Chapter Seventeen
Xandril
I try to exhale, but the pain in my side stops me short. Breathing in is no better. There’s a weight like the ifrak calf on my chest, and each struggling breath leaves me more hungry for air than before.
She’s gone.
At least now I can heal in peace. However long that takes. I’ve been wounded in battle, suffered beatings that would have felled others, but it’s never felt like this. I’ve always been eager to get back into the fray, to prove myself in every way.
Right now, the pull into darkness is irresistible. Undeniable. Welcoming, even. I chased my sweet flower away, and the ache in my chest sinks deeper, into my veins, into my bones, into my marrow. All I know is pain. And coldness. All I want is for it to end.
We saved the ifrak, though. Both mother and babe. It’s worth it for that. My life for theirs is a small price to pay. For once, I might prove to have value. How could I take issue with that?
I lay on the table, the warmth of a roaring fire thawing my left side while the right stays frozen. I wait for the darkness to take me. For the tunnel in my vision to close around me.
For peace.
And yet it evades me.
The magic of Crownwood, diminished though it may be, is already mending its king, driving off the chill in my bones, letting me breathe a little easier.
Today is not the day I die. That would be too easy.
Instead I’m left incapacitated, in agony, and alone—with no one to blame but myself.
A look toward the door makes the ache of Ingrid’s absence knock the breath out of me again.
With her at my side, I can trust that matters will be handled.
The way she sprung into action, both during the labor and after, gives me the confidence to make that claim.
And yet I sent her off with condescension and a snarl.
Being around Ingrid is dangerous. It’s too easy to grow accustomed to her presence, to feel like she always has been and always will be right there.
As much as I long to keep her at my side, I can’t.
I can’t let myself get used to having her when the throne could still reject us both.
I can’t let my guard down. Can’t fall into her soft embrace, no matter how enticing.
I know the moment I do, it will all be snatched away.
At least she’s out of reach now. I don’t trust myself around her in the best of times. In my current condition, I’m liable to wrap her in my arms and snarl at anyone who tries to come close like a hound with a juicy bone.
She’d never come near me again.
Part of me whispers that maybe that’s for the best. Maybe I should call the Dealmaker back and see what arrangements can be made to undo this whole debacle.
But she’s mine.
She has been from the moment I saw her. I can’t let her go.
I must have drifted in and out of sleep, because I come to with a start when the door opens again.
Without picking up my head, I know it’s her.
My entire body is aware of her nearness in ways I still don’t understand.
Her soft footsteps as she pushes a rolling cart, and the sweet floral scent of her mixing in with the delicious smells of the covered dishes confirms it long before she’s at my side.
“They’re already cooking up a storm for the celebration tomorrow,” Ingrid says, parking the cart next to me.
Steaming dishes, stews, bread, meat, cheeses, wine and fruits—it’s a veritable feast, and my mouth starts watering.
“Cook couldn’t give me half of what they wanted, if you can believe it,” she adds with a chuckle.
There’s not a bare spot anywhere on the cart, everything arranged to fit as much as possible.
In my hazy, hungry state, I’m not sure what anyone’s celebrating. Do they think I’m dead? The conquering king is no more?
“It’s a shame you won’t be able to join, since there wouldn’t even be anything to celebrate without you,” she adds, piling different foods onto a large platter. “There’s no way Starcaller’s baby would have made it without you.”
Things start to make more sense. My family was never fortunate enough to have one of our ifrak reproduce, but I’ve heard of the festivities some communities host. We’ve little to be thankful for these days, and the feast being prepared by the kitchens is a desperate grasp for hope.
“Eat,” Ingrid says, shoving the platter she’s prepared under my nose. “Your people need you to recover quickly.”
Sitting up enough to comply is an effort and a half, but Ingrid’s unwavering stare tells me she’s not budging until I’ve done as she asked.
One bite is all it takes for me to realize how ravenous I am.
I don’t even taste anything or know what I’m eating, I just know I need to eat and eat and eat.
I’ve barely cleaned my plate when Ingrid brings me another, and by the time I’ve finished with that, I’m actually feeling quite a bit better.
I can breathe a little easier, and the warmth from the fire has spread through my whole body now.
I still don’t have the strength to pull myself off the table, though, staring up into the dark, cobweb-covered branches above.
“Why are you here?” I ask, the first words we’ve spoken since I started eating.
“I…made a deal with—”
“No,” I interrupt, clarifying, “here. I told you I don’t need your supervision.”
“Yes,” she agrees, her confusion gone. “And I took note of that.”
“Yet you are here.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
Ingrid pauses a moment, then, “Do I need a reason more than not trusting you to properly care for yourself?”
There’s no defense for that, and Ingrid takes my grumble as concession. Stoking the flames, she returns, pouring a glass of wine for us both, a far larger measure in mine.
“Are you up for a toast?” she asks, the corners of her full lips quirking up.
“To?” There’s something suspicious in that look.
“To working together and achieving incredible things,” she says, the sparkle of a challenge in her warm brown eyes.
Diabolical. I’m in no state to suggest a better toast, and she wants me to toast accepting help?
Once again, I’m left wondering how innocent this human really is. Who is she that she’s willing to sign her life away to a demon? What could have driven her to such desperation?
I’ve often wondered about her predicament, about her ability to survive the harsh winter here, but it suddenly strikes me what an unfathomable leap she’s taken.
And how well she’s landed. There have certainly been times when I’ve seen rejection in her eyes, when her fear makes her pull away, but she has never flinched from the sight of me—something I can’t say even of my own kind.
Our glasses connect with a soft clink, and I feel myself being pulled toward her. Something about that spark of challenge in her eyes, in how she refuses to bend or yield, it’s enthralling. Captivating. And not even the fog of wine can dull my undivided interest.
Who is this fascinating human who’s entered my life?
As some of my tension melts away and my guard is lowered, the throne’s power edges in, mending me from the inside out, bit by bit.
Before long, I’m improved enough to notice the hard table under me, shifting to find a more comfortable position only to be frozen in place by Ingrid’s soft touch on my arm.
“Stay still, I’ll be right back.”
I’ve no thoughts of defying her, and she’s halfway across the room with the food cart when the door opens.
“Ah! Morwen, just who I hoped to find,” Ingrid says. “We’re going to need some assistance to transport the king to his bedchamber.”
“I’m fine,” I growl from my end of the room. Neither of them respond, so I decide to show them.
Lowering my resistance, I let the power of the throne flow through me, thrumming in my veins like bees in early spring.
Harnessing all the strength the reach can lend, I drag myself off the table and plant my feet on the floor.
The first breath I take sends me off-balance, staggering into the table for support with a curse.
Ingrid peeks into the hallway, and the next thing I hear is, “Val! Get in here.”
My best friend and confidante must have been waiting right outside the door, because he’s entering the room before I’ve even summoned another growl.
“Yeah, yeah,” Val chuckles at me as he steadies me on one side and I snarl at him. “You’re terrifying. Let’s get you to bed.”
It’s good I have someone to lean on. I don’t think I’d have made it three steps, let alone down the hall to my bedchamber, without him.
By the time my bed is in sight, the tunnel is closing in around my vision again, darkness beckoning me as I shut out the flow of power from the throne. There’s not enough to go around. I’ll be able to recover on my own.
And Ingrid… I know she will hold things together, but all I really want… what I’m too afraid to ask for…
I swear she’s glowing golden in the doorframe, a light shining through the tunnel that’s shrinking around me.
I can’t bring myself to say it aloud, but in my mind, silently, I name my desire:
Stay.