Page 94 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

I liked Jhol immensely, and not only because he seemed surprisingly delighted by me—though that never hurt in a budding friendship.

Jhol was positively magnetic. Every part of this creature was attractive—his appearance, his voice, his mannerisms. He was the embodiment of a beautiful trap; like one of the bright desert flowers of Castering that unfurled their long petals to attract flies, only to snap their jaws together and devour them whole.

Io took my hand, and Jhol fell into step on the other side of me as we continued down the enormous hall.

His appearance had distracted me from the sight of the inside of the Reach. Once I finally looked around, I could see it was as breathtaking as I had expected.

The impossibly high ceilings were made of arches inside arches inside arches—all blending and intersecting each other with a wild, organic effect that made them look quite a bit like a natural cave ceiling.

Pale gray, nearly white marble floors embellished with patterns and motifs of black surrounded inlaid mosaics that depicted dragons and fire and constellations.

The walls rose tall and imposing. They were carved much like the outside of the castle, depicting more dragons and terrible, demonic-looking beasts locked in endless battle.

In some places, the smooth stone faces of the walls blended into huge chunks of bare rock, as though they intended to leave a part of the raw stone intact. They rose from the floor in several locations, lending credence to the idea that Dragon’s Reach had been carved from the mountain itself.

Other people approached as we continued through the hall. At one point, Io introduced me to his strategic general. He was a fierce-looking man in black metal scale armor running down and across his arms. It made him look like he was, himself, part dragon.

The general’s name was Kyrun Raitheun. He had the sides of his hair shaved to the skin beneath traditional battle braids. Smooth inked lines crawled across the skin of his head and ran all the way down his neck before they disappeared into his shirt.

General Raitheun gave me a curt nod and asked for some time to update his lord on the forces of both Nightfall and Darkwatch.

When Io asked when, Kyrun gave him an apologetic look. "Now would be best, My Lord."

I waved Io away, looping my arm in Jhol's. "Lord Azmial will show me around, won't you?" I turned to catch his smiling nod.

"I will take very good care of your Lady," Jhol assured him.

I had no doubt of it, but it was still surprising when Io grinned and nodded, pleased.

He had been so jealous of Rhychulson that it surprised me when he didn't show any of that possessiveness with Jhol—who'd looked at me like he might just want to eat me.

I wasn't sure I wanted to admit it, even to myself, how much that annoyed me.

It didn't take long to understand why Io did not concern himself with me being alone with Jhol Azmial.

And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was likely only attracted to men.

And everything to do with the fact that he knew my Lord of Darkwatch better than anyone I had ever met before. And loved him deeply.

Jhol led me up a wide, sweeping staircase. We had passed a few people on the way across the hall. They greeted us warmly, and with deference to Jhol, especially, but once we fully ascended the stairs, we did not see another soul.

Lord Azmial told me how he had come to be in Darkwatch as we walked. He had been painting in noble palaces for hundreds of years.

"Hundreds?" I asked, looking to the side and judging his age to be no more than twenty.

"I am so old, Your Majesty, that I have completely lost count of the years," he said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Please, call me Aelia," I said. "Or...Sera, if you like." I wasn't sure why I added the last, except that it felt appropriate.

At his curious look, I added. "Seraphem is my middle name." Maybe I simply wanted some inner circle who called me Sera like Io had with his sisters and his cousin.

Jhol smiled a crooked smile. "Very well, Sera, to finish answering your question, I am so old that I have stopped counting."

"How old were you when you last counted?"

He chuckled. "Seven hundred and seventy-seven the last time I celebrated the day," he said easily.

"And how long ago was that?" I asked, giving him an apologetic grin.

He laughed, but then looked sideways at me. "I am one thousand three hundred forty-four years, three hundred thirty-two days, seven hours and—" he pulled a small watch from the pocket of his yellow coat, "—twenty-three minutes old."

I beamed at him, having uncovered a secret I was absolutely certain he allowed very few people to know. I was sure that line about forgetting his age was a well-worn one. "So, where are you from, Jhol Azmial, and what in the heavens are you?"

