by Eileen Wilks
Lily grappled with a jostling crowd of questions, trying to order them. “What do you mean, it wasn’t your original magic?”
“When I was young, my magic took the shape of fire, but I burned out that Gift. When Sam transformed me, he breathed into me the magic of dragons. This is the magic I have passed on to you, though it takes a different shape in you than it has in me.”
“Did Sam turn you into a dragon to reward you for stopping the sorcerer?”
“Oh, no. He did it to save my life. Dragons possess great healing, but they cannot heal humans, and Sam did not wish me to die.” Her expression softened as her gaze focused on a memory only she could see. “Later, he said he had known my death was very likely, but he did not accept this. Dragons wish always to have their way.” She chuckled. “As do we all, but dragons wish this with great intricacy.”
“Is Sam precongitive?”
“This is a human word, a modern word. I do not use it. Sam knows certain things. Back in China, he knew the Chimei would come, and he prepared me without telling me what use he would make of me. The treaty restrained him from that, but he could warn his apprentice, and he did. He told me that one day a Chimei would come, and I was to persuade my family to leave their home. He said he would release me to flee, too, if I wished. Though he did not intend that I leave,” she added pragmatically. “That is the way of dragons. They do not constrain, but they manipulate. But Sam did not know the Chimei’s lover would murder my family. His planning did not include that.”
She sighed once, softly. “In the end, the choices were mine. Vengeance is the choice of a dark heart, and my heart was very dark. I had to be close to kill the sorcerer, so I became a servant in his palace. I guessed that I would have to use what the lovely Cullen calls mage fire.”
“You didn’t know?”
“Many things Sam did not speak of until I was dragon and entitled to such knowledge. But he had instructed me in the use of black fire—an oddly dangerous teaching for a new apprentice! When the sorcerer came, I understood why.”
“You did use mage fire, then? Cullen says that only a sorcerer can call it safely.”
Grandmother snorted again. “In this, Cullen Seabourne is right. I had a great deal of power. I was good with fire. But I did not see power, so when I called black fire down on my enemy, I could not see what I wrought. I killed the sorcerer.” No matter what she’d said about vengeance and a dark heart, after three centuries her voice still rang with satisfaction when she said that. “But I could not control the fire. It burned . . . too much. I called it back to me, but I knew . . . The black fire feeds on what it burns, you see, and so more power returned to me than I had spent. I burned. I was neither alive nor dead when Sam came to me, but with a foot in both. He sang . . .” Her voice drifted off into memory and wonder.
Softly Lily said, “Dragonsong. I remember it so well.”
“Yes. And you have heard Sam sing one of the Great Songs, I think, when he returned you and his people from Dis. You understand when I say it is worth dying to hear such song.” Her grin flashed, as sudden and unexpected as a rainbow. “Even better if one does not die.”
Lily surprised herself by laughing. “It is, isn’t it?”
“And now, if you have exhausted your curiosity—”
“Not quite. Grandmother . . .” It was harder than she’d expected to speak of this. “The Chimei said she was the last of her kind. Sam said there were other Chimei who might descend on Earth if the treaty were broken and overwhelm us.” Someone had lied. Lily wanted it to be the Chimei, but she couldn’t quite convince herself of it.
Grandmother said nothing for a long moment, then repeated what she’d said before. “Dragons do not constrain, but they manipulate.”
“In other words, he lied.”
“No. Sam did not know if other Chimei still lived outside their realm. It was possible she was the last, but until her death freed all dragons, he did not know.”
“And the Chimei who live in their home realm? The Surrendered, she called them.”
“When Chimei return to their realm, they are altered. They surrender immortality and no longer feed on the fear of others.”
“There was never much chance of a horde of Chimei turning our world into their feeding ground, was there?”
Grandmother shrugged. “The greater threat was that she would breed, but there was a chance of other Chimei coming here. It was not great, but with such consequences, do you wait until the odds are bad to throw the dice?”
Lily drummed her fingers on the table. “I am not a pair of dice, and I don’t like being treated like one.”
“Who would?” Grandmother’s voice held sympathy, but no apology. “And now, if you are out of questions—”
“Not quite. I still don’t know when you gained the trick of turning tiger. And about that lineage you spoke of—”
“Do not interrupt,” Grandmother said sternly. “I will not speak of that today. Do you wish for some advice?”
“Not particularly.”
Sternness melted into a chuckle. “Who would?” she said again. “Unsought advice is useless. Indulge me anyway. Living is very serious, very real. It is also always a game. If we are wise, it is very real, very terrible, and very lovely, and a good deal of fun.” She patted Lily’s hand once more—and rose. “I have changed my mind. I am not staying for lunch.”
Automatically Lily stood, too. “But . . .”
“I am not so fond of shopping, and you and your mother need time with only the two of you. You do not argue, but you wish to,” she observed. “Be kind to your mother, Lily. She does not know what we know, and her life is not always easy.” Humor lit those bright, dark eyes. “I am a remarkable person, but I am a very bad mother-in-law.”
Lily sat, dazed and vastly amused, as her grandmother made her exit. After a few moments, curious, she sipped from Grandmother’s tea. It was cold, but otherwise tasted fine.
“You are drinking both coffee and tea?” her mother asked from right beside her.
Lily jumped. “You startled me. I was, uh, thinking. The tea was Grandmother’s, but she had to leave. She wanted me to offer her apologies.” She hadn’t exactly said so, but her actions were an apology of sorts. Maybe.
