“Is that not a good thing, then?” Sordith searched his brother’s face with concern.
“The cost was high.” Alador looked straight into his brother’s eyes. “Much too high.”
Epilogue
The last few months had fallen into a routine that was busy but tolerable. The monotony of it all was extreme but left him time to grieve. Each day he would meet with his uncle who had taken him on as a sort of aid. He learned how to take reports from the scrying bowls. He had learned how to follow the finances of the entire country and how the taxes were applied. When he thought he could escape with his tasks complete, his uncle would lay another in front of him. He was rarely out of Luthian’s sight other than the late evenings until mornings. He rarely had time for his friends, especially those that remained in the Blackguard. The only way he could see them was when Luthian gave him permission to attend a specific class or weapons training. He had taken to spending time a couple days a week at sword practice and keeping his archery skills up.
If his uncle attended a social engagement, Alador would be commanded to attend as well. He was learning a great deal about leadership, and for that he was grateful. In a manner of speaking, he was glad to be busy as it kept his thoughts far from Rena. Though small things still reminded him of her, the pain was slowly ebbing.
Strangely, Nemara had been gone since the morning after the assault as well. She had left no note or word of where she had gone. The High Master would not tell him where she went. He insisted that he did not know and that the woman had abandoned her commission. Alador knew she would not do this and though he had reached out to the others from the assault party, no one had seen or heard from her. He had finally given up hope. There was just no trace of the woman. It had only added to the pain of the loss of Rena. Two of his closest friends gone in what seemed a single moment. He felt truly alone. It had helped him dive full long into his uncle’s tasks, if one were busy there was not time for painful memories.
Henrick had informed him that the rescued fledglings that were not able to fly had been escorted to his own valley to live out their lives in safety. Few knew the way into the mountain hold, and a flight of dragons on foot could be just as dangerous as a flight by air. Even more so, considering that they had a hatred for all mortal beings, especially those wearing the tabards of the Blackguard.
The fledglings and eggs had been matched with parents as best as they could, the others adopted by dragons who had lost young to the mines. It would seem that all was as it should be, but Alador could feel the pressure of the geas. It was not done. There was more he must do, and the pressure was building with time. He did not know what it would do to him if he could not complete whatever it was that had been pressed upon him. Henrick had once spoken with him about it being a larger task. He did not want it to be bigger. The geas had taken so much from him, he suspected that he had much more to lose before it was done. Would killing Luthian bring an end to it? He could only hope.
He shook his thoughts away. He needed to focus on more pleasant thoughts as tonight was the night of the mating circle. Alador had promised that he would be there. He had claimed an illness of the lungs and had put on quite the act of being miserable. Finally, his uncle sent him home rather than risk being susceptible to whatever malady had assaulted his nephew. He had found other moments to sneak home and talk with his family, Mesiande, and even Henrick. But tonight, tonight would be the fulfillment of what he had sought since before he had found the stone.
He was apprehensive. In some way, he felt he was betraying something between him and Rena. But ... Rena... Rena had died. He reminded himself that they could not have been truly a bonded pair with the differences between dragon and mortal. Yet, he still could not quite let her go in his heart and mind. That night on the mountain had done something to them both. He ran a hand over his face as if to wipe away his thoughts.
He was hoping that this night with Mesiande would finally cleanse him of his grief and remind him of his great love for the Daezun middlin. Well, she was not really a middlin now, he mused. He pulled on his boots that sat on the floor beside him.
He had found a spell in his great grandfather’s spell book that would allow him to take the appearance of another for a few hours. It would be enough to get through the dancing part of the ceremony, and to find privacy for the two of them within the tent. Mesiande would have built her own nest. Some new to the circle closed off their nest with many curtains of blankets and sheets, so it would not be unusual for Mesiande to do this. Dorien was going to a nearby village circle, he had planned to sneak off so that Alador could take his place. Mesiande knew that Alador would be masquerading as his brother. As long as the spell held, all would be well.
