Page 61

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

T he room we’d been sent to was lavish and the bathing tub was carved from stone, big enough to seat four at once – not that I’d entertained the idea of sharing with Bastian.

I’d claimed the first turn to wash myself clean, languishing in the hot water and scrubbing my skin repeatedly to erase every trace of the road from my flesh.

I’d washed the clothes I’d worn on the journey, including my battle leathers too, then used my air magic to dry them quickly before packing them back away in my bag.

I’d given in to the desires of the guests, not wanting to arouse any suspicion and dressing in one of the silken dresses which had been hanging on a rail to the side of the bathing tub, draping my body in the scarlet material.

I’d taken the time to scrub the dying potion back through my hair, the pink once again stained ebony and the dark strands now braided away from my face.

I was known for wearing my hair loose, and I wasn’t going to do anything which might draw anyone to suspect who I truly was.

Not that I really thought they would, but Succubuses were rare and everyone was suspicious in times of war.

I supposed it was a gift in disguise to know that news of my death had spread like wildfire across The Waning Lands.

I’d discarded the illusions I’d been using to hide my face too, knowing that our host had already figured out my Order and would be wanting the real deal whenever he arrived.

I was lying in the centre of the four poster bed which was large enough to house an intimate orgy, the posts overhead hung with more swathes of silk and gossamer, no doubt to give the illusion of privacy.

But I’d noted the scratches on the wooden flooring by the bookcase in the corner and the small gaps between books which gave away the secret passage there.

I couldn’t sense the desires of any Fae lingering in the dark and watching us, but I’d been careful to keep my hair covered until I was well hidden behind the privacy screens surrounding the tub all the same.

It was a little easier to relax knowing that the pink was once again hidden, though I wouldn’t truly be able to breathe freely until we were out of this wretched land of flames and ash.

The sound of sloshing water and a low groan of contentment had me staring fixedly at the strips of fabric strung across the bed above me while Bastian took his turn to bathe.

“You have no idea how good this feels,” he sighed, making my gut twist with a tug of guilt.

How long had he really been held prisoner beneath the ground, trapped in his animal form, cut off from his magic?

And on that note, why hadn’t he been driven to madness by lack of connection to his elemental power?

I’d seen Fae who had been held prisoner for too long, cut off from their magic until the lack of it drove them insane.

I’d even killed a few who had begged for death to release them from the torment the division had caused them.

It wasn’t possible for our kind to go too long without use of our magic once it was Awakened and yet he didn’t seem unhinged by it.

At least not in any way that I would suspect was new to him.

I tapped my forefinger against the silk bedsheets as I considered the question, irritation sparking in me because I had been determined not to ask a single question of the Dragon I’d been sent to retrieve, but curiosity kept driving me to do exactly that.

Bastian groaned again and I pursed my lips.

“If I’d known you were so fond of bathing, I could have simply traded your cooperation for a tub of steaming water instead of my life,” I muttered.

“But I get the feeling the tub of hot water holds more value to you,” Bastian objected and I rolled my eyes.

He wasn’t wrong but the wretchedness of my existence was nothing to do with him.

I flicked my fingers, placing a silencing shield around us in case I was wrong and we were being observed. I followed it up with a few magical tripwires and amplification spells on the area surrounding this room so that we’d have plenty of warning when our gracious host decided to turn up.

“You still haven’t cast any magic since returning to your Fae form,” I said bluntly.

“And if you were held in Dragon form throughout your captivity then you should be a raging psychopath thanks to the time spent blocked from casting, but you’re actually only marginally psychopathic – unless I’m measuring you unfairly by holding you up to my standard and the problem isn’t that you aren’t insane and merely that I’m further gone than you, so haven’t noticed. ”

There were a few beats of silence then the sloshing of water followed as he got out of the tub.

I remained where I was, wondering if he would reply at all and arching a brow at him as he strode out from behind the privacy screen with a towel cinched around his waist and water rolling down his bare chest.

