“What’s to keep vampires from ripping off the torque? Or breaking or cutting through even a closed necklace?”
“Nothing, I suppose.” He frowns. “And I guess once word spreads about the magic, they’ll just bite people wherever there isn’t protection.”
“Hmm.” I sit back in my chair, the plush fabric worn from centuries of solitary evenings keeping my own council in this room. That’s somehow happening less these days. The formation of the Elite Wing changed something here. Or maybe in me. Letting myself trust and count on a few people hasn’t gotten me killed or Torridaig invaded, and it’s a lot less lonely than trusting and counting on no one. “It doesn’t sound like a long-term solution. Let’s just see how it works for Idallia during the stakeout.”
Stuart nods. “You know you could just kill Rannigan Bloodthief and take over Bloodwold.”
I laugh again, my humor laced with bitterness this time. “As much as I’d love to, he’s of starborn descent, and risking Cealastra’s wrath isn’t something I want to do—even if Rannigan already got away with slaughtering starborn royals.” He clearly didn’t care about his people enough to be concerned. I care, and I’m convinced Rannigan’s treachery is what made Cealastra turn from us in the first place. She’s either shining her magic elsewhere or truly in decline, but whichever it is, it began with the murder of her Fanghaven royals in cold blood. If I kill Rannigan now, premeditated and outside of a battle he incited, we might lose the Star of Ellonrift entirely, and all magic will fade with her light.
“Is Cealastra even around to care anymore?” Stuart asks with a frown. “Making this torque is hard work—like pulling sweat from a corpse.”
I sigh. That’s the question, isn’t it? “I hope so.”
We both take a drink of our dragon’s brew. Except for with the team out on missions, Stuart is the only person I’ve sat and had brews with since I was young and my father still ruled the kingdom. Sometimes I wonder what’s worse: being alone or inevitably grieving the loss of Stuart’s company.
“What about dampening fae magic all over Drayke while the Fae Queen and her entourage are here?” I ask. Stuart is already on that task, too, with the help of Drayke Mountain’s resident sorcerers and any new recruits who are skilled with that kind of magic.
His grimace isn’t promising. “No plan seems feasible so far. We’ve never tried something this big before. I can dampen fae magic in individual rooms or for specific people, but I’ve never tried to blanket a whole swath of land and a large city before. It’s a tall order,” he says, stretching his feet toward the burning logs.
Standing, I walk to a window and look out over the city of Drayke in the river-cut basin below. The city is longer than it is wide, stretching the length of the valley at the base of Drayke Mountain and creeping up the slopes on either side. “It’s not an order.” I turn back to Stuart. “It’s an idea.” I need my human sorcerers to protect all my people from fae glamouring while the Tanturriff entourage is here. “If Torridaigans—especially humans—can’t see through fae magic, they could have their years stolen away.”
“If the fae go too far, it’s murder.” Stuart leans forward, his mug between his hands. “Do you really think the new queen will allow her people to do that right under your nose?”
“I have no idea what Marissa Turin will do.” I’ve only ever seen her walk fleetingly down corridors or slip into what she probably hoped were empty rooms, never involved in her predecessor’s politics or allowed into Council meetings hosted in Tanturriff’s white marble halls. “But the fae are getting frantic. Waning magic means the years they siphon off others aren’t as effective or long-lasting anymore.”
Most fae purchase years, just like Fanghaven vampires purchase blood. There’s a robust commerce, especially in the west along Tanturriff’s borders with Torridaig and Ruthinock. People need money? They go into the Tanturriff city markets and wait for some weakening fae to pay them for any years they’re willing to part with. Plenty of dragon shifters have gotten rich selling their seeming eternalness to fae parasites. They probably figure they have enough years not to notice the difference, and that’s likely true until the end comes, and then maybe they’ll regret cutting their lives short for riches.
