by Gwynn White
“I told you. She’s intelligent, interesting, and—I’ll admit—a bit eclectic, in the best possible way. But none of that counts when compared to her real strength: She’s a dryad with more power in her little finger than most Magical in Warrendyte have in their entire bodies. Added to that, she is the future queen of the biggest population of Magical in the world. She needs to be given the respect—the honor—she deserves. That starts with treating her like an adult and telling her the truths she needs to know.”
A long, drawn-out sigh from Niing. “You still choose to disregard the Untalented?”
Jorah slapped the alchemy bench. “Not this old gripe again! Niing, you stayed here because you believed the Untalented would work with us. They didn’t. They never will. The best we can do is rule over them—the way nature intended. So don’t throw that old diversion in my face.”
“It’s not a diversion! It’s a valid concern. As valid as any of yours. Sidelining the Untalented will lead to trouble. Trouble with Artemis. Trouble with the Intelligentsia. And trouble with Aurora. It’s not the path she wants to follow when the Guardians come down. If you are to be her consort, you need to be willing to work with her to foster the Untalented.”
Jorah’s chest, where his fire would have burned if he had been in his true form, throbbed his hatred of the Untalented. “My advice to Aurora will be very clear—the Untalented are not to be trusted. I will do all in my power as her husband to let her see that. If she is as smart as I think she is, she will see reason and will accept that I am right.”
“Then you had best prepare yourself for a stormy marriage.”
“How I handle my marriage will be my affair. Just know that I will do everything I can as her husband to protect and guide her so she can be the queen the Magical need her to be. I believe she has the potential to be great, and I intend to be by her side as she does it.”
It was only when Jorah reached the stairs that he realized what he and Niing had said.
He snorted softly in surprise.
Did he really plan to be a true husband to Aurora when he won the trials? What about helping her remove the Guardians and then leaving? Nowhere in his plans had he seen himself in a marriage with her. He imagined Hedrus smiling when he heard that. With his side of the bargain completed, Sabrisia and the Silver-Tongued Oracle would have no choice but to release him from his bond. Sabrisia would rub her hands together with glee to be rid of him if he stayed in Ryferia.
What had changed?
He didn’t have an answer. What had been so clear before now felt fuzzy.
The girl had gained his respect and his regard. And she did interest him.
As a person. Never as a woman to make love to or a woman to give my heart to.
He recoiled. She would never replace Lila.
Niing stared at him with wide-eyed fascination.
Did the wise old dwarf read his turmoil? Jorah’s talons itched beneath his skin in annoyance.
“Anyway, the Untalented are not the problem we face right now,” Jorah said gruffly. He started up the stairs. “I’m going to find Aurora. Are you coming, or must I banish you to the darkest recesses of your burrow, where the incubus and his brother can’t find you?”
“I have no desire to become part of a blood potion.” Niing creaked to his feet, but he didn’t start walking. “As pleased as I am that young Aurora is growing on you, I still think you having a private tête-à-tête with her could raise eyebrows.”
Jorah shrugged off Niing’s objection—and his observation about Jorah’s feelings. “Not as high as they will shoot if Aurora is harmed by Raith.”
Niing quickened his pace. “Indeed. Let us make haste to her villa.”
But he stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
Jorah glared down at him. “Now what?”
“All I am trying to do is preserve the integrity of the trials.”
“What integrity? The parasite killed Coven as sure as I’m standing here. He plans to kill all of you. And yet you worry about decorum.”
“I worry that you and Aurora will fall foul of Artemis. He is looking for a way to discredit Aurora’s claim to the throne. If he can prove that you and Aurora colluded together to win, he could turn the Intelligentsia against you both. They won’t accept her reign.”
Had Jorah had access to his magic, he would have sent a shaft of fire shooting into the air to show his disdain. “And these are the Untalented you want us to pander to?”
“These are the realities, Jorah.”
