“OK.” His head bent over the bird again, and a brief hope flared that he might shift his morbid interest in making mummies from deceased animals to the care of live ones. “You just never know with him,” I said aloud as I entered the study.
“Baltic?”
“Brom. Is it too much to hope he’d become a vet? I would think that was a nice, normal, beneficial profession. There’s not much of a call for the ability to mummify things these days.”
She smiled. “We’ve enjoyed having him visit, mummy fascination and all. What was it you wanted to talk to me about? Something to do with Baltic?”
“Tangentially, perhaps. I’d like to try to summon the First Dragon.”
She blinked at me in surprise.
“I tried doing it myself, but my magic . . . well, you know about that.”
“Yes, I know.” Her lips twitched.
“So I got to thinking about what was different when I summoned him before, and your suggestion about having dragons around, and discounting things like stress and unhappiness with the weyr being collective asses, I decided the difference must be you.”
“Why me?” she asked, looking startled at the idea.
“You have a tie to the First Dragon.”
“Yes, but so do you.”
“Exactly. We both have a relationship with the First Dragon, and perhaps your presence is needed in order to make a connection with him. Are you willing to give it a try?”
“Right now?”
“If you have the time, yes.”
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “All right, but we should probably be as fast as possible. Your wyvern isn’t the most . . . er . . . conversational of all the dragons I’ve met.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” I said, standing up and shaking out my hands while mentally clearing my mind.
“What should I do?”
“Just stand near me, as you were during the sárkány,” I said, my eyes closed as I concentrated. “Maybe have a mental image of the First Dragon.”
“Ready,” she said.
I took a deep breath, pulling hard on Baltic’s fire as I spoke the words. “Light exists within me, darkness I left behind, on my left hand sits that which was made, on my right sits that which has passed. Bring forth your grace that we might—by the rood! That was quick. Er . . . hello.”
Before the last of my invocation had been spoken, the air in front of us began to collect itself in a shimmery sort of swirl that quickly solidified into the form of a man who despite his human appearance was quite obviously not human.
“Daughter of light,” he said, a slightly puzzled look in his fathomless eyes. He glanced at May, who stared at him with delight beaming from her face. “Daughter of shadows,” he said, acknowledging her. “Why have you summoned me?”
May slid a look toward me.
“I’m the one who summoned you.” I squirmed a little under the regard of his eyes, his gaze seeming to strip me to the deepest parts of my soul. “I had some questions about what you said to me the last time we . . . er . . . met.”
He waited, saying nothing, just looking at me with those uncanny eyes. “You said I had let you down before, and to not do it again. I’m sorry if I’m unusually dense, but I don’t understand what it is you want me to do. If you could just tell me, I’d be really grateful.”
His eyes closed and he turned as if he was leaving, but the world seemed to slip away at that moment, the walls and furniture and the house itself seemingly melting into a white nothingness.
A cold white nothingness.
“May?” I asked, rubbing my arms as a blast of arctic wind knocked me back a few feet.
“Right here. It’s another vision, isn’t it? Like the one you had at the sárkány?”
“Yes. I think . . . yes, up there. That’s me.”
“Isn’t this when the First Dragon resurrected you?” May asked, shivering next to me as we watched the past version of myself trundling down a hill suddenly stop and turn to look upward.
“I think so. I certainly don’t look terribly with it, do I?”
“Well, I imagine being resurrected would take a lot out of you,” she pointed out.
“What is it you wish of me?” the past me asked, and May and I turned to look in the direction she was calling.
The whirl of wind and snow lessened for a few seconds, revealing the figures of two men.
“Death of the innocent has stripped honor from my youngest son,” one of the men said. “You must return it to him.”
The past Ysolde stared at him dully for a few seconds before simply turning and continuing on her way down the snowy slope. May and I gaped at the First Dragon and the man beside him until a blast of wind and icy snow had us reeling backward.
I covered my face against the sting of it, wiping away tears triggered by the cold. When I looked up, May and I were standing in her library. I was somewhat heartened to see she had an expression of incredulity on her face, since I knew I was beyond flabbergasted.
“That was . . . that was Constantine, wasn’t it?” she finally asked me.
I nodded. “I did hear the First Dragon right, didn’t I? He said his youngest son?”
“Yes.” She blinked a couple of times and shook her head as if to clear away mental fog. “Constantine Norka was the First Dragon’s youngest son? I didn’t know he had real children, since he calls other dragons by the names son and daughter.” She looked up at me with speculation. “He particularly seems to like calling you daughter. I wonder if you really are?”
I shook my head. “My parents were first black dragons, then silver when they left the sept with Constantine. There’s something . . .” I bit my lip, trying hard to remember something that was said to me relatively recently. “Kaawa, I think, told me that the dragon septs were originally formed by the First Dragon. His children were the first wyverns.”
“I think I remember reading that in one of the weyr history books,” she said, looking thoughtful. “He had one daughter and three sons, and they formed the original four septs. But I never remember seeing Constantine’s name included, although it makes sense if all the other original wyverns were children of the First Dragon. I wonder why Gabriel never mentioned it?”
