Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
IDALLIA
I can’t sleep. I slept, but then I woke up, and now my mind won’t stop churning like river rapids after a torrential downpour.
The skin on my hand still remembers the warmth of Bale’s even though it’s been hours since he touched me.
Is that something a friend would do? No matter what Bale says, I think we’re friends. Fyrestar seems to think we’re more.
I rub my fingers against my palm, rekindling the sensation of skin on skin.
That’s the first time Bale’s ever touched me in a way that wasn’t related to combat or training.
Even his hand in my hair that day at the pillars or his menacing whispers against my neck were to teach me a lesson.
This…This was offering comfort and reassurance.
My insides tighten and heat, and I swallow down the longing trying to overtake my more reasonable thoughts.
Don’t risk it. Don’t invite change that probably won’t work out for the better.
Don’t set yourself up for another disaster.
Though I bet it would be different than it was with Kellan.
With Bale, my heart tells me I’d be the one left devastated and wishing it hadn’t ended.
I curl in on myself, goose bumpy and chilled even with my birds surrounding me. Despite what I told Bale, half the time they don’t go to their roosts, especially when I’m injured or unhappy.
The open windowpanes thump gently against the wall as a cold wind scrapes over me. I’d vaguely thought about lighting a fire in the hearth but lost my motivation the moment I curled up with my birds. Now the room is frigid, and it’s either shiver the night away or get up and close the window.
Groaning, I drag myself out of bed and half-stumble across the room.
Another chilly breeze blows in, and I lift my head, breathe deeply, and embrace the shock of it almost as a punishment.
I feel like such a failure right now that a wind-lashing seems entirely appropriate.
I allowed Rim to fly into danger. I let vampires draw my blood for the first time in two hundred and twenty-six years of existence.
The team had to rescue me and fly me home—again.
I can’t shake my feelings for Bale. Instead of crushing them into nothing, they continue to grow.
I stare out the window, disappointed in myself and shaking with cold.
The night sky is clear and full of stars, Cealastra’s constellation the biggest and brightest. It’s shaped like a giant bird—wings flared, beak sharp and dangerous, talons reaching, its shining eye the Star of Ellonrift.
I think it’s where Bale got the idea for creating our phoenixes.
They were as much an enduring army for him as a homage to her.
It pleased the goddess at first, the warbirds’ everlife so strong with her blessing and the light of her star that no one could ever have imagined an uncertain rebirth.
Now it’s a worry that never leaves me.
Sighing, I lower my gaze to Drayke. A few lights still flicker far below, but the city mostly sleeps, just as I should be doing.
To the right of the city, the forest and lake are dark, but the School of Fire and Flight sits off to the far side of the Upper Valley, its high towers blazing with light.
I stare at the beacons, my jaw hardening until my teeth grind.
Always lit. Always bright. Those towers are a symbol of strength and power.
The soldiers of Torridaig all train there before either applying to be stationed somewhere around the kingdom or returning to protect their homes.
Rita and Gerard must’ve expected me to go back to Glarraden once I’d finished school, if not exactly to the house—where I’m sure they didn’t want me anyway.
Even I expected it. I never thought I’d catch the eye of the Dragon King or become a member of the Elite Wing.
Yet here I am. And it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. It gave me my phoenixes. My family. My friends.
Bale.
I reach out and close the two wide, mullioned-glass panels to hold in the heat my firebirds will generate.
I don’t latch them, always aware of my birds and their need to go out—to hunt, to see to their personal needs, to fly.
I’ll never put a lock between them and freedom.
But I don’t need a cold wind blowing over me, either.
Turning, I hurry back to bed. I slip under the covers, angling between Rim and Sol and giving Fyrestar my icy feet. I keep shivering despite their warmth and don’t close my eyes. If I do, I know I’ll see vampire fangs and frenzied eyes.
Fyrestar increases his inner heat, slowly taking the frozen edge off my feet. “I think you swayed all the way back to bed,” he remarks.
“I was dancing.” It’s a bald-faced lie he’s not supposed to believe. Blood loss is no joke, though I do feel steadier since that soup Bale brought me.
I bite my lip and try not to think about the rest, but I feel Bale’s hand on mine again, his amber eyes steady and encouraging.
“You’re not funny,” Fyrestar grumbles.
“I’m hilarious.”
