A Fate of Wrath & Flame (Fate & Flame 1)

“Daaknars are said to come from Azo’dem, where evil resides. It has been suggested they once walked the living realm but upon death were morphed by sin and cruelty and turned into creatures like the one you saw.”

Azo’dem is their version of hell, I’m certain now, so the daaknar are demons. I remember the way it lingered over me, stroking the strands of hair away. It seemed oddly human—or elven—in that moment.

“How did it start?” What made them drink human blood? Wendeline made it sound like the Islorian immortals weren’t always this way.

“The priestess will explain all of that to you. I have neither the time nor the inclination for that history lesson.” Zander watches Boaz collect his sword and jacket and quietly leave the court. No one is out, except for a few guards. “I find myself oddly relieved that you now know about our nature. Though I cannot explain why I would care,” he mutters, more to himself. “But will you be able to put this revelation past you and play your part when the time comes?”

“Do I have any other choice?” I must, if I want to buy myself enough freedom to find the nymphaeum and get out of this place. “Yes, but can you at least warn me next time, so I don’t stumble on that again?”

He dips his head in agreement. “I won’t need it again for some time.”

“Can you live without it?” Is what I witnessed happening in Zander’s room more about pleasure or need?

Zander remains quiet for a long moment. I have so many questions, but he is not eager to fill in the blanks. “Not indefinitely,” he finally admits. “The longer we go without mortal blood, the weaker we get.” He pauses. “What were you doing on my terrace in the middle of the night, anyway? In your nightgown, no less. Did you have a need you wanted me to help with?”

My face bursts with heat. “No!” I scoff. Arrogant prick.

He smirks. “Then perhaps coming to try for my dagger again?”

“I came to see how things went with your court after I left.”

“They went exactly as I expected them to,” he says dismissively, studying the hills in the distance. “Many questions about where you’ve been and why I’ve been hiding you all this time, why you didn’t join me last night. Others danced around their displeasure in our union while trying not to offend me for fear of earning my wrath.”

“Your Highness,” Corrin calls from the doorway, curtsying deeply to Zander. Her shrewd eyes turn to me, and there is no missing the rebuke in them even before she speaks. “Your gown is laid out for you, Your Highness.” She looks pointedly at my robe.

“Thanks, Corrin. I’ll be there in a sec.”

She opens her mouth, but a quick glance at Zander has her scurrying back inside.

“Corrin isn’t one of these tributaries, is she?”

“She was for a short time when she was young, as are all humans of a certain age. She was miserable in the role, and not particularly good at it. But my mother saw intelligence and loyalty in her, so she ordered her services as a lady maid, freeing her from other servitude.” He smiles, a genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle. “She said Corrin was too sour to be a tributary. Her blood would poison people as surely as merth.”

Amazing. Bad vampiric humor. I bite my tongue against the urge to say as much.

A grave expression passes over his face, and I sense his mood darkening. “That is how my father and mother died. You learned of their tributaries and had your lady maid taint their beverages with deliquesced merth. We had no idea it was even possible to create a poison like that. My parents always took their repast at night, but they decided to call for their tributary before our wedding ceremony on that day.” His jaw tenses. “The poison tore them apart from the inside. It took about fifteen minutes. I made it in time to see the end.”

So that’s how Princess Romeria did it—by targeting the humans who were supplying the blood.

While I struggle with how I feel about these Islorians feeding off humans, I don’t revel in stories of their suffering. Annika described touching merth as having a thousand razor blades slicing across your skin. What would that feel like from the inside? I cringe against the gruesome thought. “What did the merth do to the humans? The tributaries?”

“Nothing. It’s tasteless, odorless. They genuinely had no idea what had happened when they offered themselves. They were devastated.”

Devastated by the death of the king and queen feeding from them?

“You will never understand the bond that immortals can form with their tributaries,” he says, as if reading my thoughts.

Because this body I inhabit is immortal, and Islorians feed off human blood. Something strikes me as odd. “What were you going to do to me in the tower that night, then? I’m not mortal.” At least, this body isn’t. What need would he have for biting me?

His eyes trace my neck. “We can still feed off elven, though we don’t gain any sustenance from it. There are other, more intoxicating reasons to do it. But I planned to help you become that which you despise most. One of us. Let you live in our skin for a few hours, until you met your end in the square.” His gaze ventures off toward the rising sun, a somber look across his face. “Let you know what it’s like to be at the mercy of that craving.”

I feel my eyebrows arch. “You were going to turn me?” My God, they are like vampires.

“You are certainly safe from that now.” With a smirk, Zander moves for his terrace, calling over his shoulder, “Enjoy your lesson with Wendeline.”

I watch him vanish, an odd mix of fear and curiosity swirling inside me.