“That doesn’t appear to bother her like it would a dragon shifter or a human. It seems to me that as soon as she knows she’s safe and in good hands, she shuts down to heal. Kind of like hibernation.”
“So she’s sleeping it off in her own bed?”
“Basically, yes. It took five days this time, but there’s not a scratch on her now. Not a scrape, not a scar.”
Her delicate features whip through my mind along with a shimmer of golden eyes. My skin warms, and my dragon crawls through me, the heated, smoky shadows wanting to seep out, take form, and see Idallia now. “So she’s fine?” I ask gruffly.
Sybil snorts. “She’ll be fine. But again, she’s not you and can’t race straight back into battle—or training. I’d recommend several more days of rest.”
Easier said than done. As soon as Idallia is on her feet, she’ll want to be sparring again.
“She doesn’t fit the profile of any known people in Ellonrift,” I say cautiously. “Do you know what she is?”
Sybil looks steadily back at me. “Do you?”
Her blunt question sounds almost accusing. It makes it harder to force a lie to my tongue, so I shake my head.
Sybil folds her hands on her desk in the one place that isn’t buried by scrolls. “No, I don’t know. Just try to get her to rest.”
My mouth thins. “It won’t be easy.”
“Make it about her birds,” she suggests. “If it’s better for them, she’ll do whatever you ask.”
I swipe a hand down my face, grimacing beneath my palm. “That’s infuriatingly true.”
“Oh, don’t grumble like that.” Sybil laughs. “You have it easy. If I could use that same argument to get her to eat something, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
The grimace freezes on my face. That’s because Idallia is better suited to a diet far different from our carnivorous ways.
“And the new recruits?” I ask, abruptly changing the subject.
“An interesting batch. Even with magic waning, there’s some real power that just needs honing, and there are some others that’ll do fine out and about in the different cities and townships.”
“Anyone good enough to stay here? Or go to the Drayke School of Fire and Flight?” The headmistress keeps almost as big a permanent healing staff on hand as I do.
Her lips pursing, she wobbles her head back and forth in a that-remains-to-be-seen kind of way. “Give me until after the Ellonrift Council to decide. You’ll be too busy until then anyway to deal with dispatching new employees all over the place.”
Some say I’m too much of a hands-on ruler, approving every soldier, healer, and sorcerer placement around Torridaig. No one gets one of those jobs unless I approve it. This is one of the few things I don’t do alone, though. The headmistress gives me input on the soldiers finishing their schooling, Sybil offers opinions on the capacities of the healers, and her husband, Stuart, assesses all the other sorcerers who come through Drayke Mountain before applying for open positions around the kingdom.
We recruit as many human sorcerers graduating from the magic schools in Ruthinock as we can. Most Torridaigans have fire and flight and accelerated healing, and I might’ve called down the power of the very stars to make our warbirds, but dragon shifters don’t have magic like humans do. Human spell weaving is a whole different game with so many players and tricks and tactics that it’s impossible to counter every strategy unless you have an army of sorcerers of your own.
“Take as much time as you need,” I tell her. “There are several healers around Torridaig applying for retirement.” That probably accounts for half the parchments awaiting my attention. “We’ve got more positions to fill than you have new recruits, so it’s just going to be a question of sending the best where they’re needed the most.”
“Couples are already forming. They might want to stay together.”
I look at her, bemused. “Humans move so fast. It’s only been a few months.”
She laughs. “Maybe you move too slowly, Your Majesty.”
Maybe I don’t move at all. And I definitely don’t like the pressure I’m getting from the regional governors to finally produce an heir. If I die without one, Torridaig won’t have a legitimate ruler unless Cealastra chooses a new one herself and gifts them with starborn magic, and that’s unlikely, seeing as she isn’t even showing up for eclipses anymore.
“Don’t Your Majesty me. You know my name is Bale.” I soften the reproach with a smile as I move toward the door. “Ask Stuart to come to my study before dinner. We need to discuss security for the upcoming Council. I’m pretty sure Marissa Turin won’t risk breaking the non-aggression pact herself while she’s here, but I don’t trust the Fae Queen’s entourage with so many tempting humans and dragon shifters around.”
True dislike hardens Sybil’s features. It’s not an expression I’m accustomed to from her, but I understand. Humans aren’t people to the fae. They’re prey. “Fluttering eyelashes and a few pretty words are all it takes for those parasites to glamour their way into your personal space and steal your life away,” she says bitterly. “They claim consent, but it’s deceit.”
Not all fae take too much or do it deceitfully, but the problem is undeniably growing with the weakening of magic. Just like Sybil needs three days now to do what she used to do in one, the fae need three times as much lifeforce from others to maintain their health. Fear has been making them greedy. And for too many of them, lack of funds to pay for what they need to survive is driving them to steal it instead.
Mere kisses and touches will strip years off a human existence, and sex will basically leave a human on their deathbed, so the orgasm had better be worth it. But fae glamour magic masks the reality of what’s happening until it’s too late. Dragon shifters live long enough that a fae encounter or two barely makes a difference. Same for vampires. The fae reject weres unless they’re truly desperate, and they’re physically unable to siphon lifeforce from their own kind—including the gildenfae, who don’t need to siphon from the living at all. It’s my humans I have to protect.
