She nods. “And he might get it one day unless Rannigan’s wife finally comes out of the woodwork to truly claim her throne.”
“Even if he’s not starborn?” I ask.
Her expression stiffens with worry, the tension in her jaw making the old scar on her cheek stand out and shine a pale silver in the lamplight. “What will starborn matter when Cealastra’s light fades?”
When. Not if.
My heart drops like a stone. Does Maia already think the Star of Ellonrift is gone? Magic will be next. No more healers like Sybil. No more protective spells. No more everlife to spark the warbirds’ rebirth.
Heat crawls toward my eyes. How long does a phoenix naturally live, without battle deaths getting in the way? I don’t think any of us knows.
Maia shifts, and Arran helps me onto her back for the flight home. I’m desperate to see my birds, and I can’t help wondering about Bale’s intentions for this Council as we leave Drayke behind and angle up the mountain toward home. There’s still time for Bale to send me and some others of the Elite Wing away before the Council starts. I never felt singled out in the past because I wasn’t the only one to go, but now I have to wonder…
Were those missions Bale sent me on truly necessary? Or was he hiding me from Rexton Hale?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
IDALLIA
It’s surely not my best decision, especially with all that dragon’s brew still heating my blood, but after quickly checking on my birds, I leave again without letting Fyrestar’s golden-eyed observation, Rim’s rumpled confusion, or Sol’s sleepy little warble stop me. It’s a long, steep climb up the stairs to Bale’s lair, especially with brew-heavy legs weighing me down. Unfortunately for him—and my burning muscles—I’m on a mission to get answers, and I want them now.
The first time I stop to actually consider what I’m doing is when I’m right in front of Bale’s door. I’ve never been here before.
I draw back, my hand poised to knock. After a long pause, I let it fall. I’m troubled, confused, a bit drunk, and intensely attracted to the man on the other side of the door. I should definitely walk back down the stairs.
The door swings open, startling me. Bale stands there, one hand still on the doorknob and the other holding a towel he uses to scrub vigorously at his wet hair.
A fire surges to life inside me. He’s shirtless, his trousers only half tied and riding low on his hips. The line of dark-red tattoos racing down his left side from his neck to his waist pops out at me as his arm moves to swipe the towel over his hair again, catching more drips. I stare, stupid with dragon’s brew. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much of his inked-on series of stars, moons, and eclipses before, the straight line broken and puckered where it mixes with the scars over his heart.
“I could hear you breathing behind the door. What’s wrong?” He slings the towel over his shoulder.
My eyes snap to his face, his muscled chest still imprinted on my vision. “How did you know it was me?” He just chuckles, something heating in his expression. When I realize he’s not going to answer, I ask, “Are you alone?”
“I’m always alone.” His gaze slides over me, taking in my flushed skin and revealing clothes.
Nervous, I wet my lips. “Not if you invite me in.”
For a long moment, I don’t think he’ll accept my challenge. His hesitation is so palpable that I start to feel like a fool. But then he steps back, making room for me.
As soon as I’m inside, he shuts the door. I look around, curious. So, this is where Bale lives—or part of it. I see a tunnel off to one side that probably leads to a bedroom since there’s no bed in here, and another that must lead to some sort of hot bath, considering the moss and condensation on the tunnel walls. Here, it’s more of a large study, with bookshelves, a weapons display, tall, mullioned-glass windows, plenty of thick rugs, and a comfortable-looking set of armchairs in front of a roaring fireplace.
I spin on him. “What’s a sunblood?”
He turns away, tossing the towel aside. He reaches for a billowing white shirt draped over the back of one of the chairs and pulls it over his head. His expression is neutral when he turns back around. “A sunblood?” I don’t know if his lack of reaction is true confusion or the best evasion I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t lie to me.” The strong brew makes me bolder than usual, and I step forward, poking a finger at him. “They’re not supposed to exist, and yet someone just told me I am one.”
He looks me over more thoroughly, taking in my tight leather pants and corset-like top. His gaze hitches on the now-askew bow at my cleavage, and heat swells in my veins. His eyes flare. Shadows coat his skin. “Where were you tonight?” he growls.
“Out in Drayke with the team.” I shouldn’t feel like I have to justify anything, but more tumbles out. “We popped down to the tavern and back. Nothing special.”
His jaw tight, he scrutinizes me. “You’re the last person I’d expect to be cavorting with vampires right now.”
“I didn’t say he was a vampire,” I answer warily.
“You didn’t say it was a he,” Bale rumbles ominously.
I narrow my eyes. “Why did you automatically assume vampire? What do vampires have to do with sunbloods?”
