8 An unrequited love

"Best be getting that collar off you, huh," I laugh once back in my quarters, imagining the frustration Ithuriel would be feeling at not being to scold me after I left the Councillors in a most undignified way. The little fox yips as I reach for his collar, and frantically turns to scrabble at the silky pile of clothes on my lap, careful not to let its sharp claws tear the fabric. No. It tells me.

"Oh," I acknowledge, face falling a little with a grim realisation. "Perhaps it's best you try and get that collar off yourself." I admit, holding up the robes tentatively, the faint smell of pine and earth drifting past me in a familiar, soothing way that makes my eyes feel heavy with drowsiness. I yawn, coming to the realisation for the second time today that I haven't had enough sleep. The silvery woodfox pads across my bed, dragging the robes in its tiny jaws, and hops onto the wood panelled ground, scurrying across the floor with a comically large array of fabric in tow. I chuckle to myself, knowing that if the circumstances were reversed, I would get no end of teasing from Ithuriel. Now in the next room, a faint scrabbling rebound off the walls, followed by a tiny little yip and the sounds of what I could only assume would be the collar falling to the floor. Closing my eyes, I breathe a heavy sigh of relief, the realization of my actions finally washing over me.

I managed to win over the council.

"For someone who is about to put their life on the line, you seem awfully happy," comes Ithuriel's mellow voice to the left of me, a light scolding tone lacing his words. I open one eye, a smile still playing on my lips, drinking in Ithuriel's warm presence as he places himself tentatively on the side of my bed, hovering slightly. His sweet, jasmine robe is loose, a navy obi belt barely managing to hold it in place over his body. He leans over me, and I can see the muscles ripple on his chest, the strands of his white hair that aren't tied up dangle in wisps over my face, his two toned eyes studying me with a sense of interminable curiosity. For a moment, I think he is going to scold me, until:

"You did it," he says softly, his eyes locking with mine, wavering there for a moment. I nod, feeling my cheeks warm up with the proximity of his face so close to mine, the warmth rising off his skin, his hair flooding turning a cornflower blue from the roots. I don't even notice that his body is drawn over mine, that his jasmine robe is slowly slipping off his shoulders, all I can feel is the softness of his eyes boring into mine, the absent parting of his lips, and the humming of my heart against my ribs.

"Are you scared? About the vampires?" He murmurs, running two fingers down my cheek like he used to when we were little, quickly adding the last sentence although it was a hasty afterthought. I tilt my head away slightly, biting my lower lip with anxiety.

"A little," I say after a moment's hesitation, not daring enough to admit that I actually felt nothing at all, that I had imagined this day for years. My heart pounds like a jackhammer in my ears, too loud- the closeness of his presence like a lover. I gulp. To my relief he leans back, cupping my cheek in his palm. A hurt look flickers fleetingly across his face, and I suspect guiltily for a moment that perhaps my aura came off a little too strong.

"You're stronger than them," he smiles, and I press my cheek against his hand, my breaths shallow. Gradually, I sit up, drawing my arms uncomfortably around myself, rubbing the spot on my upper arm where the red sun mark of a divinist is burned into my flesh. Something has been nagging at the back of my mind all day, something I don't like.

"I think the angels are growing weaker, Ithuriel," I admit grimly, thinking back to the tiny little angel, whose minute wings could barely be enough to support her when she flew. She didn't even look like she recognised magic at all. A sick feeling rises in my throat, overwhelming and unpleasant. Ithuriel draws an arm around me, his gesture comforting, but not a welcome one. I shake him off.

"A lot of the angel's power resides within the eternal flame, and a lot of the vampires, too," Ithuriel confesses, turning away with a sigh, his wings splaying behind him like the sails on a magnificent ship. Clearly my feelings are as overwhelming for me as they are him. "If its power is not wielded by the angels, then yes, we will eventually all grow weaker." I lift my hand, golden sparks flying from the tips of my fingers, fizzling up into the chilled air. I watch them flicker out with jolting bursts as the tingle of magic dies, like one tragic metaphor. I close my hand.

The divine flame is the second sacred flame of the angels, and the one we currently possess. As long as it burns within our realm, it is a source of power for all: the forgers, the divinists, the guardians, the warriors. It is this which allows us to harness the power of the gods to continue our work, and to protect Faey. Of course, it was only a few thousand years later that the eternal flame was taken from us, and our race has been crumbling ever since. Our life magic, our souls, the power of creation, the strength of which all rely on the eternal flame. In the hands of the vampires… I shudder.

"We have to leave tomorrow," I say, staring fixated at the ground, my eyes unwavering dots of seething coals. "Those vampires won't even know what hit them." Ithuriel chuckles.

"Calm down little tiger, you are of no use if you barge into Sezeria and get us killed," I purse my lips, sucking in my cheeks like some freakish reverse chipmunk.

"I'm not going to get us killed," I whisper, half angry, half annoyed, my hand moving up to rub the tattooed spot on my upper arm once more, a painful remind of my role. I know what I need to do, the only question is, could I pull it off? I'd never seen a vampire in my life, let alone been to the vampire capital of Sezeria. The closest I have ever come to a vampire were the ones I made up in my head, when Ithuriel and I read stories over steaming mugs of cranberry juice, or when I would waltz late into night around my bedroom in borrowed heels, knowing there was no-one left around to watch. Those vampires couldn't hurt me, they weren't real, just resplendent fragments of my adolescent imagination, where wounds wouldn't bleed and fangs wouldn't bite; where the only thing monstrous about them was the softness of their lips and the glimmer in their ruby eyes. Hazily, I steady my breath.

Ithuriel puts a reassuring arm around me, the bulky muscle of his forearm pressing against my back, his robe soft with the sweet smell of pine. I can feel his gaze on me as I watch the tones of his long hair transform into a dainty lilac, his whole body giving off a warm and calming aura that is too tempting to resist. I sink into him.

"You've got to stop doing that," I groan lightly, though as I rest further and further into his jasmine robe, I find that I do not care. He smiles.

"I don't have a clue what you are talking about," Ithuriel whispers, his voice sinking to a low tenor, husky and deep, and he runs his long fingers over my delicately tied hair, admiring his handiwork. I sigh, pressing against his side, and realise with a pang of alarm that I have not slept a wink.

"Is it okay if I..?" I trail off, shifting to catch his sun and moon eyes with mine, pale eyelashes gleaming in the light. He nods silently, and I breathe a sigh of relief, collapsing onto my bed for the first time in what feels like forever.

"Elris and I will get everything prepared for you," Ithuriel reassures me, reaching over to sweep away a small feather from my hair.

"We will send someone to come and get you before we leave," he adds, rising from my bed. He brushes off his robes, fiddling with a band in an attempt to tie his hair up in its signature bun. I watch drowsily from my bed, my eyes suddenly heavy. All at once the pillows seemed so enticing.

"Five minutes," I murmur to myself, trailing off with a yawn. "Five minutes and then-"