“Will they turn on Rannigan?” It seems unlikely. None have before. They’ve preferred death.
“Probably not, but I’ve got our sorcerers working on a truth spell. I’m hoping I can pull honesty from them.”
“But it could just as easily be a lie spell. The other Council members might not trust it.”
Sighing, Bale briefly closes his eyes. “Not what I wanted to hear.”
“Sorry.” I grimace.
“Don’t be. It’s a good point.” His shoulders hunch like an invisible weight bears down on him. “I guess it’ll be good, old-fashioned coercion then.”
“Unfortunately, the same logic applies. They could lie under duress.”
A frustrated sound rumbles in his throat. “Options are limited. It’s going to be hard enough keeping them alive until the Council. One chewed through a vein yesterday. The others seem more interested in survival—for now.” He scrubs a hand down his face, and the mattress groans as he shifts his weight.
My heart squeezes at seeing him so discouraged. “You could offer asylum,” I suggest.
“Fuck that,” he growls. “I’m not going to reward blood thieves with a place to live in peace.”
I nod. I wouldn’t either. “Are you going to send us away again? I know you don’t like it when we’re here for the Council.” I don’t even think I’d mind leaving this time. The hostility will be thick enough to cut with a knife, and everyone will be on edge. Besides, the thought of having the Vampire King here, in Drayke Mountain, turns my stomach, especially after what happened outside of Draywood. To Draywood. To me.
“I’m not sure yet,” he answers. “We’ll see.”
My gaze on him sharpens. That’s a first—potentially. Only Maia and Arran have ever been in residence at Drayke Mountain during a Council meeting that took place here. “What about Fanghaven? There must be a way to stop the Vampire King from proxy voting for his wife. Can you insist she votes in person, or her vote won’t count?”
Bale’s lips twist in a wry smile. “We can vote on it.”
I snort. “That sounds like a serpent biting its tail. The vote will be a tie at best. Or a flat-out loss.”
“Trying could at least force Cealastra to appear.” He scoots back to lean against my footboard, lifting his legs and crossing them at the ankles on my bed. If I reached to the side, I could lay a hand on his foot.
I fold my hands in my lap. “And if she doesn’t?”
“Then we’ll know Cealastra is gone, magic will be next, and Rexton Hale can claim the Fanghaven throne with impunity unless Rannigan Bloodthief can prove his wife still lives.”
The weight of a millstone drops through me. If magic goes, my birds can’t come back.
“He’s a cousin of some sort to the Fanghaven royals, right? Rexton Hale?”
Bale nods. “Not starborn, but the closest living relative to the murdered king.”
“Except the Vampire Queen. It’s her vote Rannigan keeps tossing around.”
He nods again. “Except the Vampire Queen.”
“If she exists. For all we know, she’s as dead as the rest of her family, and Rannigan has been lying in her name ever since the massacre.”
“We can’t know,” Bale murmurs from the foot of the bed.
“This long, and only Rannigan’s inner circle has ever seen her? They could be lying—all of them.” I shake my head. “Maybe you should just support Hale’s claim. Fanghaven will ally with you. With that vote, you’re a block of three.”
“Torridaig, Ruthinock, and Fanghaven, as it was for more than half my reign.” Bale looks at me, his gaze heavy. “I can’t support his claim.”
“Why not? It would solve a lot of problems.”
“Because he’s not starborn.”
“That’s very elitist of you,” I snap, pulling my legs up under me and sitting forward. “From what we know, he’s competent, cares about his people, and upholds Fanghaven’s traditions. Besides, we don’t even know if Cealastra is still around to choose her next pet.”
