“Everyone is all right now,” Stuart answers. “Wade and Danica were pretty beat up.”
“They gave my new apprentice healers some of their very first post-battle work. No vampire bites, but more slashes and bruises than I even wanted to count.” Sybil leans back in her chair, and I realize how tired she looks. Not only did she certainly work hard to heal me herself, but she had to supervise everyone else.
“And the wing guards?” I glance at Rim. “Rim?”
“The injured wing guards are fine now. They all healed relatively quickly, especially Rim.” She gives my phoenix a fond look. “He was motivated to get back to your side as quickly as possible.”
“The healing room wasn’t for you, Rim?” I ask.
“This is my room.” His immediate answer is all I need to feel a huge lump rise in my throat.
I swallow it down, but my eyes brim as my gaze skates over my birds. All three look back at me, their eyes bright, their lifelight strong.
“What really happened?” Stuart asks gently. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Worry clouds his expression, forcing deep lines between his brows and aging him by ten years. “No one else was bitten like that.”
The shudder that runs through me is wholly involuntary and impossible to hide. “I don’t know. We were severely outnumbered, but we were holding our own. Then one of the blood traffickers got in a slice to my thigh. As soon as they scented my blood, they all went berserk. The battle didn’t seem to matter anymore—not the prisoners they took, or even their own injured or dead. They just wanted me.” The shock of being held down, bitten, my blood rushing violently through my veins and into someone else, rattles me all over again.
“But why?” Stuart doesn’t understand any more than I do.
“I have no idea.” Unnerved, I reach out and touch the yellow-orange fluff around Sol’s ear. I smooth it, the contact soothing me. “Does my blood look any different to you?”
Sybil shakes her head. “It’s just blood. And if you can stomach eating some meat, it might help you recover faster.”
I feel sick at the thought, bile already stinging the back of my throat. But I hate being this shaky and reluctantly nod. “Can you mash it up and put it in some soup?”
She smiles. “You won’t even know it’s there.”
Unlike the vampire bites that still throb insistently. The top of my breast aches, just like the column of my throat and front of my thigh. I discreetly feel my leg through my blanket. The skin is flat and smooth except for where the pain lingers. I touch my neck, finding raised lumps there too. If they haven’t disappeared yet, there’s a good chance they aren’t going to.
“Scars?” I ask, wincing.
Sybil winces back at me. “Only the bite marks. I don’t know why. They should’ve disappeared along with the leg wound and bruises.”
I slowly exhale, the breath as unsteady as the rest of me. Maia wears the scar on her cheek like a badge of honor, and it suits her, enhancing her beauty. My starsdamned vanity means I don’t want anything lasting on me, even in places other people don’t see.
I might enjoy flirting when we head out to our usual tavern down in Drayke, but only Kellan has ever actually seen me naked. The idea of baring myself to anyone again just gets scarier the more time goes by, and having these puncture wounds to explain isn’t going to help.
“If Bloodwold vampires couldn’t repel firebreath, we’d have won in seconds, and no one would’ve gotten hurt.” We’d win every time. Blood traffickers wouldn’t be a problem, because they wouldn’t dare. They’d die.
“Magic like that isn’t limitless. You know Rannigan Bloodthief must be sanctioning every single raid because he’s getting his sorcerers to cover those vampires in that magic before they cross the border.” Stuart shakes his head in anger, his mouth a grim line.
“You mean it’ll wear off?” Sybil asks. “Like on the ones Bale captured?”
I look over sharply. “He got some?” They both nod.
“And it’ll definitely wear off,” Stuart confirms. “The Vampire King’s sorcerers will have to recover their strength and then concentrate the same magic on the next batch of blood traffickers. It would have to be internalized—in an object, for example—to last indefinitely.”
“Like the torque?” Sybil asks.
He nods. “And someone could steal an object. Or die with it in enemy territory. It’s harder to make a spell permanent than temporary, and this magic is too valuable to them to risk wasting it that way on expendable minions.”
“Makes sense,” Sybil says.
I agree. I hadn’t thought about the fact that blood traffickers die all the time, which is probably why Rannigan hasn’t invested dwindling magic in more than a temporary solution to their firebreath problem.
Sybil and Stuart exchange a warm glance. I know he admires her healing skills, just like she admires his knowledge and talent with other types of magic.
The obvious affection and appreciation between them whisper to me that something is missing from my life. I don’t like the thought, and I dislike how Bale instantly comes to mind even more. The sensation of loneliness deepens with the shadow of Bale in my head, and I snuggle Rim and Sol closer.