“That’s a very good question. Another good one is what the hell I’m going to do. ‘Death of the innocent stripped honor from my youngest son.’ That has to be Constantine killing me. So how on earth am I supposed to return honor to my own murderer? Does it even matter since he’s dead?”
She hesitated, then pointed out, “It’s the First Dragon’s son, Ysolde. I’m sure it matters to him.”
“Good point.” I thought for a moment. “How do you return honor to a dead man? I could formally forgive him for killing me, but beyond that, I’m totally at a loss.”
A slam of a door nearby had us both smiling wryly.
“That sounds like the end of patience on the part of one or both of them,” I said as we left the library. Baltic stood by the front door, his arms crossed and a fierce scowl on his face as Brom chatted enthusiastically with Gabriel.
“I hope he hasn’t talked you guys silly,” I said with a smile at my son.
“Not at all. We enjoyed having him, and I know Maata gets a kick out of taking him to the museum to see the mummies. I’m pleased Baltic let him come visit us despite all the stuff going on with the weyr. And speaking of that, I assume we’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Er . . .” I eyed my volatile mate with some misgiving. He really did look at the end of his not-very-substantial patience. “I haven’t told Baltic it was tomorrow, but he knows he’s going to have to attend, so, yes, we’ll be there. I look forward to seeing the house again, although I have to admit I’m a bit surprised that Kostya is allowing us there.”
She paused as we entered the foyer. “I think he wants some help with Cy,” she said slowly, an unhappy look in her clear blue eyes.
“It seemed to me the last time I saw them together th
at all was not well there.”
“No,” she said slowly, her expression brightening when she glanced at Gabriel. “I expect Cy has done what she always does and moved on to another love interest, although I really had thought this time she’d stick it out. . . .”
Baltic transferred his frown to me. “Mate, we have been here long enough. I have stood as many insults as I will tolerate. We will leave now. Brom, take your things to the car.”
“Thank you for having Brom stay with you,” I told Gabriel as I moved to Baltic’s side. “From the increased amount of his luggage, it looks like he was far too indulged, but I’m sure he couldn’t have had a better time.”
“It was our pleasure,” Gabriel said, wrapping an arm around May. “I hope you will allow him to visit us again.”
I looked at Baltic. His lips thinned. I elbowed him.
“No,” he said.
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Ysolde, one day you will go too far. Must I remind you again that I am the wyvern, and you—”
“I am only the lowly mate, yes, I know, but as a wyvern, you must have some inkling of common good manners, so let’s see them.”
He pinned me back with a glare for a few seconds before squaring his shoulders and making one of those elegant bows that all the dragon males seemed to know how to make. “My mate and I thank you for taking care of our son during his visit.”
Gabriel, obviously fighting a smile, inclined his head politely. “We were happy to do so.”
“We’ll see you both tomorrow,” May said, waving as Baltic escorted me from the house. “Bye, Brom!”
“Tomorrow?” Baltic’s eyes were glittering with speculation as he held the car door open for me.
“What’s tomorrow?” Brom asked from the backseat.
“A meeting Baltic and I have to go to.”
“Oh, the weyr thing.” Brom promptly lost interest and spent much of the trip back home telling us about the many wonderful mummies and mummy-related items he saw, purchased, and planned to do. I was aware the entire time of Baltic’s ire regarding the meeting with the wyverns, but we both knew there was nothing he could do to get out of it.
“What did you and the silver mate discuss that was so important you had to leave me to be harangued by Gabriel?” Baltic asked when Brom ran out of steam.
“We summoned the First Dragon.”
His eyebrows rose. “Why?”
“Because I was tired of trying to figure out what he wanted me to do.”
“And what did he say?”
I slid him a quick glance. “He wants me to return Constantine’s honor.”
“He had no honor to return!” Baltic declared.
“I’m not debating his actions, simply telling you what the First Dragon said. He pulled May and me into another vision, this time of the events right after he had resurrected me. He said that death of the innocent had stripped honor from Constantine, and I was supposed to return it. But how I’m supposed to return honor to him when he is dead is beyond me. Do you have any suggestions?”
The look he gave me was unreadable. “Yes. Do not try.”
“The First Dragon asked me to do it, Baltic. I don’t think it’s going to be a good idea if I don’t at least try something.”
He shrugged, and changed the subject. “Why did you not tell me the meeting with the wyverns was tomorrow?”
“Why did you not tell me that Constantine is the First Dragon’s youngest son?” I countered.
“What does it matter to you who the First Dragon’s children were? They were all dead by the time Dauva was destroyed,” he said in typical dragon evasion.
“I give up even trying to have a conversation with you when you’re in this mood,” I said, irritated and yet at the same time sympathetic to his unwillingness to continue the subject. I knew the fact that he had been kicked out of his own sept and incurred the wrath of the First Dragon was a touchy subject with him, so rather than push the point, I simply told him that we would talk to the wyverns about the whole ridiculous weyr war.
“I have work I must do if I am to spend tomorrow in such folly,” he told me when we arrived home. “Later, once our son has gone to bed, you will do all those erotic things you have been thinking about doing to me.”
