The fae are a whole other trouble, but they don’t tangle with Torridaig on an organized level. And maybe the new queen won’t tangle with Torridaig at all.
Bale flies over me in a whoosh of heat and wind, his shadow covering me for a split second before he’s gone.
I shiver, goose bumps spreading down my arms.
Since you’re so concerned, perhaps you can suggest a mate?
Mortification jabs needles of regret straight into me. My stupid question and Bale’s flat-toned reply bring heat to my face all over again. I’ve heard Marissa Turin is exceptionally beautiful. Worse, she’s desperately in need of protection. What if Bale sees the new Fae Queen and decides he should be the one to protect her? And as more than just an ally.
Dread settles heavily in my stomach. Torridaig and Tanturriff joined by marriage? A starborn child to eventually inherit both? The territory would be colossal. The populations too. Bloodwold would tremble, even if Rannigan Bloodthief still controls two thrones.
Consciously shedding my dire thoughts, I square my shoulders, inhale deeply, and concentrate on drawing the warm sunshine into my lungs. Above me, the team goes at each other like beasts. They use all their tools. Flames and wings. Claws and fangs. The fire is constant, heating the air so much that sweat dots my brow. Dragon scales provide protection against firebreath, but strong enough blasts will still scorch. Everyone is going to have reddened skin when this is done—except Bale.
Sol watches with me, entranced.
“They are a sight, aren’t they?” I murmur.
She bobs her head, then chirps worriedly when Fyrestar darts under a slashing claw, trying to help distract Maia away from Bale. Bale forms a team with Fyrestar, Rim, Wade, Danica, and their wing guards against Arran, Maia, Kellan, and theirs. Sol tweets in triumph when Fyrestar twists in the air, surges upward, and bangs his beak into Maia’s sensitive lower-chest scales. Maia growls fire at him and spirals out of the way as her wing guards swoop in to force Fyrestar back.
“Too close,” Sol mutters.
“He had it under control,” I say as Fyrestar circles around to regroup with Rim. They hover for a moment, then Rim dives in like a flaming arrow and uses almost the same move on Kellan, zipping away before either Grambolt or Featherspear can attack. Kellan gives Rim a fiery side-eye, and I smile.
“Fyrestar is a good teacher.” Sol’s feathers spark and warm, and she hops excitedly on the rock next to me. She wants to join the training, but she’s far too young and small.
“He’ll teach you soon.” Sol might be the size of a small lynx already, but she still has a lot of growing to do. She’s half Rim’s size and a quarter of Fyrestar’s. The Elite Wing lets her in on training sessions sometimes, but never when it’s a full-blown mock battle in scales.
“I remember things,” she chirps with confidence, already too grown up for her own good.
“You remember. That doesn’t mean you have the strength, reflexes, or skills.”
“I’m fast.”
“That you are,” I agree. At her peak, Embersol was even faster than Fyrestar. “But you have to follow Bale’s rules, which means no combat until you pass your tests. He’s the king, and he knows what’s best for the warbirds.”
“You don’t listen to Bale.”
I nearly choke on a laugh. “Yes I do.”
“Not like the others. Not like Bale is in charge of you.”
I glance at her, frowning. “Why do you say that?” Bale is definitely in charge of me, so I don’t know what Sol is talking about. But the young often spring truths on unsuspecting adults.
“I’m not always as sleepy as you think.” She gives me a cheeky look, her soft, yellow head crest bobbing from her constant movement. “He likes to talk to you.”
My eyes widen, then I laugh. “You sneaky little phoenix. Well, I like talking to him too,” I say a little wistfully. I feel the impulse to add that he talks to everyone on the team, but I know he doesn’t really. I think the only other person he confides in is Stuart.
And I know that from Stuart. Bale doesn’t say a thing.
“He seeks you out. Can’t stay away.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I say, my chuckle strained this time because of the almost painful explosion of heat crashing through my body. “I’ll bet you listen in on a lot of my conversations with Fyrestar, don’t you?” Ears pricked, eyes closed, little beak tucked under her wing.
“Rim does too,” she chitters, fluffing her wings.
Smiling, I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. We don’t have secrets. But I don’t know if she’s old enough to understand that us forming a family with “Dad” is extremely unlikely and probably not good for anyone, especially me.
Sol jumps closer, and I loop an arm around her barrel of a body, enjoying the warmth of her feathers and the sunshine on my skin. It’s almost too bright and hot, though, reminding me of my dream from last night and how I backed off the patio, the flat, dark-gray stones burning my feet.
