“It is none of my doing,” cried Iliana hoarsely. Jareth’s heart squeezed. His mate must have cried for hours to be this hoarse.
“You are the cause of Brand’s death. You must leave Bradur. Freya does not want you here.”
“But where shall I go?” demanded Iliana. Her shoulders sagged in defeat.
“We’ll think of something,” Darius said. “Come. We must go back to the house. Freya has her hands full, and I must help her.”
Iliana shook her head. “I will keep out of her way,” she offered.
“No. Valdar is wild with grief. It is not safe for you to be alone outdoors. You can be alone in your room. Come on, there’s a good girl.”
Iliana rose obediently. She wept as she followed Darius down the hill. Her leather shoes skidded on the pebbled path. Darius steadied her each time.
“It’s truly not my fault,” she said through her tears. “I never promised either of them anything.”
“I warned you to make a choice,” Darius said angrily. “It is your fault that it came to blows and Valdar has killed his brother. Freya will never forgive you.”
Iliana hung her head. Tears dripped down her cheeks and she wiped them away with her wet fingers. Even in the dreamscape, Jareth asked himself why his mate did not weep diamonds. Why was Darius accusing her of dallying with his brothers-in-law?
Jareth had met Brand and Valdar when Freya and Darius had married for a second time on Lind Island. They were unreconstructed Norsemen, straight out of the Viking era. Two hard-headed, good-natured barbarians. If there was trouble between them, he did not for a moment believe it was over his Iliana.
*Dragon’s Pleasure
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Iliana~
As clouds cover the moon when the wind picks up, the magnificence of their earthquake of love was gradually taken over by Jareth’s vision. There was no taint of evil in these sights. She relaxed against his damp and satiated body and watched events unfold.
It gave her a peculiar feeling. It was like watching a dream from the outside. It was like walking through his dreams as she had been able to do when she was a nixie. Yet she knew that now that she was mortal, she could neither influence nor alter this daytime dream. She could only observe.
Jareth’s heart was pounding. Not as it had pounded when he was drilling her, but in a more agitated manner. She patted his chest reassuringly, but she did not speak, lest she extinguish his vision.
She was weeping inconsolably. The rocks on which she sat looked cold and bleak under a gray sky. She did not recognize her green dress or those long brown plaits on either side of her face. But she recognized her misery. Just so had she often wept in her cold and lonely stream.
Jareth appeared before her. He bent over and patted her woodenly on her shoulder. She flinched. He spoke. She saw his lips move, but only the Iliana in the vision heard his words. The Iliana lying on Jareth’s chest did not.
Whatever he said frightened her. She shook her head. He spoke again. Unwillingly Vision-Iliana rose and, by her expression and the way she held herself, pleaded with him. He was unmoved. Vision-Iliana gave in. She got up from her rock and looked around her helplessly, her eyes glittering with tears.
Vision-Jareth and Vision-Iliana began to walk downhill. Jareth seemed to continue scolding. Vision-Iliana hung her head. Tears rolled down her face, but they did not turn into diamonds. Jareth touched her only when her feet stumbled on the rocky hillside. And then he turned his head to look at the ocean, and for the first time she saw him full face.
It was Jareth, and yet not Jareth. He had the same crisp blond hair and bright blue eyes. The same square jaw and straight nose. The same cherry lips. But it was not Jareth. She was so astonished that she did what she had not intended and spoke her thought aloud.
“What’s going on?”
Jareth – her Jareth – tightened his arms around her. “Did you see it too?” he asked.
“I saw something,” she said cautiously. “I was sitting sadly on a rock, and you came and upbraided me and made me weep. Except it was not you, after all. But a man who resembles you greatly.”
“I would never permit you to weep unconsoled, my darling. And I hope I would not cause you to cry. That was my cousin Darius. But why he reproached you for causing the death of his brother-in-law, I have no idea.”
“Did you hear him then? I saw only his lips moving. But I assure you, I have caused no man’s death!”
“I heard,” he said grimly. “I think I now understand the meaning of my visions. At least in part. I need to speak to Darius as soon as may be. He has something of importance to say to me.”
