Stygian

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Falcyn nodded. “’Round here? Good bit.”

  “Great. Anything else I should watch out for?”

  “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “Everything.”

  Blinking, she met Urian’s gaze. “Joke?”

  “Falcyn has no measurable sense of humor. At least none that we’ve identified to date.”

  Blaise braided his long white hair and secured it with a leather tie he’d unwound from his wrist. “Well, Max said that Falcyn wasn’t always the pain in the ass we know him as. But I can only speak about the last few hundred years. And he hasn’t changed as long as I’ve known him.”

  “Not helping, Blaise,” Urian said drily.

  He spread his arms wide to indicate their surroundings. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not real good at that. Tend to fuck up all things whenever I try to help.”

  “And Merlin chose you for a Grail knight. What the hell was she thinking?”

  Blaise hissed. “We don’t talk about that out loud, Falcyn! Sheez! What? You trying to get me killed?”

  Falcyn shot a blast of fire at the sky. “Still trying to figure out how we got here … and why. ’Cause let’s face it, we didn’t get sent here for anything good.”

  “Was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.” Blaise cleared his throat. “Way to harsh my zen, dude.”

  Falcyn rolled his eyes at Blaise. “You need to stop hanging out with Savitar. I hate that bastard.”

  “You hate everyone,” Blaise reminded him. “That surfboard-wielding bastard I hate most of all.”

  Blaise arched an inquisitive brow. “More than brother Max?”

  Falcyn growled. “Are we going to argue inconsequentials or look for a way home? ’Cause I just tried my powers and they didn’t do shit for getting us out of here.”

  Cringing, Blaise rubbed nervously at his neck. “Mine either, and I was hoping to keep you distracted so that you wouldn’t beat my ass over this situation.”

  Falcyn glanced to Urian. “What about you, Princess Pea? You got anything?”

  “Besides a throbbing migraine? No. My teleportation isn’t cooperating either.”

  They all looked at Medea.

  “Really? If mine were working do you think I’d be here, listening to the lot of you? Promise, I’d have vanished long ago.”

  Blaise sighed. “I think I saw this movie once. It didn’t go well for the people as they turned on each other and it involved chain saws … and a whole lot of blood.”

  “But was there silence? That’s the real question.”

  Urian snorted at Falcyn’s irritable comment.

  Worse?

  There was sudden silence. It echoed around them with that eerie kind of stillness that set every nerve ending on edge. The kind that radiated with malevolence because it was a portent.

  The men drew together to stand with their backs to each other so that they could face and fight whatever threat was coming for them.

  Suddenly, a bright light flashed near them. One that momentarily blinded Urian with its intensity. The mist solidified into a tall, lanky male with brown hair and red eyes.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me …

  “Don’t you ever die?” Urian asked as he saw the demon Kessar.

  How many times were they going to kill this bastard and have him come back?

  Raking a sneer over the demon dressed in black-on-black designer snobbery, Falcyn glanced to Urian. “So, Slim, who is this designer asshole?”

  The demon quirked a grin at Falcyn’s question. “That’s Mr. Asshole to you, dragon.”

  “Sure, punkin. Whatever floats your shit.”

  Medea poked Falcyn on the shoulder before she rose up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “You might not want to antagonize him.”

  “Says the woman who knows me not at all. Trust me. I’ve pissed down the throats of monsters that make this posh-boy look even lamer than what he is. On my scared-o-meter, he doesn’t even move the needle.”

  Kessar smiled grudgingly. “Which is why you’ve held your dragonstone longer than any other dragon in history. Now be a good boy, hand it over.”

  Falcyn snorted derisively as he raked a less-than-impressed stare over him. “Uh … hell to the no.”

  A slow smile spread over Kessar’s chiseled features but didn’t quite reach his red eyes. “Give us the stone and I’ll tell you how to save your sister.”

  Urian froze at those words. While it was true that the dragons had dozens of siblings, there was only one sister he knew they actually cared about.

  The same one he did.

