“We’ll need to get the prisoners to testify truthfully during the Council, even with the threat of Rannigan looming over them.”
I grimace. That would mean cutting a deal with traffickers, promising them safety and blood.
Or threatening them worse than the Vampire King.
“We’ve countered blood raids before, but taking prisoners is never easy,” I point out. “The traffickers take their own lives rather than risk exactly what you’re talking about.” Sol peeks her beak out of the roosting wall, and I reach for her as she flutters down. She settles near my hip, drawing affectionate glances from both Bale and Fyrestar. “We’ll need to already be in the right place to act fast enough. But how can we know where they’ll attack?”
“We can’t. We can only guess at it and hope we’re right.”
I stroke the angle of Sol’s wing bone, thinking. “The northeast is getting hit hardest now, so it would be logical to start there. Where do you want to go?”
“As soon as you’re better, I think we should take up position in and around Porthwood. See if a raid happens.”
My spirits immediately lift at the idea of a stakeout. I hope Bale will pair me with Maia or Danica. No one sleeps. We sharpen blades and laugh about past ill-advised flirting after too many mugs of dragon’s brew down at our favorite tavern. The fun comes to a crashing halt when the violence starts, but as long as we’re winning, that’s usually fun too.
“Why Porthwood?” I ask. “They could hit Draywood just as easily—or any of the lesser towns near the border with Bloodwold.”
“They already hit Draywood twice in a row. I’m just guessing they’ll change it up and raid Porthwood instead.”
“I hate to delay us. What if we miss a raid?” I purse my lips, wondering how quickly I can get back into fighting shape.
Bale’s eyes dip to my mouth. It’s quick enough to mean absolutely nothing, but heat still drips through me like a bead of sweat.
“I’d rather wait. We’ll need Fyrestar at full strength.”
I glance at Fyrestar. He seems tired now, but does he really need that much rest? He was fine earlier when he was roughhousing with Rim and chasing Embersol, who zipped around like a spark.
“Have you answered the Fanghaven pretender about the Council yet?” I ask. Rexton Hale has sent so many messages to Drayke Mountain to request an invitation to the meeting of Ellonrift’s rulers that people are taking bets on when the next request will arrive and how loud Bale’s roar of frustration will be.
Bale sits heavily in the chair by my bedside and drops his head into his hands. His fingers spear through his short, dark hair, gripping his head in a way that makes me want to soothe his scalp with a softer touch. “No. And that man is just asking for me to bite him in half,” he growls.
I giggle. The sound is silly and girlish, but it just pops out. Bale looks back up, suddenly smiling. Our eyes lock, and my chest squeezes painfully, hurting like it was just clamped in a werebear’s jaws.
“Don’t do that,” I say, still smiling despite all the reasons I shouldn’t. “But you’re probably right to exclude Hale from the Council. If Rannigan’s Fanghaven wife ever manages to kill her husband and escape, she won’t appreciate you giving her rival her seat at the table.”
“Rannigan captured an infant and legally bound her to him in marriage after he murdered her entire family. Now he represents them both at the Council, claiming he has her full confidence and that she prefers not to leave Blackrock Keep.”
I snort. “She’s not a wife. She’s a prisoner.” And since consent means nothing in Bloodwold, Rannigan did whatever he wanted without hers.
Bale nods. “He stole her, and he stole her vote.” His bitterness seeps out on an inky wave of darkness. His shadows wash over my hand and forearm, and I shiver even though they’re not cold. They’re warm and living, the essence of his dragon.
Tensing, Bale pulls his shadows away from me, and I shiver again, this time from the loss of his heat. “At least Fanghaven vampires have stayed true to their original starborn ruler’s edicts. They don’t bite without consent.” Fanghaven vampires established nonviolent feeding and a thriving blood commerce far before my time, but Rannigan’s regicidal rampage took place when I was just a child. Ellonrift has been dealing with the political fallout ever since because now the Vampire King gets two votes at the Council—one for his own kingdom of Bloodwold, and another for Fanghaven—his jailed-up wife’s kingdom by starborn right.
No one can prove Rannigan doesn’t have her full confidence, as he claims. No one can even prove she’s alive, but Cealastra never replaced her with a new starborn ruler for Fanghaven, so chances are, she is.
Unless Cealastra is just as dead as the Fanghaven queen. But that’s a whole different crisis to deal with.
“Do you think the Vampire Queen is still alive?” I welcome Rim to the pile of phoenixes on the bed. He must’ve woken up, realized Sol had left the roost, and had to find a spot here too. Rim’s very real fear of missing out gets him into trouble all the time. In training, he already barrels into fights he can barely handle simply because almost everyone else is there. “No one ever sees this woman, and she hasn’t produced Rannigan’s heir.” I don’t even know her given name. Something Bruhane, since that was the family name of the Fanghaven royals. “What if she’s dead but Cealastra either can’t or won’t replace her?”
Bale looks at me oddly. I’m sure he has thoughts about this—both are huge concerns. “The Star of Ellonrift still shines in the night sky.”
My brow pinches. That’s not exactly an answer. “What about Rexton Hale, then?”
“There’s nothing starborn about him. He wouldn’t be Cealastra’s choice even if the Fanghaven queen is dead.” Scooping up Embersol, Bale settles her on his lap. She nestles into him, her feathers shining with happy warmth. He absently strokes her little butter-colored head crest, and I wonder if he misses having birds of his own. “But I think she lives.” His gaze flicks up from Sol, searching mine. “If we free her from Rannigan, do you think she’d be an ally if she could vote?”
I’m almost too distracted by Sol’s adorable warbling and Rim’s envious stink eye in her direction to answer. Fyrestar pins Rim with a warning look, and the younger phoenix sidles closer to me. Putting my arm around him, I say, “If someone killed my whole family, held me captive my entire life, and stole my goddess-given vote at the table of Ellonrift’s kings and queens for himself, I’m pretty sure I’d ally with anyone else—especially with someone who helped me.”
Bale slowly nods, still stroking Sol’s head. “You’re a good strategist, Idallia. I’m glad I came to talk.”