But the youth-and-health prolonging years the fae are buying aren’t lasting like they used to, and most fae are neither rich enough to keep up the endless purchasing, nor part of the traditionally nomadic gildenfae, for whom finding and mining gold—and to a lesser extent, the act of crafting items out of the precious metal—is all they need for rejuvenation.
Their clan-based society has taken them all over Ellonrift, and especially into gold-rich Torridaig. Physically working with gold provides the gildenfae with the swell of lifeforce they need to stay strong and young, and Torridaig gets its cut of the unearthed riches. But the gildenfae are a minority among the fae, disliked by many of their brethren for their independence from the cost and burden of parasitic ways. For decades now, they’ve been finding their native land of Tanturriff increasingly unwelcoming as many fae struggle to buy the lifeforce they need, and some turn to nefarious means.
“There’s a lot more thieving going on in the west now, just like along our Bloodwold border,” Stuart says sourly. “And the new queen seems powerless to stop it.”
Nodding, I lean against the window ledge, the sharp bite of the evening air at my back and the warmth of my fire in front. “What’s been a successful and consensual commerce since the second dawn of Ellonrift could quickly turn into as big a problem as blood raiders out for crimson gold.” Once again, the blame lies with Rannigan Bloodthief triggering the decline of magic. The waning started with his murderous maneuvering to control two votes at the Ellonrift Council. If this next Council is as much of a failure as the rest, my only option is war, and if he doesn’t think I’ll invade a sovereign kingdom over the people he kidnaps, he’s wrong.
“I don’t think I can do it,” Stuart says regretfully. “I can protect you or certain individuals at a specific time, but not all of Drayke at once and for days—or even all of Drayke Mountain. Countering fae magic is a rare power to begin with. I can’t spread my own magic too thin, or it won’t be effective for anyone, and I don’t have enough strong sorcerers with the right kind of power to make a difference.”
I take another sip, absorbing that bad news along with the strong drink that helps soften the blow. “Then Marissa Turin will come to the Ellonrift Council alone.”
“You’d deny the Fae Queen her entourage?” Stuart asks in shock. “Send them home at the border?”
“I’ll give her a better alternative right from her own doorstep all the way to Drayke Mountain.” A new plan is forming, a feasible one, and I like it. Something close to glee expands inside me. I’d already planned on offering Marissa protection in return for an alliance. “She probably can’t trust her nobles anyway, especially outside her castle, where she might actually have some friends.”
“So you’ll give her someone she can trust?” Stuart sips his brew, leaving a hint of foam on his upper lip.
I nod. “And hopefully solidify a new friendship in the process.” I could use all the allies I can get.
Unease sinks through me. If only I’d take my own advice.
“In that case, I’ll put my full effort into the torque and stop worrying about anything other than dampening the Fae Queen’s magic while she’s here.”
I nod, the scents of hearthside fires and dinners cooking down in Drayke reaching me even in my high lair. I shut the window against the mountain breeze, cutting off the smell of granite cliffs, tall pines, and the cold lake as well. The last triggers images from today’s training, of shiny black hair and fierce golden eyes. The scent of spring sunshine hitting frosted ice ghosts through my nostrils, and I stop breathing for a moment, holding on to the phantom fragrance.
Reluctantly exhaling, I return to the fireside chairs with Stuart, and we finish our mugs in companionable silence, my friend lost in his own musings, and me wishing my every stray thought didn’t bring me back to Idallia. Half the time, it feels like she’s in the room with me, even though she’s never even set foot in my lair.
Stuart stands just as the dinner bells chime far down the mountain, calling everyone to tables long and wide. I stand with him. I shouldn’t still plan on eating with the team right after wishing I could distance my thoughts from Idallia, but I move toward the doorway with Stuart anyway.
“The torque is almost done. I’ll give it my full attention now and have it ready by tomorrow evening.” Stuart’s mouth pulls down in a frown as he opens the door. I know he worries that sorcerers soon won’t be able to accomplish anything of significance. He’s a protector, and magic is his tool. Watching it disappear little by little must be like losing my fangs one by one and feeling my fire gradually turn cold.
