Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BALE
I nearly crush the bowl of soup in my hand as I stare at a half-dressed Idallia, my inner heat blazing to life. My mouth goes dry. Great fucking stars. She’s magnificent.
She stares back at me, her golden eyes round with surprise. She pulls up the little strap falling down her shoulder. The second she lets go, it falls down again. That strap sliding down her smooth skin holds my absolute focus. I want to bite it in half and replace everything she’s wearing with me.
“I thought you were Sybil.” My gaze snaps back up at her words. She seems out of breath and unsteady on her feet.
“Sorry to disappoint. I brought your soup.” I hold out the miraculously still-intact bowl, hoping she doesn’t notice the fire-scorched rasp in my voice.
Taking it, she cradles it against her chest. She visibly shivers, and the dark peaks of her nipples press against her white nightgown.
I stifle a groan and focus on her face. What I see sobers me.
She’s gaunt and pale, and the dragon in me howls to pick her up and warm her against me, getting her bare feet off this cold floor for once.
“No, I’m glad you did. Thank you.” Her gaze warms, a smile touching her lips. “It’s a long climb up the stairs for Sybil. Now she can just go back to her quarters and rest.” Idallia steps back, inviting me in.
I stay where I am. Sparing Sybil the climb to the Elite Wing quarters did factor into my decision to carry up the soup. But was it the only reason? My gut knows the truth, and I try never to lie to myself. That seems like a fool’s way out.
Idallia’s other shoulder strap slides down, and I track the narrow strip of material like prey.
She blushes, seeming to realize the bowl of soup crushed to her chest is the only thing holding her nightgown up. Turning, she walks across the room to the chairs near her bedside, the very last of the day’s sunlight illuminating her curving silhouette through the thin white gown.
Riveted, I hover in the doorway. I know her shape already—combat clothes aren’t exactly loose—but seeing her like this is something I try not to even let myself imagine. There’s too much history between us that she isn’t aware of.
I shouldn’t be here. I probably wouldn’t be if I hadn’t let myself believe in the desire spilling off her in waves before everything blew up in Porthwood. Thinking she might actually want me as much as I want her is clouding my decisions.
I force myself back a step, the chilly dimness of the mountain corridor helping to slap some sense into me.
Idallia sets her dinner on her night table, then reaches for the thick robe draped over her bed frame. She pulls it tightly around herself, belts it, and then sits awkwardly, the teetering drop into the chair seeming to startle her as much as it does me.
Concerned, I step back into the room. “That bad?” I ask, my feeble resolve to leave dissipating like smoke on the wind as the door snicks shut behind me.
She groans, tilting her head back against the chair and closing her eyes. “Worse.”
Two sets of round bite wounds on her neck glare at me accusingly. If she knew who she was—what—maybe she could’ve avoided that. Maybe she’d have known what she was up against.
It feels too forward to sit with her, so I move toward her open window and look down at Drayke as dusk colors settle over the capital of Torridaig.
Lights already twinkle in the sprawling city nestled in the valley below, its serpentine shape following the river cutting through the central mountains.
Steep hillsides rise on all sides, the dark pines almost black, and the granite cliffs sheer and imposing.
Upper Drayke Lake shines like a polished sword on a plateau above the city.
The towers of the military school rise in the distance beyond that, hundreds of dormitory windows reflecting the orange light of the setting sun.
Idallia hated it there, and I think her pain goes far beyond the incidents I know about.
I turn back to her, a woodsmoke-scented breeze whispering over me from behind. “Things got out of hand near Draywood.” I clear my throat. If that’s my apology, it needs work. “I’m sorry I asked Fyrestar to leave you.”
Her eyes widen, and she tugs at her robe. “I’m sorry too. But I understand why you did it. He’s the fastest.”
“It broke your rhythm.”
Shrugging, she glances down. “A lot of things break my rhythm.” Her eyes abruptly lift again, and she throws me a cutting look. “Do better, right?”
Regret sinks through me. I wish I’d never uttered those words. “You’re already one of the best.”
Her expression sours. “Maia beats me all the time.”
“It’s about even,” I concede. But if Maia were Idallia’s enemy, I know who I’d bet on—a small, lithe, incredibly powerful black-haired blur who hasn’t tapped into even a fraction of her strength and abilities.
“You beat me.”
I puff out my chest. “I am the best.”
Her reluctant laughter heals something deep inside me that broke as she hung lifeless from my talons during the frantic flight home.
