestar appears uninjured, and there are no marks on Rim’s neck.
But then, they heal faster than I do.
“How long has it been this time?” I croak in a scratchy whisper. “Water?” I struggle to sit up.
“Long enough that someone was going to have to force broth down your throat pretty soon.” Sybil pours me some water from the pitcher on my night table.
I take the cup she offers, barely able to close my fingers around it. I can’t remember being this weak in a long time—maybe ever. The daylight streaming through my open window shocks my eyes, and I squint at my friends. “You know I can go ages without food.”
Water is different, and I eagerly sip down the cool liquid.
I just wish my hands didn’t shake. Sybil and Stuart both notice and exchange worried glances.
Fyrestar’s eyes narrow, and his plumage grows even warmer.
I do like toasty feet and smile in gratitude, though I’m not sure that warm toes will help my strength return—or melt the cold nugget of fear lodged deep in my chest.
“Maybe you can go without food when you’re healthy,” Sybil says, “but when vampires drink half your blood, it’s a whole different story.”
“Half, huh?” I drain the rest of my cup, but even my own throat working reminds me of vampires forcing pointed teeth through my skin and sucking out my blood in great, thieving gulps. “Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?”
“A lot, then.” She frowns at me. “Too much.”
I shrug. “Must not have been too much, or I wouldn’t be waking up.”
She huffs in impatience, her tone sharpening. “And how do you feel?”
“Like utter shit,” I admit. “Awful.” Inside and out. I shouldn’t have been flippant. Guilt gnawing at me, I say, “I’m sorry.”
Her expression softens. “Like I said, too much. You are lucky to be waking up.” Her voice wavers, and I feel even worse for being a pain in the ass. I just hated the way they were looking at me. So scared. I’m scared enough right now as it is.
Stuart leans in and puts his arm around his wife. “I’m sorry the torque didn’t work better. Maybe it needs to be thicker. Cover more of your neck.”
I shake my head. “No, it was amazing. It totally disintegrated two bloodsuckers’ teeth.”
“It didn’t stop the rest.” With his free arm, he waves a vague hand toward my body. I instantly feel a stabbing twinge in my thigh and at the top of my breast.
The knot gripping my stomach tightens, and every horrible, too-sharp memory of the battle comes flooding back. Frenzied vampires. Me. Rim.
I clutch my cup so hard the pottery shatters in my hand. I stare at the chunks in my lap. “Good thing that was empty.”
“At least a few sips of water are already helping you regain your strength,” Sybil says archly as she stands and helps me pick the pieces off my blanket. She dumps them into the basket I use for trash before sitting again, her expression somewhat less anxious.
I guess my show of renewed vigor helped ease her worries. I don’t tell her it was more about fear than strength, but my birds seem to know. Fyrestar watches me closely. Rim and Sol snuggle in.
“Is everyone else okay?” I ask. “What happened?”
“Everyone is all right now,” Stuart answers. “Wade and Danica were pretty beat up.”
“They gave my new apprentice healers some of their very first post-battle work. No vampire bites, but more slashes and bruises than I even wanted to count.” Sybil leans back in her chair, and I realize how tired she looks.
Not only did she certainly work hard to heal me herself, but she had to supervise everyone else.
“And the wing guards?” I glance at Rim. “Rim?”
“The injured wing guards are fine now. They all healed relatively quickly, especially Rim.” She gives my phoenix a fond look. “He was motivated to get back to your side as quickly as possible.”
“The healing room wasn’t for you, Rim?” I ask.
“This is my room.” His immediate answer is all I need to feel a huge lump rise in my throat.
I swallow it down, but my eyes brim as my gaze skates over my birds. All three look back at me, their eyes bright, their lifelight strong.
“What really happened?” Stuart asks gently. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Worry clouds his expression, forcing deep lines between his brows and aging him by ten years. “No one else was bitten like that.”
The shudder that runs through me is wholly involuntary and impossible to hide.
“I don’t know. We were severely outnumbered, but we were holding our own.
Then one of the blood traffickers got in a slice to my thigh.
As soon as they scented my blood, they all went berserk.
The battle didn’t seem to matter anymore—not the prisoners they took, or even their own injured or dead.