  “My sister’s dead. And if you pull a Narishka on me, I swear, demon, I’ll eat your heart for lunch and burp it for dessert.”

  “I don’t know what Narishka did, but your sister was turned to stone. So while she’s not technically living, she’s not exactly dead, either.”

  “Blaise? Did you know about this?”

  “No. I was told she went down fighting against Morgen.”

  Urian listened intently. Were they or were they not talking about Xyn?

  Medea placed her hand on Falcyn’s forearm in a comforting gesture before she leaned against his back. “Kessar is a treacherous bastard. Don’t trust him. He wouldn’t know the truth if it bit his furry little ass off.”

  She was right about that. It could be a trick.

  Urian held his breath.

  Falcyn curled his lip. “So posh-boy’s the gallu leader the Sumerian gods turned against. Bet that ruined your day, huh?”

  Kessar sneered. “You should know, son of Lilith.”

  Blaise sucked his breath in sharply between his teeth. “Never, ever … ever bring his mother into things. That’s just a good way to get your ass kicked, as he tends to madly lash out whenever you mention she-who-should-never-be-named.”

  Falcyn gave the demon a wry grin. “You should listen to my brother, demon. At least I know my mother’s name. Which is more than you do.” He swept a grimace over Kessar. “And if you know that much about me, then you know who and what fathered me. So if I were you, I’d run before I decide to pull the wings off you for fun and pin you to a wall somewhere to throw darts at whenever I’m drunk.”

  Unperturbed, Kessar examined his claws. “Fine. I take it you’ve no interest in learning where they sent your sister?”

  A slow, insidious smile spread over Falcyn’s face. “Oh, I’ll find her. As soon as I eat your brains and absorb the information.”

  Before Urian knew what he intended, Falcyn was on Kessar, tearing at his flesh. With an unholy growl, he snatched the demon’s head back and would have ripped out his throat had Kessar not vanished.

  Blood dripped from Falcyn’s hands and chin as he sneered up at the dismal sky. “What? Was it something I said? Come back here, you pussy bastard! What kind of demon runs like a bitch over a small bite?”

  Urian crossed his arms over his chest as he met Medea’s shocked stare. “And now you know why I had my reservations about seeking out our not-so-friendly dragon for conversation. You just can’t take him out in public. Or private either.”

  Falcyn licked the blood from his fingers.

  Medea curled her lips in distaste. “They have these things called napkins, you know? Been around for thousands of years now. You should try one.”

  Wiping the blood from his lips with his knuckle, Falcyn grinned at her. “A squeamish Daimon? Seriously? Besides, I like the taste of my enemy’s blood. It soothes me. Blood of my friends is even better, but they tend to get a little testy whenever I partake of my favorite delicacy.”

  Blaise sighed. “Really, we tried home training. He failed miserably. But he’s awesome when you need someone killed and you don’t have a place to hide a body. He eats all traces of it. Better than a pet Charonte demon.”

  With one last lick to his middle finger, Falcyn turned back to Blaise. “Can you transform?”

  “Haven’t tried. Why?”

  “I can’t.”

  Blaise looked sick to his stomach

at that realization. After a second, he shook his head. “Why can’t we turn?”

  “That would be the disturbing question of the moment, wouldn’t it?”

  Urian laughed nervously. “How do we get back?”

  “There’s always a portal of some kind.” Falcyn turned a slow, small circle as he surveyed the land around them. “We just have to figure out where it is and what it looks like. You know … fun shit that, always.”

  “Yeah. Lots of fun.” Urian’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “And avoid stray magick and demons.”

  “And everything else,” Medea added.

  “Exactly what she said,” Falcyn muttered under his breath.

  “So glad I got up this morning.” Blaise sighed heavily. “Hell, I even bathed.”

  Falcyn passed a smug sneer at him. “So glad I’m stuck here with all of you. Bitching and moaning.”

  “Blaise?” Medea whispered suddenly.

  “Yeah … I feel it.”

  Medea’s dark eyes met his. “What is it?”

  “Not sure.” Falcyn saw nothing around them.

