Drothiker

8.

Vendrik Evenflame did not comprehend why was he was ordered to stay in Nofstin, when there must be too much work teeming at the Glass Palace.

He was aware of one thing though: he was not needed in Olkfield. His queen was ten kinds of many things but not reckless or foolish. Had reasons for everything, each step calculated and discreetly planned, Vendrik being commanded to remain in Nofstin must have its own reasons.

"Maybe it's a good thing, Binou," he muttered as he hurled meat to his griffin's enormous yellow beak. "Olkfield had grown boring anyway."

Binou knickered, as if in an agreement, as she lowered her eagle head and poked the meat with her beak before devouring it as whole in a matter of seconds, had taken him an hour to hunt. She ruffled her gilded white wings and shook herself in satisfaction.

Vendrik chuckled. "You greedy oaf, had I not fed you enough last night?"

Binou nudged him with her razor-sharp beak, having him falling a step back.

But his smiled faded soon. Maybe it was the heat of this city, but the fire within him burned too hot these days, there was a strange agitation in his flames. His throat dried at least twice in an hour, but regardless of how much water he gulped down, the fire did not rest, crackled constantly. He'd even tried bathing in near-freezing water, but it had heated the moment he'd stepped in the pool.

Vendrik just hoped it wouldn't stretch to his skin and burn every next thing he touched.

It had never befallen before, not once had he had trouble monitoring the heat. But now ... it felt as if some power was beckoning around Ianov, calling for his flames. Where, he hadn't the faintest idea. If he had, Vendrik would have just paid a visit there, if only to balm the burning in every bit of him.

Vendrik hurled another piece of meat. "If I don't visit the next few days, don't throw a tantrum," he chided. He didn't think this agitation in his fire was anything natural, and the fact that he was growing worse every passing second ... he would not risk reducing Binou to ashes.

Binou had been a gift from Queen Felset after he'd returned from a battle fifty-two years ago, when Vendrik had spared five-hundred soldiers' asses with Azryle. He'd taken care of her ever since, hadn't been far from her for more than a week.

But with his fire fidgety, Vendrik hadn't stepped inside the fortress' towers either, because the hallways heated the moment he entered. Soldiers never denounced, hadn't dared to even lift eyes at him thanks to being Queen Felset's Second, but Vendrik knew better than to lie heavy on them after day's relentless work and training. So, he'd been spending his days with Binou, in a forest yards behind the fortress, and returned to his apartment down in the city at nights.

Every night, whenever he was at the fortress, Faolin Wisflave entered the stables with a broad smile on her face and walked straight to Aazem Shinkel's stable. The first nights, Vendrik had been inclined to inquire because no slave was meant to be charged with same duty every night lest they planted an escape route—they were Ianov's skilled criminals after all. So, he had approached the stable, found them dueling with swords and laughing.

They'd dropped the swords when caught him. Vendrik had taken Aazem's word that Wisflave was harmless, the soldier was one of the most loyal and honest and skilled ones Vendrik had ever encountered.

But he hadn't returned to stables today—to the fortress at all. Because Azryle coded a message on greone: Reaching fortress tonight.

Greone was another device Queen Felset had gifted all her warriors for mission purposes. It was a thin, unbreakable glass of mejest. If Vendrik tapped on his own, Azryle's greone would flash the light Vendrik had willed in the tap.