Chapter 18 #2
The spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth hovers forgotten as she stares at me. “Thank you,” she finally says, lifting it the rest of the way to her mouth.
Still too warm, I clear my throat. “Is the soup good?”
She makes a face I know all too well. “It doesn’t matter as long as it helps me be able to stand up tomorrow.”
“I wish we could find something you actually like.” But that’s the problem with her kind, and why they’re so rare.
Unheard of, really. Hunted, unsatisfied, unable to reach their true potential…
It’s the choice of no parent for their child.
But when the time came, Idallia didn’t have natural parents to choose the usual path for her.
She had a bloodbath and then Rita and Gerard in one of the most isolated places in Torridaig.
It took finally knowing Idallia to realize how lacking my choice in homes for her was. Or maybe the lacking home formed Idallia, making her who she is now.
Either way, Glarraden was better than Bloodwold.
“Me too. I like fruit, though. Especially red or black ones.” She grimaces, as if knowing that preference is revealing but not understanding why.
“Figs,” I say absently. It’s no surprise, with their thin but firm skins and fleshy red insides.
She nods, still slightly frowning, and I turn again, looking out the window as she finishes her soup.
I’ve stayed this long, lingering when I shouldn’t.
I might as well wait and take the empty bowl away.
Rimblaze and Embersol are sound asleep. Fyrestar pretends to sleep, but I don’t think he ever truly rests unless Idallia does.
I hear her set the empty bowl aside and turn back around, ready to take it—and my leave of her.
A hot pang erupts in my chest. She’s sitting there in her robe, a little color back in her cheeks, and my mind instantly puts her in my lair, in one of my chairs, instead of here in hers.
She tucks her feet up under her. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“Oh?” I move closer, curious.
“Some rugs might be nice.” She glances around, her long black hair sliding over her shoulders. Even in the dusk-dark room, it shines like a starlit waterfall.
“Rugs?” I rasp.
“The floor does get cold, especially in the winter. It’s only autumn, and I’m already feeling the bite.”
I round the bed, drawn to her as if the gold shining in her eyes is the summit of my treasures. “Shall I provide some?”
Her brows snap together. “That’s not what I meant. I can buy my own rugs. I’m just…glad you suggested it.”
“Always so independent,” I murmur, stopping next to her.
Her eyes flash, her chin already high. “What does that mean?”
As usual, her combativeness excites me. My dragon especially wants to join the fun, and shadows push at my skin, hot and demanding. Both parts of me sense the challenge that is Idallia and reach for it with talons and hands. “You refuse to rely on anyone.”
“I rely on my birds.” Her immediate reply cools my enthusiasm. Her phoenixes always come first, and good luck to anyone who tries to join their tight circle. She lifts a hand in my direction. “And you pay me wages. I might as well use them.”
“What if I said you should get a raise?”
“Then everyone gets a raise. We’re all paid the same.”
An almost melancholy smile slips out. Idallia is a team player to the core. I should let that guide me, instead of my doubts. “I think raises are in order. It’s been at least a year.”
She arches black brows. “Great. Then we can literally swim in gold instead of just rolling around in it.”
I bark a sudden laugh, startling a snuffle from Embersol. Idallia leans forward and lays a reassuring hand on the young bird, scowling at me to be quiet.
Sitting next to her, I lower my voice. “Dragons have a particular relationship with gold.” Maybe that’s why her eyes captivate me.
She leans back once Embersol settles. “There’s no dragon in me.”
“Which is why you don’t care about hoarding gold.”
Her expression turns pensive. “No, I do hoard it. When Rita and Gerard are gone, I’m going to gut Glarraden House, throw everything away, and start over. The place is huge. It’ll cost me a fortune.”
I nod thoughtfully. I can already picture what she’ll do to the country mansion just from knowing her.
It’ll be unpretentious and clean-lined, unembellished without being bleak.
There’ll be ample space for huge wingspans in every room and down every corridor, nothing to easily catch fire from stray sparks, and good roosting spots all over the place.
Longing spreads through me for inclusion in that comfortable home she’ll create.
“Will you be sad when they’re gone, even if it gives you Glarraden House and all that land?
” Rita and Gerard are long-lived, like all dragon shifters.
And they’re not warriors, giving them a good chance of lasting a very long time.
However, they already weren’t young when I dropped Idallia on their doorstep, and I estimate they’ve now lived about three-quarters of their natural lives.
Barring a tragedy, Idallia should outlive them by far.
She seems to think about my question, those golden eyes growing distant and a little unsure.
Her gaze sweeps down, and she plucks at the belt of her robe, making my mind jump back to the thin scrap of a nightgown underneath.
The outline of her body against the fading daylight hits me in a scorching flash of memory, and desire thumps in my groin.
Inside me, instinct growls with feral intensity, urging me to slake a need that’s been building for years.
I breathe slowly, evenly, forcing calm over the man and asserting control over the dragon.
“I’ll miss them in a way,” she finally answers.
“In a way?”
She shrugs. “I spent so long trying to get them to notice me that I imagine I’ll feel a little lost when I don’t have that impulse anymore, especially when I’m at Glarraden House.”
Her confession strikes like a dagger through my chest. Worse, her pain is my fault—partially, at least. “I hope you’re not lonely anymore.”
Her gaze immediately swings to her birds, and that dagger twists. Has she ever turned to me first? “Not at all. But my memory is too good. Nothing ever fades, so my whole life feels like yesterday.”
