“Can I ask…” I paused. “You don’t seem happy…with Daroc.”
His smile was sad. “That is not a question.”
“I should not have said anything. I’m sorry.”
“I am happy with Daroc,” he said.
“Except that earlier, he seemed to steal your laughter,” I said.
“That is not really fair to say.”
“Then what is?”
Sorin was quiet for a moment. “I only worry that I am not good enough for him, that perhaps he now wishes for someone who is just as disciplined as him and the only reason he does not say it is because he knows he gave me this life.”
“I do not believe that,” I said.
“It is the only explanation I have for why he looks at Adrian the way he does.”
“Does that…make you jealous?” I asked, wondering if we could finish our conversation from earlier.
“No,” he said. “Maybe because I know nothing will ever happen. Daroc knows that too.”
I wondered now if part of Daroc’s coldness toward me was his anger that I had returned.
“Sorin,” I said, quiet. “Are you still in love with Daroc?”
His eyes widened and he answered quickly, “Of course.”
“I did not ask if you loved him. I asked if you were in love with him.”
He was quiet and he swallowed hard, his eyes turning red.
“Whatever the answer, I just want you to be happy,” I said.
He laughed bitterly. “No, you don’t.”
I flinched. “Sorin—”
“We’re out of time,” he said, dragging his sleeve over his eyes. “Have a good day, my queen.”
He bowed and left.
I stood for a few moments in the quiet cold, stunned, regretting that I had said anything at all.
Thirteen
Isolde
I left the training room, stopping briefly to see if Ana was in her makeshift infirmary. The room itself was quiet, now only occupied with three patients, including Petar. Unlike the other two, he was awake, his injured leg resting on top of his blankets, propped up high with pillows. When he saw me, he straightened.
“My queen,” he said, bowing his head. “It is good to see you again.”
“Good afternoon, Petar,” I said, smiling. “Are you feeling well?”
“Very well, my queen,” he said, though I noticed he seemed hot. There was a thin sheen of sweat covering his face.
“You are certain?” I said. “You look…a little pale.”
But pale wasn’t the word. He looked…green.
“It is nothing, my queen. Only pain. Lady Ana replaced my bandages. You just missed her if she is who you were looking for.”
“And what if I came to check on you, Petar?” I asked with a small smile.
“I am not worthy of the honor,” he replied.
“Of course you are,” I said. “You fought to protect your people. There is nothing more honorable.”
“That is kind of you to say,” he said, bowing his head again.
That was the second time he had called me kind.
This time, I did not disagree.
I retrieved a strip of cloth from Ana’s supplies and left the small infirmary. As I bandaged my hand, I glanced up and peeked into the old sanctuary, only to find Ana standing over Isla’s body. She had drawn her shroud down, exposing her face to the grim light. I wondered how long she would let her lover rot in this dark cavern, but even I could not bring myself to ask when she might let her go. I had no right. I had not lost Adrian.
Ana’s head shot up as I entered, and she dropped her hands from atop Isla’s body. My face grew hot with shame—I should have never interrupted her. I hesitated a step and then spoke.
“I’m sorry. I should not—” I stopped talking abruptly and turned to leave.
“No, it’s okay,” Ana called, though her voice trembled. “I have been here too long.”
I relented, facing her again. She had covered Isla once more and came around the stone altar, dressed in black. Her eyes blazed, rimmed red from her tears.
I took a step closer to her and spoke in a hushed tone. The weight in this room demanded it.
“Nothing is too long when it is goodbye.”
She offered a slight smile and we walked together to the opposite end of the sanctuary, putting distance between us and Isla’s corpse.
Though we had learned with Ciro that vampires who were consumed by the mist stayed dead, I could not help feeling unsettled so near a corpse. I had seen too many reanimate and rise, only to cause complete chaos.
“Did you need me?” Ana asked.
Our steps slowed until we came to a stop, and I studied her, wishing I could give her time to grieve before approaching this, but things had escalated too quickly, especially after court. I felt as though we had no time, but before I could speak, Ana’s eyes fell to the hand I had crudely bandaged.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just…a small cut.”
“That does not look small, Isolde.”
The bandage was already soaked through with blood.
“Adrian can heal it,” I said.
She did not look pleased with my response, but relented. After a moment, I took a breath.
“I hoped to ask you about your magic.”
I did not think Ana could grow paler, but what little redness had colored her cheeks vanished. She could not be that surprised by my question—she had to know that I would ask her eventually.
“I would not call that magic,” said Ana.
“What would you call it?” I countered.
Ana was silent, so I tried another line of questioning.
“Does Adrian know you practice?”
“He knows I study spells,” she said, as if to correct me.
“You do more than study,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You speak them aloud.”
It was one thing to read spells, another to provoke magic, and it came with its own set of consequences, even from those who were gifted. My eyes drifted to Ana’s long hair, which was nearly white, leeched of color. Before I would not have thought twice about it, but Adrian’s bite had opened a well within my mind from which I drew on Yesenia’s knowledge.
“You lost the color in your hair after you cast a spell, didn’t you?”
I thought of the Ana I had seen in Yesenia’s memories, whose hair had been blond like Adrian’s.
“That was not magic,” she said. “It was men.”
I stared, uncertain of what she meant, uncertain of what to say.
“Why are you bringing this up now?” Ana asked.
“We have to stop Ravena, Ana,” I said. We had to stop her before the mist got worse, before the blood plague took the lives of more men and boys, before a witch-hunter created a killing frenzy…before Ravena managed to use my bones and those of my coven for her spells. “We need your magic.”
“Isolde,” she said. “I am not near powerful enough.”
“Then we will make you. Adrian cannot battle magic,” I said, nodding to Isla’s corpse. It was a hateful reminder, and it made Ana even paler. “So we must.”
She was silent.
“Do you intend to tell Adrian?” she asked, her voice quiet.