Daromir resists the urge to hug Vana’s misery away—because beneath that misery is the clear flush of arousal. From a simple massage. Fuck. Daromir has done that a thousand times before, and Vana has never reacted like this.
Unless Vanahasreacted to Daromir’s touch before?
Daromir’s thoughts scatter. He has no idea what to say, but he has to try. “You don’t have to hide from me. I don’t mind.”
But he knows immediately it was the wrong thing to say.
“You don’t mind.” Vana laughs suddenly, viciously, and covers his mouth. “Well, as long as youdon’t mind. I’m going to get back to work.”
Vana sweeps from the room. Head spinning, Daromir can only follow him at a silent distance. The familiar walls of Vana’s chambers feel foreign.
Daromir has too many questions he doesn’t dare ask. Because Vana is so clearly miserable and uncomfortable, and Daromir is in unfamiliar territory. He doesn’t know how to make this better. He doesn’t even know how to avoid making it worse.
Vana returns to work, and Daromir allows it even though he knows Vana needs—rest. No, relief. If Vana won’t seek relief himself, should Daromir help? But Daromir can’t offer that. Daromir shouldn’t even be considering it, because that’s not what friends do. That’s not what bloodguards do.
Besides, Daromir knows better than to blame this distance purely on the changing bloodbond. Vana has been slowly retreating for years now. As House Dire seeps into his blood like liquid scalestone, changing him.
It feels like fate that as Daromir sorts through Vana’s mail today, he finds a wax-sealed envelope addressed in the messenger’s handwriting.
?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Vana
Vana’s eyes ache with sunlight and scalestone. Just faintly—not even for Daromir to feel. Except now Vana can’t even be sure of that. The bloodbond is stronger than ever before, yet the trust between them is fraying.
By all outside appearances, though, nothing has changed. Daromir walks behind, ever alert, as Vana guides Lady Naoko through the Organ Caverns. Playing the attentive host is difficult when Daromir’s presence is so distracting.
Naoko trails a gloved hand along the railing. “I confess I was worried when I heard the name of this place.”
“They’re named for the instrument, since the caverns sing in strong storm winds,” Vana says. “Let me know if you feel strange at all. Even if you don’t have magic, this is a lot of scalestone.”
The Organ Caverns lie a morning’s ride outside Ostomar, near the edge of the Friendly Forest. The high-set peak is riddled with tunnels of all shapes and sizes, once burrowed by wyrms and young dragons—now petrified, glassy stone. Vana leads Naoko through one of the largest chambers now, its ceiling high enough for a dragon’s outstretched wings to barely reach the stalactites. Enchanted lanterns line the walkways, illuminating the patchwork of glittering scalestone veins and shadowy tunnel mouths. Some tunnels are barely large enough for a rat; others could have been carved for dragons.
Vana has heard the caves sing with storms, but today, the air is clear. The only sounds are made by their party, which is much quieter now that Mori has tripped his way back outside.
“I feel fine,” Naoko says. She’s wearing her peacock coat again, this time her hair bound in a tight bun that accentuates the streaks of silver. “I really don’t have any drop of magic in my bloodline. Except my great grandmother. She was a grail.”
“Is that why you invested in the Porcelain Guild?” Vana asks.
Grails are born with innate, immense magical reserves, yet have no way of accessing that power themselves. They’re just an energy source to strengthen other mages. In Draskora, the mage and grail partnership is very important, but not always willing on the part of the grail. Or a grail might work with a particular mage to seek protection from being kidnapped by other, crueler mages.
Within living memory, it was legal to burn out a grail’s power, leaving them a useless husk. Abducting grails is still legal in some regions if the grail doesn’t already belong to another mage.
But there’s no official Draskoran registry of grails. Fellrin makes more of a concerted effort to find new ones. Many Fellrian grails are sent to organizations like the Porcelain Guild to be trained and raised before they’re matched with a suitable mage.
Naoko peers down another tunnel. This one is pure opalescent black, without any scalestone. “You did your homework about me.”
“Just as you did your homework about me, I’m sure.”
“Quite so.” Naoko’s eyes crinkle with her smile. “Vana Kaiskara Dire. Adopted into the royal house at age fourteen. You were a studious child, and you took well to Dire magic. You didn’t take part in the Long Summer War, though you were already of age.”
“I was assigned in the west,” Vana says. “His Majesty had the border well under control.”
“I don’t doubt that he did, and by all accounts, your talents were well assigned.” Naoko traces the railing. “You’ve governed the southwest from Sabora for eight years now, and the region has become ever more prosperous. Most who speak of you speak well of you.”
“Only most?”