Yet, here he sat in his rooms in Silverport. The sun was fading as he glanced out the window. He had not quite been able to bring himself to leave for Smallbrook. He felt as if there were something that he was missing, but try as he might, he had been unable to place his finger on it. Finally, he activated the talisman around his neck. When he stepped from the coal room, the house was already empty. The women often prepared throughout the day, and Alador was late for the meeting of the men. It would be Alador’s first circle, but he knew the gist of what was expected. The two brothers had decided it was best his mother know nothing of either of their actions for the evening.
He entered Dorien's room and found the clothes laid out for him. He removed his own clothing as Dorien’s form would be larger. Carefully, he intoned the spell dropping the components as needed. Pain immediately assaulted him. He clutched his abdomen. Pain radiated through his body as muscles enlarged, his torso stretched, and even his eyes felt as if they were being wrenched from the sockets. When it was finally over, he lay panting on the floor. Sweat was pooled about him as he forced himself up. The pain was ebbing, but it had taken a toll.
He cast a clean spell, not willing to go to Mesiande in such a state, then he pulled on the clothes that Dorien had left for him. Only then did he head out of the house and to the ale house where the adult men gathered. There was a drink that supposedly made a man fertile and increased his energy for the night of dancing and mating. He had never taken it before, and was not quite sure how it would work. He did know he could use the energy after the transformation.
When he stepped into the ale house, he was greeted by many of the village men. The room was filled with smiles as all looked forward to this night. A mug was pressed into his hand as there was additional back smacking and greetings. He downed it without a thought. If it were ale, it would steady his nerves and if it were the mating drink, well even better. He forced a smile at the warmth that Dorien received, it was something that he had never had when he lived in Smallbrook. It felt so strange to have this wholesome acceptance, and it gnawed at him that he had never had it in his own form.
He had not prepared himself for the strength of the drink. Within minutes, the room seemed a blur of happy bodies. He could not remember ever feeling so good outside of dancing with Rena. The sound of the drums started. As if called by the gods themselves, the men filtered towards the sound. It was intoxicating. Alador could feel every drum beat in his blood. His heart seemed to pound in rhythm with it, and he felt as if he could soar on the sky at that moment.
Somehow the circle formed amongst the blur and haze of ancestral throbbing beats. The first time he saw Mesiande, she seemed the only thing around him. Her hair was down in loose waves. Her body was covered only by a sheer robe of linen that did little to hide the firmness of her body beneath. He reached for her as she danced closer.
Through the haze and pulsing rhythms, she danced out of reach. Other women had reached for him seeing Dorien and not Alador. He somehow managed to evade their clutch and dance his way back into position. Mesiande teased him unmercifully, passing him by two more times. She would toss her loose hair over her shoulder rather than choose him. Her mischievous eyes made it clear that he was her choice, and yet she made no move to claim him.
During the course of the dance, a fire grew within him. A need so compelling that he cried out with the strength of it. The need to have her was reaching desperate levels. Just when he might have given in to let another claim him, he felt a hand on his arm. Looking down in confusion, he followed the arm up to look into Mesiande’s beautiful brown eyes. A surge of desire coursed through him, and he grabbed her close kissing her with a feral hunger.
With pounding beats and writhing bodies all about them, he let Mesiande pull loose from his kiss and lead him into the tent. When they were secure behind the curtain, he dispelled the illusion, not wanting her to kiss his brother. He wanted her to want him and only him. She moved closer and kissed him as she once had by the pool so long ago. He gently laid her down on the nest that she had created, his longing coursing through his blood, his voice and his loins. Though his desire was almost bestial, driven by the sounds of mating around them, he restrained the desire to just take her. Remembering the elder’s lessons so long ago, he made sure her desire was as great as his own. Finally, the two realized the passion that the fate of one bloodstone had denied them.
Alador had returned home in the early hours of the morning when he had realized that people had begun moving about. He held her close as long as he could and felt at peace for the first time since the assault on the bloodmine. The realization of his long love of Mesiande had done a great deal to ease his pain. Her kisses would hold him through the tasks his uncle seemed to take pleasure in piling upon him. He had kissed her gently before leaving her, moving hair from her sleeping face as he carefully untangled himself.
