by Toni Kerr
“Landon, Victor,” my libellule is the first to avert his gaze as he glances at the men grasping my arms, “wait outside.”
The young men release me and leave the cabin as commanded. “Since when did you learn to speak such fluent English?” I ask.
“I have missed you.” Donovan stands from his chair and closes the distance to embrace me. “Please accept my apology.”
I cannot. “What is this mutiny? What do you hope to gain by such an act of treason against your old man? I cannot count the number of times I have offered you the trade, to sail with me, and you refuse. Always.”
“I regret my actions, Papa.” Donovan grips my hand and gets down on his knees. I shake him from me, but he holds tight. “The Marielle went down over 400 years ago.”
“That is not possible. You look the same, though I cannot explain what you’ve done to my chart room.” I swear the chair at my desk must be fitted with small wheels by the sounds of it, but my anger overrides my curiosity. I yank my hand from his grasp. “If you are not part of this mutiny, I demand the release of my crew, yet we may fight the powers that be to survive this night.”
“We are dry-docked, Papa. There is no storm and this is not the Marielle. It is the Libellule.”
Absurd. The sheer audacity and preposterousness.... “You would name my ship after yourself?” Where did we go so wrong?
“I name it in memory of your love for me; a name no one but you would know.”
As he speaks, I notice the ship has indeed stopped pitching; my sea legs are thrown out of sorts accordingly. My son’s attire is certainly not of my time, and neither is my own, now that I steal a look. “Give me a moment, if you would be so willing.”
Donovan nods, settling to sit on his heels.
I wander about the cabin and take in the odd items. Some are familiar, while others are wholly baffling. Wheels on a chair is an interesting concept, but who would put such a thing on a sailing ship? I shake my head and frown as a long course of events fill in the past 400 years. “I believe I am currently being held against my will.”
“Is there anything we can do to win your freedom?”
“I will be freed eventually. Let it not concern you.”
“I would do anything….”
“I know you would.” I remove one of my most valued compasses from a glass box. “I’d hoped you would get this. ‘Twas a gift to me from your mother, long after the Marielle had gone down. We lost everything on this voyage, including the ship.”
“But you made it home.”
“I remember my last breath. Then, out of my control, pure survival instincts transported me home to your mother.” I return the compass to its resting place and move on. “A captain should never be the sole survivor of such a catastrophe. I would have preferred going down with the ship over disgracing our family like that.”
“Was there a mutiny?”
“We’d been at sea a week longer than anticipated. Food was scarce and mostly spoiled. Half the crew had fallen ill, and it was a short one at that with only twenty and nine. And to make it worse, only half had experience on this ship.
“We’d been in working order for nearly a full season, and had gained a fine reputation for quickness. I was hired to haul the belongings of five households to Vigo, Oporto, and Lisbor. It should have been a simple route, until this storm came along.
“And like I said, only half the crew had experience on this ship, the rest were taken on trial. They’d been quick learners and heavy drinkers, and with the storm, few had faith in what the ship was truly capable of.
“It was an experiment, you see. They wanted to furl the sails and hunker down to brace for the worst. But this was the fastest ship any had sailed upon, perhaps in history. We had already outrun the heart of the squall, but they didn’t believe me.
“My first mate was thrown overboard, along with four others. The visiting captains were giving new orders. I was barred in this very room. We rolled and corrected so many times, I lost track.
“I don’t believe any water had gone through the hatches of the main deck. But one thing was certain—I was not going to give up my cargo to a bunch of pirates.” I pull one of my old travel journals from a shelf and write down a set of coordinates on the back page before handing it to Donovan. “It wasn’t highly valuable back then, but if the seals have held, I imagine by now it would be of some interest. That is, if you’re ever looking for an adventure at sea.”
“Thank you.” Donovan bows his head and the unease in the air thickens. “I do not deserve such things in this life. Please—” He glances up at me with watery eyes. I know what he wishes to say and suppress the urge to tell him he’s already been forgiven. Because the words must be said aloud before he can forgive himself. “Please accept my most sincere apology for taking your life. Words cannot express the sorrow...I beg of you.”
“You are forgiven.” There is no undoing what is done. “Let go of the past and think of it no more.” I offer my hand and help my son rise from the floor. “I’m proud of you for prevailing over time.”
“It is a daily struggle.”
“I know.”
“May I ask, were you a dragon, then? Am I?”
“Your dragon heritage ceased to exist when you became this vampire of a creature. But it is not your fault.”
“It is. I chose this.”
“Perhaps. But you didn’t know there was something greater at stake—and that was my doing. I wanted you to enjoy your childhood, unburdened by a contract that could not be changed. But then you fell in love, and I hadn’t expected to die so early in your years.”
Donovan lowers his gaze, shame filling the room once again. “Tristan is in our family line, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” A proud smile gleams on my face. “The council didn’t want you to know. No one was permitted to contact you, ‘tis half the reason I landed in such hot oil.” At the thought of such things, my shoulder becomes an inferno that threatens my concentration to remain in this young body, and I find myself in need of support to stand.
