Chapter 45 Blood
Blood
“The Princess is said to be spending her honeymoon within Whimcastor Hold. The Chronicle extends its congratulations to the newlyweds.”
— The Castivian Chronicle
Amzee and I each claimed a bedroom upstairs, while the men fell asleep wherever they saw fit. Each space in the house had been claimed for some purpose; even the dining room had transitioned to the planning room.
I melted into my pillow. Of all places, the Waywards was where I finally hit my point of exhaustion.
We all woke early to have our first meeting inside the ‘Wards. Once we were sitting around the table, I felt the true weight of this mission, and just how much was on our shoulders. Thousands of lives were at stake, including our own.
As the meeting commenced, it was made clear by Ansel that we each had a job to do.
Riven would be meeting with other Rogue Drakers throughout the day, organizing operations for when the ships arrived.
We would also inform any Drakers joining our side that they would receive safe passage and pardons once they reached Castivian.
Riven was silent as usual, nodding and dismissing himself from the meeting first, disappearing into the Waywards.
We knew from Riven’s contacts that there was a group of Dark Natured already planning an uprising. Amzee’s job was to find them and be our contact. She was excited for the task, exuding confidence that she’d be able to do her job and recruit more rebels as well.
“I’m a people person,” she bragged.
“That you are,” Beck agreed.
He had a task as well, aside from shadowing us in and out of Keeper’s Street.
With Beck’s natural gift of observation, Ansel trusted him to search for any weak points in the walls or otherwise. He would also report to Amzee any information on meeting spots and other rebels if he were to come across them.
Informed of their tasks, Amzee and Beck left together, shadowing in silence out the front door and into the rowdy streets, leaving me as the sole person sitting across from Ansel in a now too-quiet room.
His dark hair curtained the sides of his face as he surveyed the parchments in front of him.
I crossed my arms. “What am I to do?”
He gathered the documents into an orderly stack and placed them neatly in the center of the table. He went over to the door frame and leaned on it, eyes locked on me.
“This house is vulnerable. It has our plans, and that information is too valuable and dangerous for anyone else to see. Beyond that, I’ll be gathering weapons to store here, enough to arm the rebels. We can’t risk losing the stash. You’ll be staying here. ”
“I didn’t realize I’d come all this way to sit in a house for two weeks.”
He slid his hands in his cloak pockets. “Someone needs to be here.”
The glorious story I hoped to have seemed unlikely, and while I wanted to push for a more important task, I’d rather sit in the house than be the whining burden of the trip. What good was it to have a different job only because I’d begged for it?
“Fine.”
“Thank you.”
My knee jittered up and down, moving silently to the beat of my increasing heart rate.
“What do I do if someone comes here?” I asked quietly. The question came not from fear, but genuine curiosity.
From his pocket, he pulled the small blue orb with my chain still attached, rolling it on the table towards me.
“You handle them, and notify me immediately.”
It was the same one Ansel had watched me through the entirety of my travels. It was shocking he felt confident in my abilities to handle an intruder, but even more shocking that he expected me to take his orb back.
“I don’t need you spying on me,” I said sourly.
He gritted his teeth. “I don’t care what you do. What I need is for you to use the orb to summon me if someone infiltrates this house.”
I took a deep breath, tapping my arm as I considered.
“Elora, you’re my wife. If someone tries to harm you, I need to know. How else do you expect to get in contact with me?”
My leg stopped bouncing, fingers stopped tapping. I grabbed the orb awkwardly and clipped it at my waist. “Okay. Can we be done with this conversation?”
He shook his head. “I’ll see you this evening, Blackheart.”
I rolled my eyes, propping my feet on the table as the front door closed behind him.
The silence marked the beginning of what would surely be the most boring two weeks of my life, while the others organized the destruction of the Southern Waywards from the inside out.
I spent most of the afternoon studying Castivian history, while occasionally scanning the maps of Drakington that Ansel had left on the table.
As the afternoon carried on, I found myself upstairs laying in bed, propped up on my elbows and staring out of a crack in the dark curtains. Behind Keeper’s Street was a small training yard. Witchlords and Drakers filled it, all working on different weaponry.
Ansel was with another Witchlord, but neither were using their Light Nature. They wielded swords, wearing only tunics instead of the usual heavy cloaks.
