The vampire sees Rannigan and flinches. He knows he’s dead either way and lies through his fangs. “You crossed the border.” He jerks his head at me and then turns back to the table. “I was minding my own business in Hellwood Forest when the Dragon King and his Elite Wing flew in and massacred the entire village.”
“Just as I said!” Rannigan cries in triumph. “I demand justice.”
I snort in disbelief. If I was known for massacres, that might be believable. And where the fuck is Cealastra? The only reason the Ellonrift Council has ever functioned is because she doesn’t let lies pass or violence erupt between rulers in the meeting room. There are stars out the window, but there’s not even a hint of divine light hitting the table or any of us here. The eye of her bird-shaped constellation looks weaker than ever, and the primordial star seems to flicker before my eyes.
My gut clenches. I’d held out hope that she’d return, that she was still watching, and that my attempts to do the right thing would somehow balance out Rannigan’s constant crimes. No more. I’m done. If killing is how I get results, then I’ll kill.
“This one lied. Let’s try again.” I open the door so the other captives see everything and incinerate the one I hold with one focused firebreath. I’m the only dragon shifter in the world who can breathe fire without shifting, just like I can form wings or a tail or talons. “Next,” I snarl.
The vampire’s agonized scream still echoes in the room. Bones and bloody muck dirty my floor. Marissa Turin leans over in her chair and retches. I grab the next vampire in line and haul him inside.
“This is coercion!” Rannigan hisses. “Violence to get what he wants.”
I wrap my hands around the vampire’s shoulders, my heavy touch creeping toward his throat. “Where did I capture you?” I ask in a dangerously soft voice.
He trembles, because I’m suddenly the scariest beast in Ellonrift again.
“Draywood,” he chokes out. “We set fire to Draywood and took people for the blood markets. Humans and dragon shifters.”
“Draywood is within my border,” I say, searing a hard look toward the people around the Council table.
“Lies!” Rannigan spits.
“Cealastra knows the truth,” I shoot back, still hoping against hope that her starlight will fall on me right now, definitively marking my words as truth and revealing Rannigan as the liar he is.
The Vampire King sits again, throws his head back, and laughs. It starts out slowly and builds until worry and anger coat my insides in a layer of ice. “Cealastra is gone. Can’t you tell? That’s the light of a dead star still reaching us. There’s no one there, and when the light finally fades, magic will die in Ellonrift.”
Deep in my twisting belly, I know it’s true. We’ve been at this argument for hours, nearly coming to blade-point more times than I can count, and Cealastra has been nothing but silent. I’m more certain than ever that Rannigan either killed her or drove her away when he murdered a whole family she painstakingly created from her own starlight, then viciously turned his forefather’s kingdom into the blood pit it is now. Rannigan cut down Cealastra at the same time he cut down my friend, his wife, and all but one of their children. And now the Star of Ellonrift is gone.
The Fae Queen starts quietly crying in her chair. Her people will be the first to die out unless a population that conceives children as infrequently as dragon shifters suddenly starts reproducing like rabbits. Magic is their survival.
I inhale deeply. The goddess is gone, and I have no reason to play by the rules. I open my mouth and coat Rannigan Bloodthief in flames.
He doesn’t burn.
Rannigan chuckles, the sound making me want to tear out his throat. My fangs ache to sink into his flesh and rip, but he gets a sword between us fast. “Do you really think I wouldn’t protect myself? Come now, Bale. Everyone knows you’re a bleeding heart, but now we know you’re stupid too.”
My nostrils still flame as I stare at him. “So what does it come to?” I ask bitingly. “We fight to the death and the winner takes three kingdoms?”
Rannigan’s cold laughter betrays a hint of nervousness. One-on-one, he knows I’d decimate him, magically protected or not. “We’re at the Ellonrift Council for a reason. Let’s put it to a vote. I win, and you hand over a hundred dragon shifters. They’ll feed my people for years. We don’t raid your kingdom, but if we did, raids would…lessen with the bounty you’d give.”
Never. Not a chance. “And if I win?” I ask with so much rage that I can barely keep my inner fire from seeping out, let alone the shadow of my dragon. My dragon wants to grow into a hard, dark monster and rip this despot’s head from his neck.
“You can keep the sunblood, and I won’t try to take her back.”
My blood goes hot, then cold. I stand unnaturally still. Take her back? Does he know who Idallia is? Really is?
The Were King thumps the hilt of his dagger on the table, denting the wood. “Do you agree to the terms?” he asks me.
My teeth clamp together so tightly that my jaw hurts. I nod, but it’s a lie. I will never turn over my people, and I will never let Rannigan have Idallia. But I can lie with impunity now, just like Rannigan.
“Then let’s vote,” the Were King says. “Who supports the Dragon King?” Isabella, Marissa, and I lift our hands. “And who supports the Vampire King?” The Were King lifts a hand, and Rannigan lifts two.
“Fanghaven vote. My poor wife couldn’t be here.” He smirks at me, and rage erupts in my chest. I should’ve killed him centuries ago.
Our hands fall, the votes cast. It’s a tie, and we all wait a few tight breaths, but Cealastra doesn’t intervene. If I’d played my cards differently, the way I’d always intended, the vote would have been mine.
“Where does this leave us?” Isabella asks.