“Sit down,” Donovan says. But I fear there is little time left to me in this realm. “He falls under your brother Ansel’s lineage, making you his uncle, thirteen times great. He’s currently the only one being held responsible for the contract, and there’s disagreement as to what he should do.”
“Are there other descendants?”
“A few, but none with Tristan’s potential. He is much younger than you were when I judged you too young, but I ask you to train him, keep him safe, help him through this confusing time. And for the sake of Grace and all that is Holy, do something about this shoulder. It’s practically unbearable.”
Donovan nodded. “I was beginning to suspect the coddling was more habit. Do you know how it can be repaired?”
I shake my head. No one has survived the poison long enough to figure out a cure.
“Do you want him to break this contract?”
I consider the unexpected gift of communication with my son, and find myself second-guessing the plans. “The faerie races were not meant to be kept imprisoned forever. Tristan might be their only hope of starting anew. But the humans will inevitably kill them all. So the question of right and wrong is difficult to answer in this case; it is the driving force behind the revolution we are in with the elders.”
“If the contract is broken, what happens to those who are bound to it?”
“We do not know. But it stands to reason our souls will no longer be required to stand as guardians. We should, theoretically, be free to continue a more natural path.”
“Which means what precisely? Will I see you again, as the falcon perhaps?”
“I do not know how to answer that.” The mind within my own is gathering strength—my vision blurs and for a moment I consider the ramifications of taking control like this. “We must do what is right.”
“How can I teach him to control such an ungodly amount of power? I am no match if he lets loose. In fact, I woul
d rather face the dragon.”
“No one in our history has been permitted to take in the power of the stones, so I can only give you an inexperienced opinion. I would encourage precision over random experimentation, but perhaps the two walk side by side. He is strong-willed and stubborn, but thinks both in precise notions and creativity. He is currently fighting to regain control of this body, and be aware—he is winning.”
“I understand.”
“He will be angry with us both.” I smile with all the love in my heart, to be blessed with such a miracle. And the miracle of communication. “Serves you right to finally have a child as troublesome as you once were. I honor you for taking this responsibility to heart.”
“I fear he will die before me.”
“No one knows what the future holds.”
“One more thing. Is it safe to transport him? He was attacked during the last attempt, but time is essential to his plans. He fears hibernating before he can finish what he needs to do.”
“There are more of us on his side than against; I will tell them to stand guard as soon as I am able. Or perhaps you can? As I understand, they have already made contact.” I continue when Donovan nods confirmation to this. “Know that both sides need him alive. So even if he is captured, he will not be killed. As for hibernation, he is feeling the pull. But he will know when it is safe to slip into such a state. Warn him it’s common to be confused and lost during the first sleep, making it difficult to wake for some. Give him a minimum of five years before you try waking him yourself.” I do not have time to give more warnings, and cannot speak from personal experience when it comes to being in a dragon form. “Be well, Libellule.”
Donovan wraps his arms around me as my hold on the boy’s mind shatters.
Tristan flung himself backwards, elated to have a brief moment of control over his own thoughts and body. Donovan seemed unconcerned by his actions throughout their long conversation, but then again, most of it had been in French.
Who knew what they were talking about?
It had to be Jacques, and Donovan would most likely prefer the man’s presence over his own. Did it mean Jacques was free? Did the man think he could have a body and live again?
Tristan fought the suffocating hold. He and Donovan stumbled against the wall, where Tristan bashed the side of his head against something encased in glass. The impact was both painful and relieving, in that he seemed to be the one in control of his actions. But the next impact was against something soft.
His bad shoulder seared through to his back, so much so that he considered whether Donovan would go so far as to pin him to the wall with a fire poker. Jessie barked hysterically behind the closed door. Tristan’s eyes shifted and the door flung open.
“I told you to leave her out!” Donovan shouted.
A bright orange, almost red, Jessie roared into the room with her claws digging into the wood and her teeth bared, leaping toward Tristan and Donovan. Who would the dog protect?
A rope appeared around her neck, yanking her back. She twisted once and got out of it, then took two leaps and smashed into an invisible barrier. Her neck snapped, or so it seemed, and she fell to the ground in a heap of keening howls.
Landon and Victor were forced to keep a safe distance as Jessie lashed out at anything moving toward her.
“Fine.” Donovan glared at Tristan. “Hurt yourself all you want. I’ve had enough.” He shoved Tristan into the corner and knelt beside the dog, who stilled almost instantly.
Tristan turned away, unwilling to watch, and made his way toward the door.
Now that he had the physical and mental freedom he’d been fighting for, the last of his strength seeped away. His legs and arms trembled with each step. Why did his body have to fail him so often, barely able to keep up with normal living, and work perfectly fine for Jacques?
Thermal versions of Landon and Victor blocked his way; recognizing them at all eased his heart rate. His vision returned to normal, and before he could remind them to stay away, they both lunged to catch him.
16
LAZARO’S VINEYARD
A HEAVY BLANKET wrapped around him—so tight Tristan couldn’t move. He attempted to roll to his side and groaned at the pressure on his shoulder.