Ansel fought just as I’d expected of someone with the privilege of being trained his entire life. Quick, balanced, intentional—
I winced as he sliced the other Witchlord’s forearm, an accident surely. They paused their training, and while I couldn’t tell what they were saying, it all seemed friendly. While the other Witchlord set his sword down, walking away to heal his arm, Ansel carried his own in another direction.
I could barely see what he was doing, but he appeared to be… cleaning his sword?
Squinting was no use. I sighed, closing the curtains and tucking myself under the heavy black covers. The bedroom was not homey like back in Castivian. It felt dim and lonely.
I was lonely. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to sleep, even if it were just to pass the time.
“Wake up,” a low voice said, gently moving my shoulder.
I snapped upright and out of the bed, fist held back and ready to swing. With my brain still half-asleep, I nearly lost balance in the dark.
“It’s just me. Sit down, Blackheart,” Ansel said, grabbing me by the waist before I fell.
I smacked his hand away and sat back in bed, pulling the blanket over my lap.
“What time is it?” I yawned.
“Midnight.”
I frowned.
Ansel sat on the end of the bed, still wearing his black pants and tunic. His hair was tied back in a neat bun. It had grown much since we met.
He made himself comfortable, paying no mind to my disapproval. He laid six vials of blood out on the bed.
Breath hitching, I leaned forward. “Why do you have these?” That was Sapphire behavior. Singer was within reach, just on the nightstand.
“I need them to dream.”
Did I know so little of Dreamsouls and how they use their Nature? He unscrewed the first one, swirling the small amount of blood within.
“Please tell me you are not about to drink that.”
“It’s not so bad.”
I grimaced. “That’s what Sapphires do.”
Ansel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, they got the idea from us and turned it into something despicable. I can only enter someone else's dreams if I have their blood. I spent all day getting a sample from each of the other Witchlords. I’m going to find out if any of them could be swayed to our side.”
I lay back on the pillow. He hadn’t been cleaning his sword earlier to be prim. He’d been collecting blood.
“You’re telling me you drank Charles the Imp’s blood?”
He gave me a vile glare, shaking his head as if I’d reminded him of a foul memory. “To find out if he was lying about you.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
Ansel downed the first vial, making an unpleasant face. “You can’t hear Amzee snoring down the hall? She went to bed a few hours ago. Beck and Riven are still out.”
I yawned, adjusting myself on the pillow. “Why are you here telling me all this?”
He’d gathered up the remaining vials, laying them out neatly on the dresser.
“I don’t trust anyone else on this side of the sea. It’s been a long day. I will need you to wake me if the dreams become too intense, which they shouldn’t.”
There were moments I didn’t even trust myself, yet here he was, trusting me. I felt a pinch of guilt, thinking about the effort it took for him to get all of this blood, and how he was so far from his family and friends.
“Okay.”
He finished laying his things on the dresser before pulling his tunic off, thick muscles rippling across his pale skin. I turned away, hiding my face as he got into bed.
I considered asking him to sleep on the floor, but that would be ridiculous. He’d already been inside of me, and furthermore, he was trying to dream for a reason. I didn’t want to make it more difficult.
As far as the option of me going to the floor, that was absolutely not happening. I’d spent enough nights without a bed that I knew to always be thankful for one.
A cloud wrapped around me, a cool breeze smoothing down my hair.
“Goodnight, Elora.”
“Sweet dreams,” I replied, eyes wide open.
I held the blanket to my chest like a lifeline, staring at the wall until Ansel’s breathing became heavy. When I was sure he was sleeping, I quietly turned over, watching him.
His angular, almond-shaped eyes were closed so gently—his skin smooth and relaxed like silk as he slept. His thick eyebrows even managed to appear softer as he softly snored.
The muscles of his broad shoulders protruded in his sleep. I took it all in—the powerful man before me appearing so vulnerable.
I tossed onto my back, eyes settling on the blur of the dark ceiling. It wasn’t long before Ansel swiftly woke up, shaking his head.
“The first will not be swayed,” he said, before downing the second crimson vial.
Sitting up, I braced my hands on the mattress. “Are you going into each of their dreams all in one night?”
“That’s the plan,” he confirmed, laying his head back down.
“We can’t afford for you to burn out,” I whispered.
A grin spread across his face, as if he were holding back a laugh.
“What’s funny?” I snapped.
He shook his head, eyes peeking open. “It’s humorous that you think six dreams would drain me.”