Blood Oath (The Darkest Drae Book 1)(41)

“It’s not me you hate,” I whispered. “I’m just the only one you’re not too weak to fight.”

Jotun shoved my face into the plate of food.

Scalding gravy burned my lips and filled my nostrils. The potatoes scorched the sensitive skin covering my eyes. I flailed, my hands clawing at his, as I tried to free myself from his grip so I could breathe.

I fought on and on until I felt myself weakening, hands slipping as they sought purchase on the edge of the table.

The doors were thrown open with a crash.

“Jotun,” Irdelron said with a chuckle. “What are you doing?”

The hand holding my neck twitched in surprise.

A menacing growl filled the throne room. The Drae was here. There was an almighty crack, and I heard Jotun’s painful exhale a split second before his pressure released from my nape. I turned my head to one side, gasping in a sagging heap against the side of the table as crashes sounded around me. I slid off the chair to become a panting heap on the ground.

“Irrik,” Irdelron said, “you surprise me.”

“Jotun lost his temper again.” Irrik’s cool voice slid through the room. “He gets less reliable by the day.”

“I rather think it was you who lost your temper, my Drae.”

I couldn’t see any of them, but I could hear the smile in the king’s voice. I wiped weakly at the potato mash in my eyes.

Bracing myself for the next battle in the endless war, I pulled myself to my knees and scrubbed at my face, using a square of linen next to the mess of what used to be my meal.

“I know why you kissed her now. Your breath alone doesn’t work on her,” Irdelron said, stopping next to me. He pulled on the uneven tufts of my hair, rubbing at the bits closest to my scalp. “Such a lovely, lovely color, silver. Wouldn’t you say?”

What was he talking about? My hair was cinnamon brown, like Mum’s.

He swept past me to his throne. “I’m surprised you even tried to subdue her that way. Dangerous, I should think. Her cries must’ve been quite dreadful for you to risk yourself with your natural enemy. Or were you wishing for death?”

Jotun stood, brushing the front of his navy aketon, smearing the moisture of whatever he’d landed in onto his uniform. He glared past me to Irrik and kicked at the toppled wooden chairs, some of them broken from whatever Irrik had done to him.

I turned to face the real threats in the room.

Irrik stood frozen behind my chair. The weight of his presence held me immobile. I glanced down and noticed his hands, covered in black gloves, were clenched, causing the veins in his arms to rise with the tension pulsing through him. Black scales popped up on his otherwise smooth skin. He flexed his fingers and rested his hands on the back of the chair.

“My king?” Irrik inquired in the same guttural voice.

Irdelron shook his head. “Oh, come now. I’m not going to punish you. I understand why you hid what she is, but such a risk to kiss her. Should I question your fidelity?”

Irrik clenched, and the wooden chair groaned with the force of his grip. “It’s only her blood that can harm me, sire. And neither of us were bleeding.”

“Always calculating, my Drae.” Irdelron focused his attention back on me. “Did you know?” he asked. “The only way to kill a Drae is with the blood of a Phaetyn? You are Lord Irrik’s weakness, dear girl. Not the weakness of heart I expected, one far more useful and . . . immediate.” The king smiled indulgently at Irrik. “No more secrets, my Drae. How long have you known?”

Irrik frowned.

“Come now, Irrik. You can either tell me willingly, or I can compel you through the oath. Would you really prefer that?”

Irrik bowed his head, and the back of the wooden chair in his hands broke into shards and slivers. “When I saw her eyes.”

He’d known? This entire time?

“And have you been visiting her cell? Have you been pulling up plants?”

Irrik ground his teeth. “Once. I hid them once. I wanted to see how strong she was before I made a hasty declaration without knowing her true worth. I checked on her to make sure Jotun didn’t kill her. He tortured her to such a degree, I knew you would want me to check.”

Shock sucked the moisture from my mouth, and I sunk into a chair. He admitted to helping me? I needed a drink. I reached for the nearest goblet and gulped the red liquid. It burned my throat, and I coughed and sputtered.

“That’s not juice,” I said with tears in my eyes.

Irrik huffed behind me and, reaching over my head, grabbed a glass of water and set it on the table near me. He always made me feel the fool.

The king tsked. “Don’t lie to me, my Drae. You killed her mother, something I’m most put out about. Why didn’t you kill the girl, too?”

I inhaled sharply but kept my mouth closed. I wasn’t going to share anything else. Let the king think whatever he wanted.

“Ah,” the king spoke. “You were thwarted at the finish line by my soldiers, were you? Do try for honesty next time, Irrik. You know I deplore lies.”

It made perfect sense now. Why Irrik had appeared to help me while so clearly hating me. Why he’d brought the bath, new clothing, and bedding. To wash away anything that could give me away and therefore give the king power over him. The sunflowers grew where my blood spilled, and the pumpkins grew after my chamber pot toppled over. My body fluids were the key to making things grow. He hid my identity not to help but to protect himself from the king . . . because my blood could kill him. Lord Irrik wanted to keep the knowledge of the single weapon effective against a Drae secret. I’d heard others talk of the Drae’s oath to the king, but I’d always assumed Lord Irrik held the same corrupt ideals as our ruler. I’d just glimpsed evidence of the opposite. Or was this part of their game? Trying to understand the twisted relationships in the castle made my head spin.