“Something about me?” she asked anxiously.
“I think so.” He stroked her bare back. “Don’t fret. Nothing he could tell me would alter my feelings for you, dearest. I promise. We must not imagine that we have understood everything that these visions have shown us.”
“Is this Darius a friend as well as a cousin?”
“I would not say so. He is older than I am, and my relationship with him is like mine with Theo. But all we Lindorms are brothers.”
“You and Theo seem to be friends,” she objected.
“Not really. Theo is friendly, but he does not speak his heart to his younger cousin. Besides, we’re both naval officers and he outranks me by miles. He is Örlogskapten to my Löjtnant. I think of him more like a big brother full of excellent advice and encouragement, rather than a drinking buddy.”
“Who is Buddy?”
He sighed. “A buddy is a close friend. Iliana, we must get up and get moving. I want to be airborne before we lose the light.”
“We’re going to fly? I do not think I am strong enough,” she worried. Her attempts at flight had not lasted long, and they had been very tiring. Fortunately, most of the time she had been able to rest on Jareth’s back.
He chuckled. “Your wings will grow. Besides I don’t want to wait until dark. We’ll take the helicopter and fly during the day. Anyway, I would just as soon not show up naked to Darius and his wife.”
Thor forfend.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Jareth~
Iliana had mistaken Darius for him. Had he mistaken Iliana for another woman? How had Darius encountered his Iliana? Why was her hair longer and her dress so old fashioned? And most of all, why didn’t she weep diamonds like a transformed dragoness? If this was a vision rather than a hallucination, what did it mean?
And what had occupied all Jareth’s waking thoughts for days? A means of locating Iliana’s sister and reuniting them. Could the weeping woman be Myst? It scarcely seemed possible. It was more improbable that the woman in his vision should be Myst, than that Iliana had been to Bradur, or Darius to Severn Island. Thinking about it made his head ache.
One thing was certain, he would not share his suspicions with Iliana. There was no way he was going to raise her hopes only to dash them. He would contact Darius and tell him they were on their way. The trip to Bradur would not take long. Three to four hours at most.
If Myst was on Bradur, they would find her. If the vision meant no more than any other passing dream, he would have to find the courage to confess to Iliana that he was certifiable and contagious. Release her from her pledge.
His call went to voicemail. He sent a text and an email and started to pack. A tap at the door had him flinging the last of his gear into his duffel.
“Come in,” he called.
“I’m ready.” Iliana’s arms were full of clothes. “I need a bag,” she said.
“We’ll have to borrow one from Lexi.” He tried to smile.
“Will it be cold?” she asked worriedly.
“Perhaps. But I will keep you warm.”
She blushed.
Theo’s helicopter was gassed up and ready to go. Jareth filed a flight plan. He tried once again to contact Darius. There was still no response. Well, with three babies they probably had their hands too full to answer their phones.
Ili
ana’s anxiety had been replaced by real excitement. She was rapt in aerial contemplation of an area she knew only from beneath the waves. Her excitement grew as he told her they were following the great rift in the earth’s crust from which the volcanoes welled. He knew she was thinking of Hel’s cryptic words. He was thinking their flight path mirrored the journey he and Darius had flown in his dream. Or perhaps that too had been a vision.
She shouted into her mic, nearly deafening him. “There. That’s where I guarded the treasures of the dead.”
Her former home was now a kilometer or so of jagged lava just barely higher than the ocean. No wonder the treasures of the dead had been entirely engulfed by the lava flow. A little seaweed grew here and there, but at high tide, Jareth suspected that this newly-made land was entirely submerged, not yet quite an island.
“This is better than flying on a dragon,” she yelled. “It’s not cold at all.”
“You’ll feel differently when we go flying together,” he assured her. “You’ll grow larger and be stronger. Bradur’s not far away now. That’s Reiki below us.”
“What’s Reiki?”
“Another volcanic island. It is the home of one of my more distant relatives, dragon lord Gunther Guntherson. Darius was serving as his sword bearer when he chanced to meet the sorceress, Freya*.”