“I heard you got the prisoners you wanted.” She reaches for her soup and lifts a spoonful in toast. If the face she makes after her first swallow is any indication, I might have to coerce her into eating the rest.
Exhaling heavily, I lean against the window frame. “I did, but Draywood is half gone. Twelve people are dead.”
Looking even more sick to her stomach, she lowers the bowl to her lap. “I’m so sorry, Bale.”
Nodding, I scrub a hand down my face, wishing I could scrub away the guilt. “It’s my fault.”
“How is it your fault?” Frowning, she eats again. At least she knows what’s good for her, even if she doesn’t like it.
“I’m sure someone tipped the Bloodwold vampires off to us being in Porthwood.
And it turns out Rannigan himself was just over the border—probably at that stronghold not far into Hellwood Forest where a lot of his tunnels connect.
” She nods, knowing the one I mean. We see its dark towers from the air when we fly along the border.
“Raiders usually go out in smaller, more discreet groups, but I think Rannigan must’ve gotten wind of the Elite Wing being in Porthwood and sent everyone he had in the area out as a big show of force.
” I pause. “Maybe even to try to eliminate us.”
Her too-thin face goes flat with shock. “That’s why there were so many of them?”
“There was ample time for the in-house sorcerers to coat them all in protective magic. The blood thieves must’ve gathered underground during the day to attack the second night. We should’ve gone to the border in secret. We shouldn’t have been so visible.” My mouth twists in disgust.
Her grip on her bowl turns her knuckles white. “How do you know Rannigan was there?”
“My spies hidden throughout Hellwood Forest spotted him traveling northeast toward Blackrock Keep after the raid. He was at the border when we arrived. He sanctioned the whole thing himself.”
Slowly, carefully, she lifts another spoonful to her mouth. “It didn’t work out for him.”
“No.” I sigh deeply. “But it didn’t work out for us, either.” And there’s no way a few vampires didn’t make it back over the border and into the tunnels again. They’ll have reported on the blood frenzy, which means Rannigan will know what I have in the Elite Wing. Likely even who.
Idallia bites her lip, the soup once again forgotten. “We took back the people they captured. And we got your prisoners. We all made it back alive.”
“Eat,” I rumble more harshly than I intend, not willing to reason away my role in the destruction of my city.
She swallows another spoonful. “In the bigger picture, I don’t think it’s as much of a failure as you think. We killed a lot of blood traffickers. It’ll take Rannigan a long time to build up that much of a force again.”
“And I won’t let him.”
She cocks her head, her expression sharpening. “Is it finally war, then?”
“It might be,” I acknowledge. “I still want to see what happens at the upcoming Council, but even if I can force a tied vote, I don’t have high hopes.”
“For Rannigan or for Cealastra?” she asks warily.
I chuckle without humor. “Both.”
She shivers and looks at her birds, worry creasing her brow. If magic dies, a phoenix can too.
Swallowing, she turns back to me. “We’ll deal with whatever comes next. We’ll figure it out, even if it means eliminating one of the ruling bloodlines.”
Up until now, I’d hesitated to do just that out of respect for Cealastra, but if the Star of Ellonrift isn’t going to help maintain peace and balance between the kingdoms—the very role of the Council she guided us to establish—then I’ll do it.
“We?” I ask roughly.
Her gaze drops to her soup. “You.”
Suddenly overheated, I welcome the breeze at my back. I like the idea of we too much, but I can’t tell her why. Or how.
Reality pokes holes in my reasoning. I can. I should. I just…don’t.
I watch her as she picks at her soup, slowly eating.
Telling Idallia everything she wants to know would likely help me.
It’s the political move I’ve been waiting to spring on that sorry excuse for a Vampire King.
But my vengeful anticipation morphed into bone-deep dread somewhere along the line, and the political move became less important to me than the person.
I know Idallia. I doubt she’d suddenly hate me.
We’d hopefully be allies. But we wouldn’t be teammates, and maybe not even friends.
I proclaimed myself friendless, but the thought of her pounded away at that with such intensity I had to reevaluate.
Except, once she knows, she won’t have to put up with me, or stay here, or do anything I ask.
And I won’t just lose her. I’ll lose Fyrestar, Rimblaze, and Embersol.
I push off from the window frame, half-wondering who I am anymore. Clarity was the one thing I had for so long that losing it feels like losing myself.
“I don’t mind the idea of we,” I say impulsively. “I value your counsel.”