“We need you to wake up, Tristan.”
His hands were shaking and he couldn’t quite clench his fist. A wave of nausea threatened to erupt from his throat. He opened his eyes and squinted against the light of a lantern. His thoughts were a whirlwind and he wasn’t sure what was more important—asking where he was, who he was, or what time of day it was. And among the confusion, he craved a steak and didn’t care if it was cooked or not.
That was the thought that made his stomach convulse. “I want off this ship,” he said between heaves. Water blurred his vision. He was running out of time and pretending to be normal wasn’t helping. “I’m so sorry. I’m not—” Before he could finish the thought he felt himself catapulting out of the room. He panicked for an instant, a stab of pain in his shoulder and whiplash stinging his neck, but drifted off to sleep once he realized he was being carried.
“Tristan.” They were standing at the base of the trapdoor and Donovan was shaking his shoulders. “We need to get outside. You have to undo whatever you did to the security so we can get out.”
“Where’s the dog?” Tristan mumbled.
“With me. Take down this energy field.”
“How do you know it’s safe?”
“We’re running out of food and Pink is getting lethargic.”
Tristan nodded, closing his eyes. He needed fresh air as much as anyone, and why prolong the inevitable? He would have to face the ghosts eventually. “What were you guys talking about?”
“You.”
Tristan doubted that was the case and set to finding the threads he’d set into motion, but the original pattern was scrambled. “It’s messed up.”
“I was trying to take it down myself, but it was taking on a life of its own, resisting me.”
“Is Jacques free now? Is that why he came?”
“No, but he says they’re working on it, and there’s nothing we can do to help him right now. Here, drink this.”
Cool glass pressed against his lip and he took in the salty liquid, finding it difficult to swallow. He refocused on the cords of power surrounding the property. It was such a tangled mess, there wasn’t even a place to start. Donovan shook him again as he slipped back into a numb slumber. “Too tangled.”
“I don’t care if it’s tangled,” shouted Donovan. “Dissolve it. Start at the trapdoor if that’s all the strength you have.”
Tristan focused on a small section of security by the latch, slicing through the tangled mesh along a seam; it stretched to heal itself before a gap could grow. Tristan changed tactics and obliterated all the mesh covering the door, and before the cords could close the gaping hole, they snapped back into a disintegrating wave expanding outward around the entire perimeter.
He breathed in the rush of cool air as the trapdoor flew open.
“Stay here until I clear the house,” ordered Donovan.
The next time Tristan opened his eyes, they were on a different plane, flying above the clouds in a silvery moonlight. “Where are we going?”
“Vienna,” answered Donovan from the cockpit. “We have an appointment with Lazaro and his brother.”
“You can’t be serious. I don’t know how to fix his brother.”
“You can try. And you said yourself; experimenting on Stephan seems a better first step than experimenting in the Forest of Darkness with a ghost dragon breathing down your neck. Besides,” Donovan added, “Lazaro knows you might not be able to do anything and is satisfied with your willingness to try.”
“What happened to the other plane?”
“It sank in the storm, so I bought a better one.”
“Convenient.”
Victor unpacked a bowl of white rice and vegetables. Tristan stared at the steaming dish, barely a
ble to get his mind to register it as food. “You need to eat, Tristan. It’s fresh, I promise.”
Tristan shut his eyes and clenched his teeth. Should he or shouldn’t he? “I-I think I need meat.” The battle to maintain a vegetarian diet was lost. “I’m so sorry. I can’t fight it. I don’t care how it’s cooked.”
“You can eat meat, Tristan, but eat the veggies too. I’ll be right back.”
“It really is okay,” Landon added, after Victor disappeared from the plane. He handed Tristan the steaming bowl. “It’s a fact of life—some beings need meat.”
“Animals, you mean.” Tristan cradled the bowl close to his chin and began shoveling the food into his mouth, unable to stop until every grain of rice was gone. By then, Victor was handing him barbecued chicken, ribs, and beef brisket coated in a sweet tangy sauce. After two more trips from the plane, Donovan cut him off.
“Aren’t you guys eating?” Tristan asked, finally noticing they hadn’t eaten a single bite of the food Victor provided.
“We ate while you were sleeping,” Victor said quietly. “That’s dang impressive. I think instead of artistic contests, we should get you into some eating contests.”
Landon smacked Victor before he could suggest where and why and how much fun it would be.
“Here’s the plan,” Donovan said from the cockpit, tossing a AA battery to Victor. “In thirty minutes we’ll be flying over China. Tristan, I want you to seek out every battery you can find and recharge it. Understand?”
“How on Earth would I do that?” Tristan glanced at Landon and Victor to see if they found the idea as ludicrous, and scoffed. “You’re serious?”
“You should expect an energy surge after so much food, and I want it dispersed before it builds up. If you do well, I’ll let you eat as much as you wish.”
“Here.” Victor held up the battery and tossed it at Tristan. “Let’s see what you can do. Memorize the internal structure so you can spot them on the ground.”
