She rolls her eyes.
“Come on, Tove,” I tease. “You know you want to braid each other’s hair and giggle about our crushes. You don’t have to act tough just because the guys are here.”
Tove shoots me an unamused look and runs her palm purposefully over her buzzed hair. “I don’t giggle,” she deadpans.
Jori huffs an amused sound and starts to unwrap the towel around my hand. He holds the blood-splotched cloth out to Ogdan, who takes it and instantly lights it on fire. I watch the red flames crawl up the edges of the towel, greedily consuming the bloody material until there’s nothing but a small pile of ashes, which he brushes into the garbage to join the pieces of the broken mirror that Chastain already dumped there.
“Who’s guarding the commander if all of you are here?” I ask, waving away the lingering envy I feel over the way they adeptly and all too casually use their affinities.
Ogdan tosses me a wide smile. “I’ll let the commander know you’re downright distraught over his safety, but worry not, Kindred, the rest of our Wing is with him.”
I choke on air at the unexpected term of endearment.
“We aren’t family,” I insist, taken aback.
Ogdan’s smile grows. “Aye, not by blood maybe, but us gingers have to stick together,” he counters, flipping the ends of his shoulder-length burgundy hair, which is free of battle braids today.
My hand warms as Jori sandwiches it between his, the cuts on my knuckles already starting to disappear with the wash of his healing magic.
“The peanut gallery out there suspect anything?” Tove asks Ogdan.
“Nope. We were already escorting a last-minute addition up here when Chastain’s summons found us. They’re out there tittering and placing bets on who the commander’s mate might be.”
Once again the air gets caught in my throat, and I have to fight it to breathe. I cough and scowl over at the other drakes. Chastain mentioned something earlier about staying in this room and it giving the gossips something to gnaw on for a bit, but I got distracted by his affinity and didn’t think about what he was saying until now.
I’m in a mating suite…Aeson Noctis’s mating suite. The stylists probably think they’re here to compete for the chance to make my wedding dress.
“Who’s winning?” Tove inquires, a spark of mirth flickering over her features as I slap at my chest and gasp for air.
“Dasha,” Ogdan says as he starts ticking off his fingers.
“Oh please, like Aeson would ever,” Tove retorts caustically.
“Rosalin.”
“Only if the king ordered it,” Chastain harrumphs.
“And Priya,” Ogdan finishes.
“Interesting,” Tove hums thoughtfully. “I didn’t know she’d thrown her horns in the ring.”
“You can wash the blood off now. You’re good to go,” Jori announces, and it takes me a second to realize what he’s saying and that it’s directed at me.
I look down to find my hand is fixed. The only evidence that anything happened is the streaks of dried blood on my knuckles and fingers. Reeling, I turn around and do as I’m told. I study the bloody water as it circles the drain and disappears. It feels alarmingly symbolic.
“I can’t go out there,” I whisper as the water turns off, and I spin to face the drakes.
Jori offers me a clean towel, and I take it from him and start angrily drying my hands.
“They’re going to think I’m Aeson’s Bonded,” I point out as though no one else has realized it.
Tove smiles, and all kinds of alarm bells start clanging in my head.
“I know,” she chirps, her smirk spreading until her whole face is alight with glee. “They’re going to shit kittens when you walk out. The circling harpies will be losing it within the hour. It’s going to be great.”
“But I’m not his mate,” I argue.
The Seeder shrugs like that’s nothing more than an insignificant detail and holds no bearing on what’s happening here, but something in her eyes almost seems to contradict the action.