“Then it’s time to change perceptions.” Jorah took the next two steps, but still Niing lingered. Jorah threw his hands up. “By all the gods, help me understand why we aren’t halfway to Aurora’s villa?”
“How are we handling Raith? We can’t kill him without casting suspicions on you and the other suitors. That would not be fair to Lardel or that buffoon Mahlon. And we can’t confront him privately because he will deny it. If we report it to the Intelligentsia, they will want proof—proof we cannot provide without declaring ourselves to be just as Magical.”
Jorah’s shoulders slumped. Why hadn’t he considered this? It was not only annoying that Niing reminded him of something so basic, it was also unforgivable. Clearly, he was letting his human side—the emotional one—get the better of him in this stunted world.
He dug deep into his core to connect with his cold, calculating dragon, but came up empty. Like the treasure in his horde back in Warrendyte, that part of him was locked away so tight by the Guardians, it was almost as if it didn’t exist.
That just means I have to be more thorough than usual.
He considered Niing’s question.
Niing was right. Added to that, if he did confront the incubus privately—as his human side longed to do—he and his allies would lose the few advantages they had.
While Raith and the human didn’t suspect they had been detected, they would continue to visit the forest, where they could be monitored.
Unfortunately, it did mean that the carnage on the streets of the capital would continue.
Every Magical death tore at Jorah. He was a dragon, charged by Maleficent herself when she created his kind, with the responsibility of guarding and defending the Magical. To allow these murders to continue cut him to the core. He gritted his teeth against his fury.
“Why can we not arrest the brother? If he is off the streets, part of the problem goes away.”
Niing pulled out his pipe and tapped it against his thumb. “On what grounds? Again, we have no proof that we can safely present to show that he has done anything. It will be your word against his. Once those deaths are reported, Artemis may decide to swing the blame on you. You are the clear winner in the trials thus far, and even if they don’t know that you are a dragon, anyone with eyes can tell that you will be a formidable opponent. Artemis will want you out of the way.”
Jorah swore. “It seems our hands are tied along with our magic. Don’t we just love the Untalented? All the more reason to clip their wings when Aurora takes the throne.” He stomped up the stairs. “This is how we play it . . . the parasite and his brother go unchallenged, but Aurora is told everything. If she is what I hope she is, her first act as queen will be to sentence the incubus to death.”
Niing shuffled behind him. “You first have to break the trance he has over her. Sending a few of your least reptilian smiles her way may help.”
Jorah snorted. “I’m here to fight for her, not to woo her.”
“Then I suggest you get used to the idea of a wife who forever hankers after a man she can’t have.”
That Niing had voiced Jorah’s own concern about Aurora’s heart steeled his resolve: Whatever happened, before he made Aurora his wife, she had to know exactly who and what Raith was.
He rushed to the villa with Niing trotting to keep up.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Raith froze at Keahr’s distressed cry.
And then he silently cursed Carian. If he could hear the fae’s screams all the way o
ut here, how many other people in the villa, the piazza, and the surrounding buildings would also hear her?
How could Carian have been so indiscreet? If he were caught harming the girl, Raith would be implicated. What could Raith possibly say to explain what his brother—his second in the trials—was doing, drawing blood off Aurora’s handmaiden?
All questions that should have been thought of beforehand, but he had been so desperate in the forest with Carian that reason had fled.
Beyond the Guardians, back in his Magical form, the craving for power had been overwhelming.
All controlling. All consuming.
He would have done and said anything to sink his fangs into a smooth Magical neck to get another hit of power—even if it meant blackmailing his closest ally and brother into doing something rash and stupid. Like attacking Keahr.
Raith’s stomach clenched.
And then there was Jorah.
Back in the forest, even with Raith’s magic restored, and his ears assaulted by the hundreds of rasping voices from the critters and insects creeping in the leaf litter—a sure sign that he had made his father’s magic his own—he sensed his weakness compared to the pure brute force of the dragon, Jorah.