He had scars - which was no surprise in the world we lived in - but some of his seemed far too deliberate to have merely come from a life of battle.

The ink on his skin was broken by some of the scars but I could still depict the shape of them.

None were as large as The Tower on his back but he had more depictions from the other tarot cards mixed among stars and bold lines which seemed to intentionally divide them.

I skimmed my eyes up from his muscular chest and the powerful build of his body to take in his face and blinked.

The beard which had formed from the stubble on his jaw was gone, though he hadn’t shaven his face entirely clean, a dark shadow still clinging to his skin.

His hair was cropped shorter too, tangled strands falling over his forehead into his eyes but no longer matted and trailing down to his shoulders.

The difference it made to his face was stark.

His eyes were brighter with the water clinging to his dark lashes, the silver shot through them glinting at me as he moved to stand at the foot of my bed, leaning his forearm against the post and looking down at me.

“So now you want to ask me questions?” he said in a low voice. “Here, in a House of Sin in the middle of enemy lands? While you lay there dressed up like that and we await a Fae who has purchased a night of pleasure from our flesh?”

“I happen to feel most comfortable in Houses of Sin,” I replied. “And I’m not asking you anything aside from what is pertinent to my mission. I need to know if you’re deteriorating.”

“I’m not,” Bastian replied darkly, his sculpted jaw tightening as he looked me over.

I made no move to stand. He would tower over me regardless and I had long ago learned that it was far more powerful to remain in control from below than wasting my time fighting to do so from above.

Physical dominance was the power wielded by small-minded men and it wasn’t a game I had any likelihood of winning unless I was willing to change the rules.

“Why not?” I demanded and his jaw ticked again at my tone but he didn’t rebuff me.

“The crystals they used to force me into my Dragon form did more than just that. There was power in them which held me in a kind of…stasis. I remained just as I had been the day they drove them into my flesh until the day you ripped them free of it.”

“So you didn’t fall prey to the madness caused by detachment from your magic?”

“Among other things. Though the lack of it is rankling now that I’ve been free of them for some time. I’ve managed to gain and use nominal doses of power but without having anything which can recharge me properly I remain eager for the return of my magic.”

“And how exactly do Dragons recharge their magic?” I knew little of the long lost Order of Fae beyond stories of their dominion in battle.

Gregor the Great who burned a dozen armies with the flames from his jaws before finally being shot from the sky, or Isla Vonclease, the queen of the air kingdom some eight hundred years ago who had flown into battle at the head of her army and never once met with failure.

“Treasure,” Bastian admitted after taking a moment to weigh his response. “I need to spend time with gold or jewels pressed to my skin – ideally a whole heap of them and for an extended period of time.”

I snorted. “Well, that’s inconvenient seeing as we’re broke as shit and stuck in the middle of Pyros. Will karmas work?”

“No,” he grunted. “Karmas are plentiful, their value is perceived because it is currency but they aren’t rare or valuable in the way of real treasure.”

“And it needs to be physical treasure or simply something of high value and rarity?” I asked, glancing around the room but of course there was nothing like that here.

Bastian considered that for a moment. “I had a sword once. It was an heirloom passed down through my family for generations, drenched in glory and countless victories in battle. That used to recharge my power though the metal itself was simple steel so held no value in the sense of usual treasure.”

“I see. And you’re in need of power now I take it? You’re feeling the itch of not casting? Your mind is starting to lose focus?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he growled and I smiled because clearly I’d hit the mark.

“I possess something of that kind of value,” I admitted. “But I won’t permit you to take it from me.”

Bastian’s silver-struck eyes fell from my face to my chest, his gaze moving to the vial of blood which lay between the curve of my breasts and a low growl rolled up the back of his throat.

“I know,” he said and I could feel the question there, the wondering as to why a vial of blood might be so valuable, but I said nothing in reply to his probing gaze.