“Why?”
Because if I don’t, I won’t know how to stop. Because Vrakken don’t bind easily.
“Because some truths, once spoken, don’t stay contained.”
She studies me, then nods slowly. “Then another time.”
“Yes,” I say again. And this time, it feels like a promise.
She hesitates, then tilts her head, eyes bright with curiosity she’s trying, and failing, to mask. “Is that why you never feed in front of me?” she asks, clearly aiming to shift the weight of the moment. “Professional courtesy?”
I huff a laugh. It surprises us both.
“You want to see me drink blood?” I ask, arching a brow.
Her mouth quirks. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it either.”
She shrugs, unapologetic. “I live with glowing roots, talking stones, and gods that whisper through soil. A Vrakken drinking blood barely cracks the top ten strangest things in my life.”
That gets a real laugh out of me. “For the record,” I say, “it’s rarely as dramatic as the stories.”
“Disappointing,” she replies. “I was hoping for brooding candles and excessive menace.”
“I can do excessive menace,” I say dryly. “The candles are negotiable.”
She snorts before she can stop herself, then clamps her mouth shut like she’s betrayed some internal rule. The bond warms, pleased, like it’s filing this moment away for later.
“For what it’s worth,” she adds, softer now, “I’m glad you don’t hide everything behind teeth and shadows.”
I glance at her. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“If you keep talking like that,” I say, “you’ll start making me sound approachable.”
Her smile flashes, quick and wicked. “Perish the thought.”
We walk together, the air lighter than it’s been in days. Her magic stays calm. So does mine.
Since the assassination attempt, the bond feels… right.
Which is precisely why I don’t trust it.
That evening, as the sun sinks behind the canopy and Nytheria settles into uneasy calm, a runner finds me at the end of the inner ward.
He bows low, breathless. “Message from Velcryn.”
I take the sealed parchment without comment.
The wax bears the Matron Council’s sigil.
I don’t need to open it to know. Still, I do. The message is brief, formal and unyielding.
You are summoned. Immediately.
I close my fist around the parchment. The bond stirs, reacting to my irritation, my readiness.