Not for one second did Raith fool himself into believing that he could beat Trojean’s killer in a fight to the death. Not even if Raith drank the potion while Jorah’s scales, fiery breath, and talons were locked under his skin.
Still Keahr screamed.
As much as it burned Raith to betray his brother after he had caused this mess, the only solution was to distance himself from the attack.
And to keep Aurora and Zandor as far away from Keahr for as long as possible.
It helped that Aurora was still somewhat under his thrall. He leaned in to croon some nonsense at her when the bodyguard reacted.
He grabbed Aurora’s hand, wrenched her away from Raith, and started running for the arch leading back into the piazza.
Aurora struggled to match his long strides.
“Hey!” Raith spluttered. “Where do you think you’re going with her?”
“My friend’s in trouble. Where else do you think I would be going?” Aurora yelled over her shoulder.
Whatever was left of his entrapment had broken, much to Raith’s chagrin. He cursed, then broke into a run. He soon caught up with them. “Exactly! Should you be going to her when it could cause trouble for you, too?”
Even as she struggled to breathe, Aurora managed to give Raith a skewed look. “You wouldn’t help a friend?” she puffed.
His question had been the wrong one.
He fumbled for some way to rectify this. “I’m just saying that there are other people who can take care of her. You are soon to be queen. You shouldn’t go running into trouble.”
Aurora rolled her eyes. “Too late for that. Trouble finds me quite happily no matter what I do.” Face beet red, she added, “And Keahr’s like a sister to me. Wouldn’t you help your brother?”
Guilt made Raith’s skin crawl as he ran.
The memory of Trojean’s face in the lake flooded him. Back then, he had been so certain of his course. He was to avenge her death and help Carian in his quest to become Magical. Nothing else had mattered.
Apart from his bone-crushing cravings, nothing had changed since then. So why had he considered betraying Carian?
“My brother is everything to me,” he blurted. “I would help him no matter what.”
“Then you get how I feel about Keahr.” Aurora panted as Zandor raced her across the piazza.
Keahr’s shouts stilled.
What did that mean? Had Carian killed her? Had he escaped when she’d first cried out? Did he get a vial of blood?
Most important of all, if still alive, had Keahr seen Carian? Would she identify him as her attacker? Had Carian already been arrested by the musketeers?
And as for the potion . . . Unless they could find the Magical they needed in the faceless masses in the capital, the risk was too high to target Aurora’s inner circle. The whole notion of doing that was insanity.
Unless I help Carian escape this, the potion is moot.
He scrambled to find a solution to protect Carian as he followed.
If Carian had been caught, would he be imprisoned? Or would the bloodthirsty Ryferians condemn him to death?
Over my dead body.
No matter what happened, he would free Carian before they harmed him.
A plan uncurled in his mind as he ran next to the huffing princess.
She may be a dryad, but after a lifetime of having her magic locked away, she would not easily call on her powers if they were unexpectedly restored to her. That made the ugly thing ideal for protecting Carian.
But first, Raith had to beguile her, even if it meant using every trick he had to lure her into the forest beyond the broken giant. Once there, he would sweet-talk her into protecting his brother. When he was done with her, the princess would return to the capital as Carian’s greatest ally.
There was one major complication with this scheme. His gums itched at the notion of being alone beyond the Guardians with Aurora. It would be so simple to pierce the soft skin on her neck and to sink his fangs deep into her vein.
Saliva pooled in his mouth at the prospect. He swallowed, wishing it would appease the hunger burning in the pit of his stomach for her.
It didn’t.
And the more he dreamed of drinking Aurora’s blood, of claiming her power as his own, the deeper the haze of red that settled over his eyes. It blinded him to all else.
He understood so clearly why Trojean had gone repeatedly to Warrendyte to reap. It had been worth the danger, the risk.
A tiny voice of reason squeaked at him: It didn’t work out so well for Trojean.
He didn’t care. Nothing mattered but the hunger. He needed Aurora if he was to survive it. Now.