  Suddenly, Urian heard it. A mere wisp of breath. So low as to be virtually inaudible.

  With lightning reflexes honed by battle, Falcyn reached out and grabbed their pursuer.

  “I mean you no harm!” The sound of a woman’s voice shocked him.

  Falcyn tightened his grip on what felt like a throat. “Show yourself.”

  She materialized in his grip. Large lavender eyes swallowed a face that appeared more girl than woman, and yet the fullness of her leather-wrapped body said that she was well into her twenties. Physically, anyway.

  “What are you?”

  She rubbed at his wrist to remind him that his death grip was cutting off her ability to speak. Another action that said she was older than a frightened teen.

  Falcyn relaxed his hold, but not enough to allow her to escape.

  “I’m Brogan.”

  “Didn’t ask your name. Don’t really care. I asked what you are.”

  “Cursed. Exiled and damned. Please, let me go and I can help you.”

  She was hedging and Urian didn’t like it. Creatures who played games usually had something to hide.

  “Why?” Falcyn demanded.

  “Why should you let me go? So that I can breathe.”

  Falcyn ground his teeth. “No, why should we trust you to help us?”

  “Because I want out of here more than anything, but I lack the powers to break the seal or bargain for freedom. If you take me with you, I’ll show you where a portal is.”

  Still suspicious, he released her. “And again, I ask what you are.”

  “A kerling Deathseer.”

  Falcyn conjured up a ball of fire and held it so that she knew her own death was imminent. “Deathseer or seeker?”

  Urian agreed with that question, as there was a big difference between them. A seer saw death. A seeker caused it.

  Holding her hands up, she stepped back from him. “Seer,” she said quickly, letting him know that she got the less-than-veiled threat in his actions. “Though ofttimes the Black Crom uses me to find his victims.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I was sold to him for such.”

  Falcyn moved to kill her, but Blaise caught his arm.

  “Don’t hurt her.”

  Aghast, he stared at him. “Are you out of your mandrake mind?”

  Blaise snorted. “All the time. But not about this.” He held his hand out to the petite brunette. “Come, Brogan. I won’t let him harm you.”

  Letting the fire in his hand die out, he scowled at Blaise. “Can you see her at all?”

  Blaise shook his head. “I can only hear her voice. Why?”

  Because she was exquisitely beautiful. Her long dark brown hair that had escaped her tight braids made perfect spirals around her elvish features and pointed ears. Enchanting features the fey often used to lure others to their doom. And that included her tight brown leather pants and corset that were covered by a flimsy green robe, and the fey stone necklace and diadem she wore.

  But if Blaise couldn’t see it, then it wasn’t a trap for him.

  “Why are you attracted to her?” Falcyn asked.

  “Didn’t say I was. I only hear the truth in her voice. She’s not lying to us. So I think we should help her.”

  “And no good deed goes unpunished. You help her and you’re likely to pay for it. In the worst way imaginable and at the worst possible time.”

  Blaise sighed heavily at Falcyn’s mistrust, which had come from a lifetime of betrayal. “What I love most about you, Fal. Your never-ending optimism. It bowls me over.”

  For once, Urian was on Falcyn’s side. He wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss that sage advice. If he were Blaise, he’d be listening a little more closely.

  Tucking down her gossamer wings so that they couldn’t be seen, Brogan retrieved her knapsack. As she started past Falcyn, he stopped her. “You harm him … or cause him to be harmed in any way—even a hangnail—and I will make sure you die in screaming agony.”

  Her eyes widened at his threat. “I see no death for him. You’ve no cause to threaten me on his behalf.”

  As she moved to walk beside Blaise, Medea dropped back to Falcyn’s side. “What’s a kerling?”

  “A conjuring witch.”

  “That why you asked if she sought death?”

  He nodded. “Kerlings can be a handful.”

  “Known many?”

  “No, but I’ve killed my fair share.”

  Brogan gasped and glanced over her shoulder at Falcyn.

  With a fake smile, he waved at her.

