Blood Oath (The Darkest Drae Book 1)(63)

His eyes shifted reptilian again and black scales dusted across the bridge of his nose. “Lunar twelve, day nine.”

That meant nearly three months had passed since my capture. “In a little over a week.”

I brightened, I loved birthdays. Though as I glanced around, my insides twisted. This year might not live up to past years.

Irrik let go and grumbled under his breath in his freaky Drae language.

I brought my arms up. Smooth skin. I shook my head and started after the moody Drae. I guessed his broodiness was my fault. Again. This man had serious anger problems. Still, I only had to deal with him for another handful of days. My stomach churned at the thought, and I wasn’t sure what to make of the tumult I felt. Over the months, I’d discovered Lord Irrik was not at all what he seemed. Though what he was I still had no idea.

It’s why I couldn’t like him. He was still playing a game with the king.

Putting one foot in front of the other, I steadied myself for the days ahead. I hoped Cal and Dyter had something great planned to outwit the king’s Drae because it was going to take a lot more to win than sneaking up to talk to me in a vineyard.

Hope quivered within like an arrow waiting to be loosed from the bow. But if the rebels’ plan worked . . .

Maybe I’d have a dungeon-free birthday after all.





26





As we marched up the stairs to his room, my mind whirled. By now, after nearly three months in the castle, I knew the routine: bath, dinner, bed. Irrik was a stickler for routine . . . and cleanliness. Just like Mum, except now I knew why they were sticklers for cleanliness.

Jotun and his Druman continued lurking outside my “official” room, and Irrik wouldn’t leave me to their mercy there—thank the moons—so this was my “unofficial” room. A fact I’m sure the king was well aware of, seeing as the guards had delivered missives here on several occasions.

I followed Lord Irrik inside, dreaming of the steaming bath water I’d be soaking in soon. Two nice things about the Drae’s rooms: I got to bathe and the food was yum. I slept on the couch. Or at least I started each night on the couch. Something in my body or brain would click off after falling asleep, and a thread of insanity made me climb into his bed. I liked to think my affinity for his bed was the softness of his blankets. After the same thing happened several nights in a row, he told me it would be easier if I just started there and he slept on the couch. That way he didn’t have to move to avoid my bumbling sleepwalks. So I guess there were three good things. I’d bumped the king’s Drae out of his own bed. I was a force to be reckoned with.

“Go bathe,” he grumbled as we stepped in the door. He crossed to the tray and lifted the top to inspect our supper.

I shifted from foot to foot. Normally, he went to the washroom first to heat the bath the servants had already filled. His change in routine wasn’t appreciated. Had he forgotten? Why couldn’t he forget the routine of waking me at the butt crack of dawn, instead? “Will you please warm the water?”

Irrik remained where he was, back to me. He dropped his head into his hands, shoulders slumped with unseen weight. Several seconds passed as I watched him. He sucked in a deep breath, and with hands on either side of his head, he massaged his temples.

My head had been filled with thoughts of the all-consuming kiss I just shared with Tyr, but in that moment I felt something for the Drae: pity, or possibly compassion. He’d been cruel, but he’d also been kind, even if his reasons were self-serving. I took a deep breath and asked, “Can Phaetyn heal Drae?”

He stilled but remained silent.

Was I suggesting something preposterous? Was it somehow insensitive? The rules that the Drae played by were largely a mystery to me, so I had no idea if what I’d suggested was horribly offensive.

“Look, I’m not being a jerk.” Not this time. “I want to know if I can help you. You’ve done some nice things and . . .” I wrung my hands then clasped them to prevent any more dirt falling to the floor. Maybe I was a mud lady. “Anyway, if I can do something to help, I feel like I owe you. And don’t worry about the bath. I should be grateful . . . I am grateful that I get to take one.”

Could I sound any stupider? I shook my head and hurried to the washroom. Stripping out of my clothes, I caught the gaze of the girl in the mirror and wondered how Arnik recognized me. I didn’t even recognize myself. I pulled the tie out, and my silver hair tumbled past my shoulders. Wide violet eyes, framed with thick dark lashes blinked back at me. My skin was still pale, but more like the first blush of tan on toasted meringue. As if the thought of food had called it, my stomach growled.

I looked at the stacks of soaps lining the counter and selected one of my favorites, lavender and mint, and slid into the tub. The water was cooler than I was used to but not unpleasant. I made quick use of my time and had just wrapped a towel around me when Irrik tapped on the door.

“You need to eat,” he said.

The reflection in the mirror said I had been eating—enough so my body didn’t have that cachectic famine look anymore.

“I’ll be right out,” I hollered and pulled on my shift and hose. I ran my fingers through my damp hair and opened the door, but I pulled up short.

Irrik blocked my path.

I peered up at him. The confusion marring his features had my stomach twisting in knots.