Reality pokes holes in my reasoning. I can. I should. I just…don’t.
I watch her as she picks at her soup, slowly eating. Telling Idallia everything she wants to know would likely help me. It’s the political move I’ve been waiting to spring on that sorry excuse for a Vampire King. But my vengeful anticipation morphed into bone-deep dread somewhere along the line, and the political move became less important to me than the person.
I know Idallia. I doubt she’d suddenly hate me. We’d hopefully be allies. But we wouldn’t be teammates, and maybe not even friends. I proclaimed myself friendless, but the thought of her pounded away at that with such intensity I had to reevaluate. Except, once she knows, she won’t have to put up with me, or stay here, or do anything I ask. And I won’t just lose her. I’ll lose Fyrestar, Rimblaze, and Embersol.
I push off from the window frame, half-wondering who I am anymore. Clarity was the one thing I had for so long that losing it feels like losing myself.
“I don’t mind the idea of we,” I say impulsively. “I value your counsel.”
The spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth hovers forgotten as she stares at me. “Thank you,” she finally says, lifting it the rest of the way to her mouth.
Still too warm, I clear my throat. “Is the soup good?”
She makes a face I know all too well. “It doesn’t matter as long as it helps me be able to stand up tomorrow.”
“I wish we could find something you actually like.” But that’s the problem with her kind, and why they’re so rare. Unheard of, really. Hunted, unsatisfied, unable to reach their true potential…It’s the choice of no parent for their child. But when the time came, Idallia didn’t have natural parents to choose the usual path for her. She had a bloodbath and then Rita and Gerard in one of the most isolated places in Torridaig.
It took finally knowing Idallia to realize how lacking my choice in homes for her was. Or maybe the lacking home formed Idallia, making her who she is now.
Either way, Glarraden was better than Bloodwold.
“Me too. I like fruit, though. Especially red or black ones.” She grimaces, as if knowing that preference is revealing but not understanding why.
“Figs,” I say absently. It’s no surprise, with their thin but firm skins and fleshy red insides.
She nods, still slightly frowning, and I turn again, looking out the window as she finishes her soup. I’ve stayed this long, lingering when I shouldn’t. I might as well wait and take the empty bowl away. Rimblaze and Embersol are sound asleep. Fyrestar pretends to sleep, but I don’t think he ever truly rests unless Idallia does.
I hear her set the empty bowl aside and turn back around, ready to take it—and my leave of her.
A hot pang erupts in my chest. She’s sitting there in her robe, a little color back in her cheeks, and my mind instantly puts her in my lair, in one of my chairs, instead of here in hers.
She tucks her feet up under her. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“Oh?” I move closer, curious.
“Some rugs might be nice.” She glances around, her long black hair sliding over her shoulders. Even in the dusk-dark room, it shines like a starlit waterfall.
“Rugs?” I rasp.
“The floor does get cold, especially in the winter. It’s only autumn, and I’m already feeling the bite.”
I round the bed, drawn to her as if the gold shining in her eyes is the summit of my treasures. “Shall I provide some?”
Her brows snap together. “That’s not what I meant. I can buy my own rugs. I’m just…glad you suggested it.”
“Always so independent,” I murmur, stopping next to her.
Her eyes flash, her chin already high. “What does that mean?”
As usual, her combativeness excites me. My dragon especially wants to join the fun, and shadows push at my skin, hot and demanding. Both parts of me sense the challenge that is Idallia and reach for it with talons and hands. “You refuse to rely on anyone.”
“I rely on my birds.” Her immediate reply cools my enthusiasm. Her phoenixes always come first, and good luck to anyone who tries to join their tight circle. She lifts a hand in my direction. “And you pay me wages. I might as well use them.”
“What if I said you should get a raise?”
“Then everyone gets a raise. We’re all paid the same.”
An almost melancholy smile slips out. Idallia is a team player to the core. I should let that guide me, instead of my doubts. “I think raises are in order. It’s been at least a year.”
