My stomach suddenly groans painfully. I can’t hide the ache, and I clutch my belly.
Basten’s face falls serious. “You need to feed, Sabine. You’ve been here for days with that book, barely eating, not consuming so much as a prayer.”
“I’m fine.”
He leans back with a tense exhale, the chair groaning under his weight. “The Church of Immortal Solene in Old Coros is just a few blocks away, in the Quiet Ward. Since people learned of your Rise, its congregation has swelled from a dozen to over three thousand. They’ve petitioned to build an altar to you here in the castle’s Queen’s Walk, where your devotees can present offerings.”
My mouth salivates at the mention of an altar, instinct and thirst mixing in a dangerous clash, but I squeeze my hands tight and shake my head.
I say, “The city’s still recovering. The Cold Coins starved the people for weeks. They need every scrap of food and cloth and coin for themselves. I won’t take that from them.”
I drag my fingers through my hair—it feels dry, stiff, in dire need of washing—and slump forward over the book. “Anyway, this work is too important. The things I’m remembering…” I trail off, looking away.
A part of me is eager to tell him about my dream-memory. He’s my person—I want to share everything with him. Yet at the same time, I’m keenly aware that it only pushes me further away from humanity.
From him.
I clear my throat. “The language is starting to make more sense. I can’t stop now; my father will be here on the Blood Moon, and I have to translate how to put the fae to sleep before then.”
He rests his hand on my chair back, his thumb rubbing circles on my upper back. Gently, he tilts his head back to expose his neck. “Drink from me.”
The flash of tanned skin above his collar makes saliva pool in my mouth. Gods, have I ever been this ravenous?
Drink drink drink.
I can practically taste his blood on my tongue, but I drop my hands in my lap, under the table, and squeeze hard to resist the urge. “I’ll drink wine.”
“Wine isn’t enough.” His voice is stern, concerned. He rolls back his shirt sleeve and offers me his arm. “You need human sacrifice.”
I turn away, my stomach twisting. “My father was right. The longer my fae self has been awake, the harder it is to stop once I start. I don’t want to drain you anymore. What happened to Pax…”
His heel taps hard on the library’s wooden floor. “You aren’t Iyre. You’ll stop in time—we’ve discussed this. We’ll defy the odds.”
Drink drink drink.
I look at my hands clasped in my lap. My voice comes out as barely a whisper, “You don’t know that.Idon’t know that.”
Basten leans forward, his brown eyes as soft and strong as a goldenclaw’s. “If you won’t drink from me, and you won’t accept offerings, how will you maintain your strength?”
I rest my hand on his knee, quieting his anxious jitters. “All those new devotees you mentioned? They’re praying to me—I can feel it. Prayers cost them no food from their table, and it gives me strength. Besides, according to this book, fae can get by for a long time on prayers alone. Once, Immortal Meric survived a decade from a single woman’s daily morning worship.”
Basten doesn’t look convinced, but before he can press the issue again, something scratches at the library window.
We’re on the second floor, high above the garden, so it’s little surprise when I see Plume’s lolling tongue fogging up the glass.
I unlatch the window for her, stepping back as she zips in and bounds from one table to the next, an endless ball of energy.
“Plume!” I call, waving for her to calm down. In my head, I say,What happened?
She bounds off a spinning globe and onto a bust of Old King Joruun perched on the fireplace.
She says,She sent Plume to tell girlie! Said to hurry!
I have to duck as Plume pirouettes off the bust and lopes across the tables, only to jump on Basten’s shoulder and use it as a springboard to reach a high shelf.
He ducks and mutters a mild curse.
I ask quickly,Who said that?