“You know you’re exceptional in that way?” I lean a little closer, keeping my voice low. “It’s the same in combat. You remember every move anyone makes, which means you can anticipate just about anything from the slightest twitch.”
She swivels in her chair to face me. Her feet are still up, her arms around her shins.
She looks young this way. Or maybe it’s the doubt clouding her expression, taking away decades of the skills and confidence she’s built with the Elite Wing.
“That only helps when I’m really concentrating. Otherwise, I’m too slow.”
“You’re not too slow. You just feel that way because you’re so fast when you’re truly focused and…
free.” I can’t think of a better way to say it.
She’s either free or caged, and there’s a real difference.
Except Idallia’s caged is what most highly skilled warriors can only strive for.
She’s comparing herself to the five best fighters in the kingdom and me.
I chose the Elite Wing for a reason. Her free is the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen, and if she wasn’t hindered by the circumstances keeping her from reaching for the stars, there’s a good chance she’d even beat me.
Unless I shifted against her.
She sighs. “Too bad my free isn’t guaranteed.”
“I know.” And being the one to know why it isn’t makes me very uncomfortable with this conversation. I try to find the positive. “But when that moment hits and you just go, you can be hard to see, even for me,” I admit, wedging myself sideways to face her.
She seems pleased with that, though her smile turns into a grimace. “Sometimes I go too fast, and I don’t know what I’m doing until it’s already done.”
I wave that off. “So far, you haven’t stuck a sword in a friend instead of a foe, so I think you’re more aware of yourself than you realize.”
“Let’s hope.” Her focus strays back to her birds.
My gaze following hers, I ask, “How do you find room on your bed?” Her bed’s made for two, but there’s definitely no space for another person in it. There’s barely room for her.
Her low laugh warms my blood. “They don’t usually sleep with me. They’ll snuggle up for a bedtime chat but then go to their roosts. They’re just staying close to help me recover.”
I nod. They’re all she needs. That much is clear.
“Bale?” Her oddly cautious tone makes my heart flip uncomfortably. I turn back to her, wishing I could take the sudden fragility out of her expression, crush it in my fist, and hand it back to her as the rock-hard diamond I know she is.
“I’m here,” I say hoarsely.
“What happened near Draywood really scared me. I keep seeing it over and over.” She gingerly touches one of the bite marks on her neck. “And I have this knot in my stomach that won’t go away. And Rim.” Her voice wavers, and she clamps her mouth shut.
I reach out and grip her hand, bringing it toward me before I know what I’m doing. “Rim’s fine.” Her eyes widen, then dip to our joined hands. “You’re fine.”
“Am I? We all know what happened wasn’t normal. They were killing each other to get to me.”
My mouth quirks. “Made our work easier.”
“It’s not funny.”
Her tremble goes all the way to her fingertips, and I squeeze her hand. “No, it’s not. But things turned out all right, so now we have to concentrate on what comes next, not look behind us.”
Shaking her head like that’s impossible, she pulls her hand away. “I think I’ll be looking over my shoulder for a hundred years.”
“If you do that, then they win, even if they didn’t kill you.”
Her irritated huff proves, at least to me, how much fight she still has in her. “That’s a little dramatic.”
“So is being paranoid for a century.”
“So…what?” She sits back, scowling. “Get over it?”
I nod. “Get over it. Move on.”
She purses her lips, then smacks them in a way that conveys utter annoyance. “Maybe that’s how you work. Getting over it isn’t exactly my strong suit—as you point out all the time.”
My own mouth puckers, my now-empty hand still feeling the warmth of hers. “You won’t always have the luxury of wallowing. Believe me.”
Her jaw drops. “Wallowing? Are you fucking kidding me? I just woke up a few hours ago after nearly dying.” She stands abruptly, making Fyrestar look up from his fake sleep.
“I’m sorry I confided in you. I won’t bother you with any more wallowing.
” She walks surprisingly steadily toward the door and flings it open, clearly inviting me to leave.
I regret everything I said immediately. “Close the door. You’re making a draft, and it’s already cold in here.” No wonder she doesn’t mind sleeping with three firebirds hemming her in. I’d suffocate in seconds.
“Fine. If you won’t leave, I will.” She pulls her robe more firmly around her, looking at Fyrestar.
I stand. I’ll be damned if I’ll let her fly out in the dark, weak and undressed. “Close the door, Idallia.” My voice rumbles as my dragon seeps out, coating me in shadows. “I’ll leave you in peace.”
Something darts across her expression. Regret maybe? It’s hard to tell. She shuts the door but doesn’t move away from it. She watches me, head high, eyes wary.
Emotion jerks inside me. I think she says the wrong things as often as I do when we’re together, and then we fight.
Does she realize how similar we are? Because I do—in more ways than she knows.
“It’s okay to be afraid. Just don’t let it stop you from living your life.” I almost cringe at my own words. Isn’t fear the very thing stopping me from reaching for what I so clearly want?
The object of my hesitation looks back at me. Finally, she says, “Let’s just…call it a night. I need to rest.” The hand I gripped earlier presses against her stomach, seeming to push back against that knot of fear she told me had lodged there.
I move toward the window, heavy with regret. I’m heavier still with the knowledge that I don’t want to leave. I want to comfort her, but I can’t.
“Sleep well, Sunshine.” Her lips part on a sharp breath I hear like it’s right in my ear as I turn, vault over the window frame, and let my dragon loose.