A mind-to-mind snort is an odd sound, and one Fyrestar doesn’t make often. He stares at me from the foot of the bed, the liquid gold of his eyes our only light. “You don’t have to be alone, you know. We won’t think you love us any less just because you let someone else in.”
My heart yanks sharply across my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” All I did was close the window.
And not sleep for hours.
And maybe cry a tiny bit. I thought he was asleep.
“I’m talking about Bale. He looks at you and can’t look away. He doesn’t want to leave. It was never more obvious than today. And he carried you. Kellan wanted to bring you home, and Bale just about ripped off his head.”
I roll my lips in, pressing hard. Voice low with emotion, I rasp, “You’re all I need.”
“Life’s not just about what you need. You should have what you want. I can hear your heart pound when Bale is near—and I’m sure he can too.”
Stupid, unruly muscle. It pummels my ribs right now.
At least I’m abruptly warmer. “Please stop.”
“Because talking about it makes it real?”
I nod, tears like thorny spikes behind my eyes. I swallow down the heat in my throat. “If I can ignore it, I can just live. I was doing a good job of ignoring it before. I think I can again, as long as you stop bringing it up like this.”
“‘Just living’ isn’t much of a life, especially when it’s as long as yours.”
I curl my hands into my blanket. “I’m not ready for anything to change.”
“Change is inevitable. You shouldn’t fear it. It’s what makes up a life—and makes it interesting.”
“Change isn’t always for the better.”
“You’re no coward, Idallia. It’s okay to fear change, but don’t run away from happiness.”
Closing my burning eyes, I wrap an arm around Rim and another around Sol, my toes under Fyrestar’s wing. “All I want is for us to be together until I die. Nothing else will ever matter more than that.”
Fyrestar is quiet for a long time. “I wish I could give you my everlife.”
I squeeze my whole face, stifling a wild sob. “No, Fyrestar. The only reason I can face every day is because I know I can’t lose you.” Except, that might not even be true anymore.
There’s another long pause. “But how am I supposed to face every day? What’s there to come back to if you’re taken from me?”
Hot, fat tears leak from my eyes and roll toward my pillow. I don’t know how long I’ll live. And something or someone might kill me.
“Rim and Sol.” But it’s true. And it’s terrible. Unless magic continues to fade from Ellonrift, the warbirds are eternal, and that’ll be a curse in the end, because they’re as linked to me as I am to them.
“Time heals, but it’ll take a million years, and I don’t want to live that long.” His golden eyes close, snuffing the light from our room.
I turn onto my side, quietly crying. I don’t care how or when, but I know right then what I have to do for Fyrestar, Rim, and Sol.
I’ll leave them a child. That will be the safest child in all the world, and my phoenixes will have someone to love utterly again.
To burn for, over and over, until that child leaves them another child and so on, because eternity is no gift unless you have someone to love so much, you’d die for them.
* * *
A light beckons me in the dark. I know I’m dreaming, so I don’t hesitate to chase the strong glow toward the open door at the end of a long corridor, even though the huge hallway is shrouded in shadows and slightly intimidating.
Tall, open windows let in a warm summer breeze that makes the series of long, sheer drapes billow toward me.
The dim skyline beyond the openings is gently hilly, with a clear, star-studded sky hanging over the rolling silhouettes of moderate slopes I don’t recognize.
They’re not spiny and rugged like the mountains of Torridaig.
I keep moving forward, not aware of my feet touching the ground. The fluttering curtains brush my skin, and their ghostly touch makes me shiver. Music wafts from the room ahead. I think there might be dancing, and I hurry, wanting to join in.
After a strangely long time, I finally reach the end of the corridor and peek into a richly decorated, candlelit room. It’s full of beautifully dressed people, most of them dancing, their jewels flashing as they pass. Others stand off to the side, holding conversations over goblets of red wine.
I smile. It’s beautiful. Festive. The night is dark, but the ballroom is blazing and happy and alive.
I stare in wonder. We never have parties like this at Drayke Mountain.
Bale is too busy and somber to give this much thought or space to frivolity.
That’s why the team and I go into Drayke sometimes, to drink and flirt and sway to music with strangers we can leave behind.
The music calls to me, a little foreign, though not entirely. My heart still wants to dance, but I’m suddenly worried. My birds aren’t here.