“Why do dragon lords require assistance to carry their swords?” she asked disapprovingly. “If they are too weak to bear their own weapons, they are too weak to rule.”
Jareth laughed for the sheer pleasure of her company. Happiness had filled him with its unfamiliar presence. But he still needed to explain dragon ways to her. He sobered.
“Sword bearer is an old-fashioned term for body guard. Believe me, dragon lords are mighty warriors, fully capable of bearing their own weapons. But they retain the medieval custom of having a private army. Because the Lord of Reiki has few relatives, Darius was one of several Lindorms making sure that the island of Reiki was ready in case of attack.”
She looked unconvinced but was distracted by their first sight of Bradur. “Look how many trees it has,” she cried. “It’s even more beautiful than Severn Island.”
“It’s never been logged. Severn Island has. For centuries Freya and her brothers have guarded Bradur. This far north trees never grow very tall, but on Bradur they grow as thick and tall as the light and weather permit.”
He circled looking for a landing place. There was room in the clearing set aside for Darius’ chopper. Jareth set his helicopter down a careful dozen feet away from Darius’. To his surprise, although he could see lights, no one came running from the long low stone house.
“What is it?” whispered Iliana. “What’s wrong?”
“I was just wondering where everybody was.” He smiled reassuringly and unbuckled his harness. The rotors had stopped, and still no one had appeared. “Let’s go see where they have gotten to.”
“This house is beautiful,” she whispered clutching his arm. “It looks as if it just grew here.”
It did at that. The pale gray granite glowed pink in the setting sun. The roof glittered like quartz. Jareth guessed that Darius had installed solar panels that looked like sheets of slate or tiles depending on the weather. The house was constructed of worked stone from the island, put together by the powerful magic of Freya the Enchantress.
The door was shut. Jareth rapped loudly. He tried the knob. Iliana clung to his hand. Four wide steps down brought them into a stone-flagged kitchen with a great range and an open fire. A man and a woman turned to stare at them. Jareth smiled politely, even though it was obvious something was badly wrong.
“I thought I told you to stay in your room,” the woman said curtly.
“Hello, Darius,” Jareth said. He gave Iliana’s cold fingers a squeeze.
Darius broke out of his stupor. He came forward holding out his hand. They shook. “Jareth, by all that flies! What the heck are you doing here?”
“I seem to have arrived at an inopportune moment,” Jareth said. “But I needed to talk to you. I did text.”
“Shift.” Darius dug in his pocket for his cell. “I haven’t turned it back on since I kept watch.” He drew a deep breath. “Freya’s brother is upstairs badly injured. Brand may die. We’ve been taking turns to sit with him.”
Freya’s green eyes were narrowed. She glared at Iliana who cowered behind Jareth. “What are you doing with that nixie?” she demanded.
“Iliana is my mate,” said Jareth mildly.
“Is that what that little vixen is calling herself now?” The sorceress pointed a threatening hand at Iliana. “Go,” she commanded.
Iliana scurried for the staircase and vanished upstairs at the speed of light.
“It’s a long story, Jareth. But we have had trouble with that nixie.” With a great effort, Darius seemed to recollect his manners. “Will you not sit and join us in a cup of coffee?”
Freya waved a languid hand. Now that Iliana had left, she seemed to be her usual serene self. A steaming pot and three mugs appeared on the long harvest table. “Sit,” she urged Jareth. “Valdar is with Brand. He will call us if there is any change.”
*Dragon Bewitched
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Iliana~
She was shaking with her conviction that Myst was upstairs. Why else had that witch been so angry to see her? Iliana took the stairs as fast as she could. The hallway was unnaturally dark. The windows at either end had been covered with blankets. Every door was tightly closed.
She followed a low gurgling noise and a soft song she recognized. Her entire body was quivering. The doorknob turned in her hand. She pushed it open and blinked as the light from the window dazzled her eyes.
When she could see again, she observed the woman from the vision sitting in a rocking chair feeding a baby from a bottle. The baby turned her head as the door opened and let go of the nipple. A spray of milk wet the bodice of her nurse, who ignored the damp patch to return Iliana’s stare.