He found the medallion where it had been tossed aside and materialized in his office off his bedroom suite. He headed wearily for his own bed. The night had been long, and he had lost count of how many times that the two had found the release of pleasure that such nights held. As he opened the door, he saw a figure on the bed though he could not make it fully out. He carefully moved closer then stopped as he stared at his bed. There sat Nemara.
“Nemara?” He rushed forward, his own fatigue and nakedness forgotten. “Where have you been?” She was clutching a large item wrapped in blankets in her arms as she sat on the bed.
“I had to do something for Rena.” Though her words were weary, there was an edge of pride to them. Nemara looked as if she had not slept or ate in weeks. She had large circles under eyes, and her face was somewhat gaunt.
“For Rena?” Alador knelt before the beleaguered woman. “I don’t understand.”
Nemara unwrapped the item in her lap. There lay the most beautiful egg he had ever seen. It was the size of a large melon. It was a deep rich blue that got lighter as it moved to the end of the scales that covered it. The edges were trimmed in shining silver. “It is my… her egg,” she whispered, stroking the egg lovingly.
“Her egg?” Alador heart wrenched. All his work to remove his grief was undone in that single moment. “She never mentioned a mate.” They had been close, surely she would have mentioned an egg.
“She was going to tell you after the assault on the bloodmine.” Nemara whispered. “It is not just her egg, it is also yours.” She looked up at Alador with a strange look in her eye. “From the night on the mountain.”
“How…” Alador started, staring at the egg, his eyes widening in disbelief at Nemara’s words. “Well, shite.”
Preview from Completing the Geas
Book 5
Jon looked up at the soft footsteps. He had known she was coming. Nightmare had bristled at the first sounds that Jon could not hear. It had given him time to prepare himself for what he must do next. He would find no joy in it and yet he knew it was the only way he could accomplish his own ends.
“I have come to see your progress, Prelate.” Lady Morana’s dress today was reserved. When in the temple, she often wore simple robes of black. All these were still fitted in a way that made you very aware that she was a beautiful woman.
Jon simply nodded. “He is growing quickly and is very smart.” He indicated the black dragon that was now the size of a full flight lexital. The dragon puffed up with pride, able to understand Jon, and ruffled its wings, showing off for the High Priestess.
Morana nodded. “How is his hunting skills?” Morana moved to Nightmare and held out her hand. The dragon slowly lowered his head until the top of his muzzle was against her hand.
Jon frowned when she touched Nightmare. The dragon was too young to understand the motives of the woman. He had to allow this light bonding between them or risk his position. “I no longer have to feed him. He gets only treats for training.” He moved next to the High Priestess.
“He is really beautiful,” she ran her hand up between the dragon’s eyes bringing a rumble from the black’s chest.
“You are well matched,” Jon’s voice held a tremor of admiration. It was not a lie fortunately. The High Priestess’s raven black hair shined as much as Nightmare’s polished scales. Her lined eyes seemed large like the dragon’s, as well.
Morana smiled and looked over at Jon. “I have to wonder if your admiration is more for the dragon than the woman.”
“Cannot not a man admire both?” Jon answered. “May I be frank, Lady Morana?” He dared to reach up to stroke the side of the dragon’s head, putting him very close to the woman.
“You may.” She turned slightly to face him.
Jon took a breath to prepare himself. “You are not properly admired. Why do you dance to the strings of leaders of the Great Isle when you could lead it all? You are smart, beautiful, and so talented in magic.” Jon dropped his hand from the dragon and dared to take the priestess’ hand in his own. “You are the chosen of our Goddess, you should be revered and loved.” He watched her eyes closely seeing the pupils dilate as he hoped.
Morana did not pull her hand away as she looked up at the slightly taller mage. “What would you do different, Praetor?”
Jon smiled and put a tender hand to her face, moving some hair back from her eyes. When she did not forestall him, he leaned forward and kissed her with all the tenderness he could muster. When she returned the kiss, he smiled within. Some people were so predictable.
Pseudo-Dragon (The Blue Dragon's Geas Book 4) Page 39