"I am what many on this continent might refer to as a blood vampire," he said. "Though there are very few anywhere on this side of the world who would even know that name for me."

"I am not one of them," I admitted, being wholly unfamiliar with the term.

"Well then allow me to spare you from the terror that will haunt your waking dreams if you hear the tale from another.

I do not drink the life force away from anyone.

I do not steal your years to keep myself young.

I simply...receive my nourishment from blood.

Animal, human, fae—it makes no difference except to taste.

Fae is the best," he said, giving me a knowing smile.

"But if I know Amon, you are already well aware of that.

Elf blood is a close second. It has a much darker, more complex flavor. "

My eyes must have been as wide as saucers, and perhaps my face had paled a little because he laughed lightly. "I never harm anyone in the pursuit of my dinner, Sera. I am fed willingly by those who love me."

I believed him, though an image came to mind of him being fed that dinner by my Lord of Darkwatch, and an unwilling jolt of anger went through me.

"Wipe that look off your face, my little moonflower. There has never been more than the love of friendship between your lord and I." He spoke lightly, but there was a note of chastising in his voice.

Guilt for the jealous feelings washed through me thoroughly. I smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. I find myself acting and feeling rather irrational in regards to him." I bit my lip, extremely ashamed of myself.

Jhol continued without either excusing my behavior or further acknowledging it. "I have never tasted his blood. I would not ask that of him. Feeding a vampire takes a certain level of...supplication that Amon does not have the capacity for."

I didn’t speak, struggling to keep my stupid lips from curving upward in a smile.

If Jhol noticed, he made no comment. "To answer your other question.

I was born in Americus, across the Great Sea.

But I have always roamed the world, looking for magic, I think.

The magic of art, the magic of love, and the magic of beauty.

Americus was a peaceful land, advanced in some technology, but so droll and lifeless. It had no beating heart, so to say."

"I've never even heard of Americus," I told him, as usual feeling shame with the admission of my own inadequacies. "What continent is it on?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose it would not be called Americus any longer. You would know it as Avalon. I am sure it has changed very much from the barbaric world I knew."

I did know a little of Avalon, but it was so far across the sea that even the information was limited. I had the faint memory of reading about bloody battles during some long-ago war.

We reached the end of a long hall, and Jhol pushed open one of a set of massive double doors.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he pushed the door outward. A cold wind pummeled my face, sending my hair flying around me.

"Your new home, of course," Jhol answered, holding the door open to let me pass.

We stepped into a small courtyard. Across it, at the end of a wide, smooth path was another set of doors. They were surrounded by huge, arching windows set into the face of a mountain. Cliffs of stone and ice towered high above us.

On both sides of the courtyard lay open night sky and the gorgeous valley far below.

I walked to a stone balustrade and looked down. I gasped as I took in the sheer drop to the valley floor.

We were on a bridge suspended between the Reach and the side of the mountain. The colorful valley stretched out below us, stealing my breath, as it had from the first.

The twin rows of pillars supporting the Reach could be seen marching away across the valley. They were massive, yet they looked wholly inadequate to bear the weight of the hulking fortress above them.

"This is fucking spectacular," I said as Jhol reached my side, the wind whipping his red curls around his face.

I felt unexpected tears sting my eyes.

"You see why someone roaming the world looking for beauty might spend the rest of their immortality in the Iyridian Valley?"

"I do," I told him, not missing the immortality part.

"Come," he said, reaching for my hand. "You have the rest of your life to look at the views. Come and see your lovely mountain palace."

The palace was more than lovely. It was warm, inviting, and perfect.

It was just as enormous as one might expect a hollowed-out mountain palace to be. The personal touches like the art and the comfortable-looking, stylish furniture lent it a quality that could only be accurately described as curated comfort.

The walls were a mix of smooth, polished wood and bare rock pillars reaching down from a painted ceiling. It was a star map showing constellations against an inky black background—like the ordinary night skies of Windemere instead of the magnificent ones over Darkwatch.