Julia Yu sighed. She was a tall, slender, beautifully dressed woman with lovely eyes and a receding chin. On her, the lack of chin was somehow a feminine touch. “Your grandmother is a very odd woman sometimes. Don’t tell her I said that,” she added, seating herself.
“Of course not.”
“We have a great deal to discuss,” her mother said with satisfaction. “I brought a notebook so we will not lose track of our ideas. Have you ordered?”
“I was waiting for you. Mother . . .”
“Here.” Julia pulled a full-size spiral notebook out of her very large purse and slid it across to Lily, along with a pen. “You take notes. I’ve lost my reading glasses again, I’m afraid.”
They were probably right there in her purse, but her mother hated being seen wearing them. “Okay. Mother, I want to thank you. I’ve been difficult, I know, but I . . . You didn’t approve of my relationship with Rule at first, but you changed your mind. You’re throwing yourself into arranging our wedding. I want to thank you for that.”
“I still do not approve of you and Rule Turner. He is a good man, I suppose, but a poor choice for you. He isn’t even Chinese.”
Lily jerked as if she’d been slapped. “But—”
“Lily.” Her mother looked fond, but impatient. Pretty much the expression she’d worn when Lily was five and spilled her milk twice in a row. “I don’t have to agree with your choices to support you.”
“Oh. Then the wedding . . . You’re doing that to support me, even if you don’t agree with my choice of husband?”
“Really, Lily, what do you think a wedding is for?”
Since that was the question she’d been asking herself—and a few others—she was briefly speechless. “Tell me what you t
hink marriage is for. No, really. I want to know.” Her parents had a good marriage. Lily didn’t understand it, but they truly did. “For raising children?” she hazarded.
“That’s important, of course, but women have raised children without marriage for thousands of years. Marriage,” she said firmly, “and especially the ceremony which announces it, the wedding . . . That is how we say to the world, ‘These two are now a family, and with this joining our families are joined, too. And you had damned well better respect that.’”
“You . . . That . . . You never say damn.” Warmth flowed over Lily. Yes. Yes, that was exactly why she was marrying Rule. All of the other reasons were true, too, but this was why the mate bond and living together weren’t the same as marriage. “Thank you, Mother,” she said, reaching across to squeeze her mother’s hand. “That makes perfect sense.”
Julia Yu looked surprised and gratified. “You haven’t said that to me often,” she observed dryly. “Now, in your situation . . . Ah, Sandra.” Julia Yu looked up at the server who’d just arrived, smiling. “Lily will have the orange chicken. I believe I want the moo shoo pork today.”
Lily opened her mouth to tell her mother not to order for her . . . and closed it again. Why fuss? She really did like the orange chicken.
“In your case,” Julia went on after the server departed, “with your marriage being so—so potentially controversial, it is extremely important that we put a good face on the ceremony. Everyone must see that your family is behind you completely in this marriage.”
Even if they weren’t, not completely. But for the first time, Lily saw that this mattered to her mother. What it meant to her.
Love. It was all about Julia Yu’s love and concern for her daughter—maybe not arriving in the form Lily kept looking for. And maybe it arrived with some overly controlling strings attached, too. But love just the same.
“Okay,” she said meekly. And as they talked, she made notes.
They’d finished their meals by the time they reached the big decision: the Dress. Her mother was talking about various designers, some bridal magazine article she’d read, and where they might go to look at various styles.
An idea flashed into Lily’s head. It felt right. “Mother, I’ve been thinking,” she said, though she hadn’t, not until this moment. “Oh—sorry, I interrupted. But I think I’d like Chinese style, not a—a princess gown or a ball gown or any of that.”
Her mother stopped talking. She tipped her head to one side, her eyes narrowing. Slowly she nodded. “Yes, that might work. Some of your generation are doing this, you know, using Chinese touches in their weddings. You are not an ordinary American bride, are you? You are Chinese American. And you are not marrying an ordinary American man. But nothing off the rack,” she added in quick warning. “Nothing cheap.”
“Of course not. Though with my budget, it can’t be too—”
“Lily!” Julia was horrified. “You are not going to deny me and your father the chance to buy your wedding dress!”
Oh. “Thank you, then.”
“Now, how Chinese do you want this dress to be? Do you want a chi pao?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to look at some dresses, but . . . yes, a chi pao sounds right. In silk, maybe white or ivory, with embroidery in matching thread. Something subtle.”
“Embroidery? What kind?”
“A dragon.” Lily smiled. That felt perfectly, absolutely right. “I’d like a beautiful Chinese dragon on my wedding dress.”
Look for the next lupi novel by Eileen Wilks
BLOOD CHALLENGE
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!
For an excerpt, visit the author’s website at
www.eileenwilks.com.
EILEEN WILKS
USA TodayBestselling Author of
Mortal Dangerand Blood Lines
NIGHT SEASON
Pregnancy has turned FBI Agent Cynna Weaver’s whole life upside down. Lupus sorcerer Cullen Seabourne is thrilled to be the father, but what does Cynna know about kids? Her mother was a drunk. Her father abandoned them. Or so she’s always believed.
As Cynna is trying to wrap her head around this problem, a new one pops up, in the form of a delegation from another realm. They want to take Cynna and Cullen back with them—to meet her long-lost father and find a mysterious medallion. But when these two born cynics land in a world where magic is commonplace and night never ends, their only way home lies in tracking down the missing medallion—one also sought by powerful beings who will do anything to claim it . . .