Almost drunken with craving, he stumbled, righted himself, and then fumbled for her hand to pull her away from Zandor so he could drag her to the forest.
That same little voice pleaded with him to stop. Zandor’s here, a witness to everything.
If Raith acted rashly, he would be condemned along with Carian. There would be no one to save either of them.
Jorah would win. Again.
Even in his frenzy, the pain of that victory was too much for Raith to bear.
He pulled back to let Aurora and Zandor race ahead of him. They careened around the enormous fountain in the piazza, just yards from the front door to Aurora’s villa.
And then Jorah loped through the Guardians standing sentinel at the edge of the square. The dwarf shambled some distance behind him.
Raith cursed the timing. He stopped to assess the situation. As far as he could tell, Trojean’s killer hadn’t spotted him yet. Whether that was good or bad, Raith wasn’t sure. But the dragon and the dwarf certainly complicated things. Getting Aurora away from Zandor was challenge enough, but sneaking her past both Jorah and the dwarf would be nigh on impossible.
Still, if it protected Carian, he had to try. He slunk closer.
“Aurora! Zandor! Wait,” Jorah called.
She skidded to a stop. “Oh, praise everything that tinkles! Niing! Jorah! Something’s happened to Keahr. Just like Jorah warned.”
Just like Jorah warned?
Raith’s blood chilled. How had Jorah known that Keahr was a target? Had the dragon followed him or Carian into the forest?
Raith shook his head to clear his jumbled thoughts.
Why would Jorah have done that? There was no way possible that Jorah could have known what he and Carian had planned.
That meant that Trojean’s killer knew of another threat to Keahr. How could I use this?
Hoping an idea came to him, Raith broke into a trot and joined Aurora and Zandor just as Jorah and Niing reached them. Before chasing Aurora up the stairs, the ice in the dragon’s eyes almost froze Raith to the spot.
Raith braced himself against it. Feet pounding, h
e took each step at a leap and reached the gracious landing at the top seconds after everyone else. Only Niing, on his tiny legs, struggled to keep up.
Aurora’s hands slumped onto her knees for a split second while she grabbed a breath. “Go. Find Keahr,” she managed to gasp.
Both Jorah and Zandor hesitated. Aurora slapped at them both to obey.
Jorah and Zandor exchanged a quick, troubling look Raith didn’t understand—and then Zandor shot across the hall and flung open a set of oak doors.
As far as Raith knew, the centaur didn’t like the dragon much—hardly surprising given that horses were a dragon’s natural prey. So when had Zandor decided he could trust Jorah?
Had the dragon and the centaur made some kind of pact?
There would be time enough to ponder that. For now, Raith strained to see into the room.
Zandor’s solid frame filled the doorway. He hissed and vanished inside.
“Let me help you.” Jorah tucked his hand under Aurora’s arm, even though she seemed quite capable of helping herself.
The lanky thing smiled up at Jorah with a genuineness lacking in all the beaming grins she’d bestowed on Raith. An unexpected spark of jealousy fired through him.
Jorah half-carried her into the room.
Heart threatening to chisel its way through his chest, Raith followed.
Keahr lay in a crumpled mess on the floor of her bedchamber.
Chapter Thirty
As grateful as she was for Jorah’s support, Aurora broke free of his grip and stumbled across the room. She fell down on her knees next to Keahr. Her breathing faltered as blood in the thick-piled carpet squelched into her dress.
Zandor already crouched at Keahr’s head. Stubby fingers stroked a blue egg growing on her forehead. “She’s alive. Knocked unconscious.”
Aurora almost sobbed her relief. If Keahr had died, she would never have forgiven herself. If she hadn’t wandered off with Raith, Zandor would have been here to protect Keahr. The shock and loss would have been too much to bear, especially coming so soon after Lazard.
“Where’s she bleeding from?” She grabbed Keahr’s hand, wet, sticky, and rough—
