“A fight to the death is still on the table.” I narrow my eyes at my enemy. “Unless you’re too much of a coward.”
Rannigan stands. Something in his eyes, his tiny smile, scrapes deep furrows of worry through me. “Your war room seems like a fitting place for a final confrontation. Say your prayers to your dead goddess, gather whoever you want, and meet me there. We’ll need witnesses.” He looks around the table. The others all nod.
“The war room,” I growl.
And so ends what I assume is the final Ellonrift Council. From now on, we either maintain our alliances without any star to guide us, or go to war.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
IDALLIA
I wake up in the small hours of the night, tucked under a mountain of furs and still warm and a little achy from our lovemaking. I smell like Bale, his scent imprinted into me. I stretch in bed, smiling and recalling memories from the previous day.
We slept all morning so Bale could rest after another full night at the Council. Then the five of us flew beyond Drayke, heading southeast with the sun high above us. While my phoenixes hunted in the nearby woods, Bale and I had lunch in a town by a roaring waterfall, the autumn colors at their peak and brilliant all around us. After, just the two of us again, we bathed in Bale’s dragon-breath heated pool, his hands and mouth hotter on me than the water. We were hungrier for each other than for dinner and raced, still dripping, to the bedroom. It took a long time, but we finally exhausted each other. I fell asleep before dark, but Bale had to leave again.
I try to go back to sleep, but it’s a useless endeavor. I slept too much during the day to be tired now. Bale will be at the final Council meeting until sunrise, and I’d rather be with my birds than alone in his lair, even if they’re sleeping. I dress quickly, brush my hair, and slip a dagger into my boot. My swords are downstairs. I leave Bale a note telling him I’ll be in my quarters in case he gets back before I do, then slip out the door.
A chill hits me the second I leave Bale’s lair. The inner mountain is cold and dark this late into the night, and I shiver as I make my way down the endless stairs and corridors. Some of the torches lining the walls have already guttered and died. Shadows seem to reach out at me from everywhere, and for the first time, I start worrying about what’s around corners I know as well as the back of my hand.
Slowing as I start down a particularly dark and silent staircase, I think about turning around. Bale’s lair is warm, comfortable, and there are still embers in the hearth. I could build up the fire again. It’s also an empty set of rooms until Bale gets back. Shaking my head at my hesitation, I keep going toward the Elite Wing level. It might be cozy in Bale’s lair, but there’s no roosting wall, and my birds aren’t there.
I don’t understand this troubled feeling as I make my way to my quarters, and while I don’t ignore it, I try to push through. There shouldn’t be any danger right now. During the Ellonrift Council, there’s a code of peace, even among rulers who hate each other. Rannigan will be holed up in the Council room with Bale. His entourage and guards will be in rooms far down the mountain from here. I doubt Rexton Hale is wandering around where he doesn’t belong, and even if he is, I don’t think he’s a danger to me. I’m just nervous because I’ve never been here during a Council before, and Bloodwold vampires are suddenly a much bigger threat to me.
With logic on my side, I keep going. Despite my giddy happiness and focus on getting to know Bale in a whole new way, I miss my birds. I haven’t seen them as much as usual, and I’ve barely seen any of the Elite Wing since that first night with Bale. Kellan has avoided me altogether, but I’ve spent some evening time in our lounge with the others this week, when Bale’s been unavailable. They don’t quite seem to know what to say to me right now, but it’s not as uncomfortable as I feared.
As for my phoenixes, I know Fyrestar has been doing what he can to give Bale and me privacy, keeping the younger birds busy and happy and sometimes taking them to the training sessions that Bale and I are missing so we can spend our days together before he goes to the Council. My birds won’t come up to me even if they know I’m alone in Bale’s high lair, not quite daring yet to simply push through his windows.
More than halfway there, a warning prickle skitters over my skin. I get the oddest feeling of being disconnected from the foreboding sensation, as if I’m not the one in danger, and yet fear makes my stomach clench. Tensing, I stop, listening carefully. There’s not a scuff of a boot or a flicker of light beyond the usual torches, but something in my gut tells me that everything just went horribly wrong.
Panic grips me. My birds.
My heart in my throat, I start to run, pounding down the stairs and careening around corners. I see the last bend in the corridor leading to my room and don’t slow. I race around the corner, and rough, unforgiving rope cuts into my skin. I flinch, my face scraping against coarse mesh. Dark figures pounce. Gasping, I struggle against hard hands and the net closing tightly around me. I grope for my dagger. The strike comes from the side before I can grab the blade or scream for help.
Pain flares, hot blood seeps from my temple, and I drop like a stone to the faint echo of little Embersol screeching in terror behind my closed door.
I wake in the war room, woozy and stiff. I’m tied to one of the Elite Wing pillars, my legs folded uncomfortably underneath me, and my arms and torso strapped so tightly to the column behind me that I can barely draw breath. My hands are numb from cold and lack of circulation. At least a dozen booted feet move in my lowered vision. A sharp pain pounds in my head, and the ambush rushes back to me with sickening clarity. Nausea roils in my stomach as I lift my head. Where are my birds?
“Ah. She wakes.” A man steps in front of me, blocking my view of the room. He’s tall, lanky but strong, objectively handsome with blue eyes and dark hair, and subjectively my personal nightmare.
Cold fear swamps me as Rannigan Bloodthief squats in front of me. Even though we’ve never met, I’d recognize him anywhere.
Maybe it’s the sharp, black nails. I swallow the flash of acid in my throat. No, not black. Bloodstained.
I lift my gaze from his chilling hands and glare at him. “This is a huge breach of diplomacy.” I don’t know how I form the words. They feel fuzzy in my head and thick on my tongue.
“We’re both too smart to pretend that matters anymore.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I grind out. But my stomach sinks. Something terrible must’ve happened during the last night of the Council, and Cealastra didn’t show up, confirming our worst fears. It’s the only reason Rannigan would dare this.
“Idallia!” Fyrestar’s frantic caw helps clear the cobwebs from my head. My pulse takes off with a surge, and I struggle to see around Rannigan.
“Looking for them?” Rannigan moves to the side, and my heart crumbles and dies in my chest. Fyrestar and Embersol are across the room, bound from head to tail in netting that must be coated in Rannigan’s infamous magic to ensure it won’t burn. I see them trying, but their fire is Bale’s fire. It won’t work.
Tears sear my eyes. My breath shudders, but otherwise, I don’t move or make a sound. I have to think. Vampires hold swords to my birds’ flaming throats. Rim isn’t here.
“Let them go, Rannigan.” My hard, wintery voice holds all the stone-cold ways I’m going to kill this bastard the second I have the chance.
“I’m glad you know who I am, since we’ll be getting much better acquainted soon.” He smirks, and rage explodes in me. It turns into icy terror when he leans in and opens his mouth against my face. He sweeps a long, slow lick from my cheek to my temple, and I shudder, turning away from him. He grips my jaw, forcing me back to his mouth for another taste. I can’t move, his pointed nails digging into my chin as he swirls his tongue over the cut on my temple.
