Page 57 of The Crimson Princess
“Nonsense, but you scared the fuck out of me. I told you, don’t do it again.”
Try not to be so stupid again, I think. That’s what he means, but he’s not saying it, when maybe he should. I deserve it. And right now, there’s something else on my mind. “I remember you saying my father wouldn’t have let you heal me. Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t just believe it, I know it. And the only way I could have changed that was telling him you’re part vampire and I’m not even sure that would have helped. You didn’t have the time it would have taken to convince him.”
“How did you get past the door between our worlds? My father has it well guarded both with our army and with a magical barrier.”
“We didn’t exit at the door.”
“The magic barrier surrounds Ravengale.”
“I was able to pluck a thread of his magic after I drank from him, enough to be recognized as him when I pass the barrier.”
“You retain his magic?”
“No. You don’t gain that being’s magic, but it’s a short burst of fuel for your own magic. I’m old enough and skilled enough to pluck its essence and weave it into my own.”
“That was eight hundred years ago and you’ve never used it to invade us?”
“I told you, I don’t want war. I want to be left alone. But he never wanted any such thing. He built the doorway to our world, as he did to the others he rules, complete with fancy architecture, and did so as a provocation. He meant to use it, to rule us. I don’t have a damn door to your world on my side. It would be just another part of the divide between our worlds if that door didn’t invite unwanted visitors. I have to have it well guarded.”
“And now here you are, hiding his daughter to save her life. I bet you never saw this in your future.”
“Your father will never know you were here.”
“We hope. This should never have happened. How can I protect Ravengale if I cannot even defeat a group of werewolves? I should have blasted them. I should have—”
He captures my arms. “Don’t do that. Don’t start doubting yourself. You’re far more powerful than you know you are. And you’re young. With age, our magic grows stronger, it becomes more a part of us.”
“What would you have done differently? They came from above in the trees.”
“At twenty-three, nothing.”
“Toren. What would you have done differently?”
“Shield and blink. Those are two things that can change the outcome of even the worst battle.”
“I need to practice. A lot. Now that my mother is gone, if anything happens to my father, I’m queen and I’m alone. I don’t have time for my magic to grow with age.”
“You wouldn’t be alone. You have me and it’s important you know that doesn’t have anything to do with our intimacy. Peace is all I have ever offered your father, but that was never enough. He wanted me to take a knee that I wouldn’t offer him.”
There is so much about him and my father I want to ask about, but I stay focused on the larger arc of this conversation, at least for now. “We both know the peace between our worlds is delicate.”
“The peace between me and your father is delicate. I have no problem with the gales. If I did, we’d have been at war centuries ago. And us, me and you, we’re unexpected in every possible way, but the truth is, together we can change everything. We can bring eternal peace.”
“My father won’t let that happen.”
“If anyone can get through to him, you can. You’re not madly in love and blinded by that love, like your mother was for your father. That, and her fear of her secret, and how he might lash out at you, impaired her influence with him.”
He’s wrong. The grim truth is that my father is too afraid of Toren to do anything but destroy him. And on some level Toren has to know that truth. He, himself, believes my father would allow me to die before allowing him to save me.
Nothing will break through my father’s hate for Toren. Most certainly not the daughter he cares so little for that he’s trying to sell her off to the druids.
Chapter twenty-five
Aratherlargeroundtableappears in front of the window, tantalizing scents of a wide variety of foods atop, my nose flaring with the array of smells, while my belly grumbles. Toren leads me to a chair and claims the seat to my right. “Go slow,” he suggests. “You haven’t eaten real food in days.”
“Go slow?” I laugh. “This from a man who presents a starving woman a feast, not a bowl of soup?”
