“I thought the sire bond was a tie, at least for vampires.” Perhaps I was speaking too candidly, but Aella almost made it easy.
To her credit, she didn’t immediately dismiss me. “I’m not a vampire, so I can’t speak to all the nuances. But he brought you with him and let you present yourself without casting a shadow. There’s a price to this perception for him, you realize? Most monarchs would take another successor as a threat to their power. One not bound by another position.”
I hadn’t realized it was costing him something. How would he be affected when I fled?
She waited for me to reply, but I had nothing to say that wouldn’t endanger me. Instead, Aella and I watched the crowd, her pointing out occasional dignitaries with observations that were a mix of astute and witty while I tried to keep up.
“That one wouldn’t last a week in the ice caves of Vaelithria,” she mused as a skinny sprite collapsed into a fit of giggles in a group that wasn’t laughing nearly as hard.
“I don’t think I’d last a day, so perhaps I shouldn’t judge,” I replied.
She gave me an appraising eye. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’d give you at least ten days.”
I laughed along with her.
Though I was reluctant to admit it to myself, I was scanning the crowd for Raphael. I hadn’t seen him, and as much as I knew I couldn’t have him, leaving things sitting as they did between us didn’t feel right.
I couldn’t explain, I couldn’t apologize, couldn’t ask for him to understand that there was no possible future between us, because where he saw centuries ahead of us, I saw centuries of strife I had no way to escape.
If Aella was a diplomat, like many who had attended the welcome dinner, perhaps she had insight into more than justvampire politics. Best I could tell, she was some hybrid of fae and the Winged Ones. Vaelithria was on the western half of the continent.
“In the centuries you mentioned you’d been coming here, has anyone from the Witch Kingdom attended?” I asked.
Aella furrowed her brow, considering. “Not that I can recall. They tend to keep to themselves, as I’ve always understood it. Preferring not to mingle with those they see as too different. Though this king . . .” She trailed off. “You hail from there, I assume?”
I nodded. “What about the king?”
“You would know better than me, I assume. He’s as all kings are—ambitious, arrogant, from what the winds have told me. But perhaps a bit more cunning.”
“Have you heard rumors about him lately?” It was clumsy, cursed clumsy. Thea would’ve managed something far more subtle. But this might be my last chance to learn how the other nations saw my kingdom and what exactly had drawn Raphael here. “Unrest with the kingdoms?”
“There has been . . . some talk. Restless skirmishes that help no one.” Her furrow had grown to a frown. “It’s long been known the tensions between the witches and their neighbors have simmered. Perhaps the king means to bring it to a head, but that would be foolish given their surrounded state. They would need to be cunning, and perhaps certain they had some ace up their sleeve, so to speak. But that’s of course just one woman’s opinion. My people tend to stay neutral. We’ve had no contact with the Witch King.”
“That makes sense,” I mumbled, hiding frustration there wasn’t more. “Thank you.”
“Your sire would know better, I’m certain.” A tactful, unspoken question about why I didn’t just ask Raphael.
I had nothing to say in defense to that, so we went back to studying the other partygoers. Aella continued to provide commentary, not minding that I had less and less to say in response.
I might have spent the entire night on the fringes, mentally planning how I’d pack and leave Damerel in a few weeks.
Until someone cut in from the shadows, hand outstretched.
“May I have this dance?”
Chapter Forty-Four
Samara
For a fleeting second,I thought the voice belonged to Raphael.
It did not.
“If I’m not interrupting,” the male continued, though it was clear by his tone that he didn’t care one way or the other if he was interrupting.
He was tall, maybe the same height as Raphael, and a vampire judging by the red eyes behind the mask. He wore a carmine mask that covered the top of his face, feathered in a way that was almost reminiscent of a phoenix. His suit was also the color of blood.
Aella dipped to a slight curtsy, enough to tell me whoever was behind it was someone important. But after the polite gesture, she returned her focus to me. The silent question on her lips offered camaraderie I’d seldom known.