She was gazing into gray-green eyes that mirrored her own. Myst spoke as softly as she had been singing. “Shut the door, sister.”
Dumbfounded, Iliana obeyed. The room was large but crowded with three cribs. One was empty. But infants slept in the other two. Their rosy lips puckered as they dreamed of milk. Triplets. Whose?
The baby in Myst’s arms returned to the bottle and sucked vigorously. Iliana approached cautiously. She put both hands on Myst’s head and took a braid in each hand. “How, why?” she said huskily. Diamonds tinkled onto the polished floorboards, but she could not stem her tears of joy.
Myst watched the baby’s bottle. “That’s enough, my greedy one,” she said. She took the nipple out of the baby’s mouth and put her over her shoulder. “If you don’t watch Gerta, she will suck air when she runs out of milk and have gas pains for hours afterward.” She stood up, patting the baby’s back firmly.
“She’ll spit up all down your back,” Iliana warned.
“Probably.” Myst reached for the thin blanket on the arm of the rocker and deftly positioned it so her dress was protected. She rubbed Gerta’s back. The baby belched and spat up. “Who’s a clever girl?” asked Myst proudly. “Do you want to hold her?”
“Is she yours?” Iliana asked enviously. That would account for some of the witch’s hostility. The baby looked a lot like Sofie, except that her eyes were green not blue. But she had the same dimpled chin and pale, surprised eyebrows. And the same delicious scent.
Myst shook her head. “She is Darius and Freya’s,” she whispered. Her arms embraced both Iliana and Gerta. “I never thought to see you again,” she choked.
“Nor I. How did you come to regain your soul – and your freedom?” Iliana asked.
“I don’t know.” Myst’s explanation was interrupted by a squeak from one of the cribs. “Hush, Elsa.” She picked the infant up and took her to the changing table. The baby smiled at her and stuck her legs up in the air, just as Sofie did.
“Tell me,” Il
iana prompted.
“Hmm. I don’t really know. After Rán banished me to the deeps, I slept for many ages, only waking to entreat Rán for mercy. One day, quite of its own accord, my prison began to float and I roused from my long sleep. I thought perhaps Rán had forgiven me.”
“Had she?” whispered Iliana.
Myst shrugged. “I floated to this island, summoned, I believe, by the sorcerers Brand and Valdar. When they opened my cask, I was as you see me, with my soul restored.” She deftly put a fresh diaper on Elsa and snapped the legs of her onesie closed.
“But tell me, Iliana, how you came to regain your soul.”
“I ventured into Hel and the fearsome goddess Hel herself gave it back to me.” Iliana sat down in the vacant rocker and bounced Gerta on her knee while she told the whole tale to Myst, who wandered around the room picking Iliana’s tears up from the floor and putting them in her pocket.
“So ‘twas just luck that brought me to Bradur,” declared Myst thoughtfully when Iliana was done. “Neither of the sorcerers restored my soul to me. Hel put both our souls into the one box. You are the one who released me from bondage to Rán.”
“That seems most likely,” Iliana agreed. Gerta crowed and slapped her palms together.
“I don’t believe I owe Brand and Valdar anything but the opening of my barrel,” continued Myst. “Here, let’s swap. Elsa isn’t crying, but she needs to be coaxed to eat. I have a bottle here for her.” She wandered over to a small fridge, carrying Gerta.
“Why would it matter if you owed them your soul?” Iliana breathed in Elsa’s sweet milky scent. The infant smelled a little like Sofie, and a lot like Gerta, but also distinctly herself.
“Valdar claimed me on sight.” Myst sighed. “Two days ago, he and his twin Brand had a fight over me. Valdar smashed Brand over the head with a battle ax. Or rather the handle. Brand was mortally wounded. It is only a matter of time before he dies. And all because Valdar would not relinquish his right to me.” She gave Iliana the bottle she had warmed.
Elsa had to be coaxed to the nipple. For a while the sisters did not speak. The only sound was Elsa’s half-hearted suckling and Gerta’s happy shrieks.
Dragon Ensnared_A Viking Dragon Fairy Tale Page 13