  She let out a squeak and sidled closer to Blaise, who cast a fierce grimace in his direction. “What did you do?”

  “I smiled.”

  “Ah, that explains it, then. It’s such an unnatural act for you that you look like some questing beast whenever you try.”

  Falcyn screwed his face up as Blaise allowed the kerling to lead them.

  They walked on while Urian listened to them bantering and tried to figure out if there was any truth to Xyn being alive. Or was it an elaborate lie by Kessar?

  Wouldn’t be the first time the demon had done such treachery. And a person could go mad thinking about it.

  Once they reached their cave, Urian used his powers to seal them in.

  Out of patience, Urian turned to Brogan. “You think if I called for Acheron he might hear me and come to the rescue?”

  “You can try.” Falcyn waited.

  After a few seconds of trying, Urian growled again. “It was worth a shot.”

  “Anyone know a dark elf?” Falcyn glanced to Blaise, who made it his habit to party with them.

  “None that I want to call.”

  Falcyn lit the cave with his fireballs. “Too bad we don’t have Cadegan here. A dark hole like this is right up his alley.”

  “Illarion’s, too.” Urian reminded Falcyn of his other brother.

  Falcyn nodded.

  Medea gave him an arch stare. “I would have thought you were at home here, too.”

  Falcyn grimaced. “Stop with the stereotypes. Not all dragons hibernate in closed quarters. I lived on an island, on top of ruins. In the open and quite happy not to be penned in. My brother Max lives in a bar.”

  “Aye to that,” Blaise chimed in. “My home was a castle.”

  Brogan cocked her head. “Most of the dragons here are cave-dwellers. They fire our forges. The rest hide so as not to be enslaved.”

  Clearing her own throat, Brogan motioned toward the backside of the cave. “There should be a tunnel that leads toward the underground channels where we might be able to find a path to the porch.”

  “The porch?” Medea asked.

  “Aye. It’s the plateau where the elders meet to watch the other realms. There’s a portal there.”

  “Why do they do that?”

  Brogan scoffed at her question. “In case you haven’t noticed, my lady, there’s not a lot to do here, other than survive and make weaponry for the gods and fey beings. So the elder wyrdlings look out, pick a happy mortal, and ruin their lives. For fun and wagering.”

  Medea gaped. “You’re serious?”

  Her features grim, Brogan nodded. “They call it the yewing. The mortal is randomly selected and his or her fate is up to whatever lot they draw from their skytel bag while they’re watching them. They think it entertaining.”

  “I knew it!” Blaise growled. “I knew my life was nothing but a sick joke to the fey. And all of you said I was crazy.” When no one commented, he drew up sullenly. “Well, you did. And I was right.”

  Falcyn snorted. “Anyway, let’s find this porch and see if we can locate the portal back home.”

  Medea asked, “Can’t we just teleport to the portal?”

  Brogan shook her head. “I wouldn’t advise it. Those powers tend to attract unwanted attention in this realm. The less magick used that they’re unfamiliar with, the safer you’ll be.”

  As they walked, Brogan drifted back to Medea’s side. “They called you a Daimon?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I don’t know your species. Are you like the fey?”

  “My people were created by the Greek god Apollo and then cursed by him.”

  “Why?”

  Why indeed. That had been the question that had galled her the whole of her exceptionally long life as she explained it to the girl.

  Medea sighed as she was driven against her will to remember the tragedy of her mother’s mortal fate. Head over heels in love as a girl, she’d married Apollo’s son without hesitation. And then pregnant with her, her mother had been forced to divorce Medea’s father or see herself raped and murdered by the vengeful god.

  Leaving her father had emotionally destroyed her mother. Had killed something deep inside her that hadn’t come alive again until the day they’d reunited.

  Centuries after Stryker had married and raised another family with another wife—Urian’s surrogate mother.

  And thus had begun the curse of her people as Stryker had made a bargain with an Atlantean goddess to save his family from his father’s curse.

  “That’s horrible!” Brogan breathed as she finished the story.

  “It is, indeed.”

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