They just wanted me.” The shock of being held down, bitten, my blood rushing violently through my veins and into someone else, rattles me all over again.
“But why?” Stuart doesn’t understand any more than I do.
“I have no idea.” Unnerved, I reach out and touch the yellow-orange fluff around Sol’s ear. I smooth it, the contact soothing me. “Does my blood look any different to you?”
Sybil shakes her head. “It’s just blood. And if you can stomach eating some meat, it might help you recover faster.”
I feel sick at the thought, bile already stinging the back of my throat. But I hate being this shaky and reluctantly nod. “Can you mash it up and put it in some soup?”
She smiles. “You won’t even know it’s there.”
Unlike the vampire bites that still throb insistently.
The top of my breast aches, just like the column of my throat and front of my thigh.
I discreetly feel my leg through my blanket.
The skin is flat and smooth except for where the pain lingers.
I touch my neck, finding raised lumps there too.
If they haven’t disappeared yet, there’s a good chance they aren’t going to.
“Scars?” I ask, wincing.
Sybil winces back at me. “Only the bite marks. I don’t know why. They should’ve disappeared along with the leg wound and bruises.”
I slowly exhale, the breath as unsteady as the rest of me. Maia wears the scar on her cheek like a badge of honor, and it suits her, enhancing her beauty. My starsdamned vanity means I don’t want anything lasting on me, even in places other people don’t see.
I might enjoy flirting when we head out to our usual tavern down in Drayke, but only Kellan has ever actually seen me naked. The idea of baring myself to anyone again just gets scarier the more time goes by, and having these puncture wounds to explain isn’t going to help.
“If Bloodwold vampires couldn’t repel firebreath, we’d have won in seconds, and no one would’ve gotten hurt.” We’d win every time. Blood traffickers wouldn’t be a problem, because they wouldn’t dare. They’d die.
“Magic like that isn’t limitless. You know Rannigan Bloodthief must be sanctioning every single raid because he’s getting his sorcerers to cover those vampires in that magic before they cross the border.” Stuart shakes his head in anger, his mouth a grim line.
“You mean it’ll wear off?” Sybil asks. “Like on the ones Bale captured?”
I look over sharply. “He got some?” They both nod.
“And it’ll definitely wear off,” Stuart confirms. “The Vampire King’s sorcerers will have to recover their strength and then concentrate the same magic on the next batch of blood traffickers. It would have to be internalized—in an object, for example—to last indefinitely.”
“Like the torque?” Sybil asks.
He nods. “And someone could steal an object. Or die with it in enemy territory. It’s harder to make a spell permanent than temporary, and this magic is too valuable to them to risk wasting it that way on expendable minions.”
“Makes sense,” Sybil says.
I agree. I hadn’t thought about the fact that blood traffickers die all the time, which is probably why Rannigan hasn’t invested dwindling magic in more than a temporary solution to their firebreath problem.
Sybil and Stuart exchange a warm glance. I know he admires her healing skills, just like she admires his knowledge and talent with other types of magic.
The obvious affection and appreciation between them whisper to me that something is missing from my life. I don’t like the thought, and I dislike how Bale instantly comes to mind even more. The sensation of loneliness deepens with the shadow of Bale in my head, and I snuggle Rim and Sol closer.
Stuart scrubs a hand down his grizzled chin, his late-day stubble rasping. The light through my window is thinning, and Stuart is always clean-shaven in the morning.
“It must be near dinnertime. You two should eat and rest.” They both look like they need it.
Stuart’s face brightens at the idea of dinner.
“We’ll let you rest too.” Sybil stands, pulling a somewhat creaky Stuart up with her. “But I’ll order your meat soup and come back with it after dinner.”
The words meat soup make me shudder. Turning my instinctual grimace into a syrupy smile, I say, “Sounds divine.”
Sybil laughs. “Now I know you’re fine.”
“Sarcasm as proof of health?” I ask, grinning.
“It’s a good start.” Her eyes tell me how pleased she is.
I keep mine wide open until she leaves, still holding hands with Stuart. I know if I blink, I’ll see her death, and that’s more than I can handle right now.
* * *
I ask Fyrestar exactly what happened after I lost consciousness next to Rim on the battlefield.