I glanced at him in utter surprise as Brom hauled his newly gotten swag to the basement, where he had a little lab. “How on earth did you know I was indulging in smutty thoughts about you?”
He smiled and pulled me against him. “I can always tell. Your eyes go liquid with desire, and your breathing increases. And you repeatedly shoot me speculative glances, as if you were formulating and discarding several plans. I suspect you have been indulging in more inventive fantasies about me.”
I bit his shoulder, reveling for a few moments in the scent and feel of him. “You love those fantasies, and I was doing no such thing.”
He squeezed my behind.
“Oh, all right, just a little one, but it only involved a chase scenario, so you can hardly call it inventive.”
“Chase?” His head rose from where he had been nibbling on my neck, a strange light in his velvety dark eyes.
“Kaawa said it was something dragons do.”
“It is.” He breathed deeply for a moment. “You used to leave me little notes, urging me to find where you had hidden. You were very good at hiding, but I could always find you. You wish to play this way again?”
“Perhaps,” I said, moving the chase scenario up to the top of my mental to-do list. I gave him a long look as I strolled toward the sitting room. “We shall see, shan’t we?”
A low rumble emerged from his chest, a strangely erotic sound that sent shivers down my arms. I left him standing in the hallway, making a mental note to ask Kaawa what other dragon games had been lost to my memory.
Chapter Ten
Thala returned unexpectedly from Paris that evening, seriously inhibiting my ability to tackle Baltic about the First Dragon, the upcoming meeting, or even how I was to go about finding information on the ouroboros dragons with whom Kostich’s granddaughter was involved.
“I’m not jealous, I’m not jealous,” I growled to myself as I stalked out of Baltic’s study, where he and Thala were bent over her laptop, going over the video she’d taken of Suffrage House.
“Why would you be jealous?” Brom asked, sitting on the stairs with a grubby notebook and an even grubbier bit of shed snakeskin.
“I wouldn’t. I’m not. It’s just that . . . oh, never mind.”
“I don’t like Thala,” Brom said as I sat down next to him. “She doesn’t like mummies. She told me I was a weird kid and to stay out of her way. And she’s always touching Baltic.”
I stared at him. “Touching him how?”
“You know, touching him,” he said with a shrug. “She touches his arm a lot, and earlier I saw her touch his face. If I was Baltic, I wouldn’t let her do that. It’s too icky.”
I gave him one of the three daily hugs he allowed me. “It’s not icky with the right person.”
“Yeah. You can touch my face if you really want to, but I won’t let anyone else do it. It’s time to unwrap the mole Pavel found a week ago in the back garden. You want to watch?”
“The thought of a mummified mole is not horribly high on my wish list, but I suppose I’ll survive it.”
“Geez, Sullivan,” he said with a roll of his eyes as he got to his feet and headed to the basement door. “You’re such a girl. It’s just a mole!”
“Hey, lots of girls like dead things!” I protested as I followed. “Just because I’m not one of them doesn’t mean anything. I’ll have you know that Baltic says he taught me how to use a sword and morning star, and that’s something you don’t see a lot of girls doing.”
We spent a pleasant hour together as Brom showed off his various mummification projects. While he explained his technique, I mused about how a boy with such a horrible biological father could turn out so bright and charming, if a little eccentric,
but when he offered to show me the mole’s preserved innards, I decided enough quality time had been spent and went off to demand that Baltic do likewise for me.
“Half hour more, then bed,” I told Brom as I left.
He frowned. “Sullivan, I’m not a child.”
“Of course you’re not. Nine is perfectly ancient, but Nico is coming in the morning, and if you want to avoid being sent to the local school, you had better show Baltic and me that you will excel with a tutor, and that means bed at a reasonable hour. Got it?”
He rolled his eyes but nodded.
“Love you. Good night.” I trotted up the stairs, making yet another mental note to ask the tutor to concentrate a little more on biology, since Brom seemed to have a knack for things of that ilk.
“—not see that she is undermining your authority? Who is the one who decided that the child could visit the silver dragons? She did. Her ties to the silver sept run deep, Baltic, and it is to them she owes her true allegiance. She will betray you now as she tried to do in the—” Thala spun around when I entered Baltic’s library bearing a tray.
“Sorry to interrupt your little attempt at erroneous propaganda,” I said without a shred of truth. I set the tray down on Baltic’s desk, and laid out a couple of espresso cups and a carafe of coffee before smiling at him. “I needn’t ask if you believe that hogwash, since you know full well I would never do anything to betray you. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.”
“I’ve never doubted you,” he answered with a complacence that I knew would irritate Thala.
“Good. I thought you’d like a little dessert. You didn’t have time after dinner for the caramel-drenched chocolate hazelnut torte I made for you.”
Thala sneered as Baltic, who had an almost insatiable sweet tooth, looked with interest at the contents of the tray.
“Cake?” Thala dismissed the subject. “We have no time for cake!”
My smile grew as I held out a plate for Baltic. “There’s always time for cake. Especially cake with caramel. Baltic loves caramel, don’t you?”
“Ysolde enjoys cooking,” Baltic said around a mouthful of torte. “It pleases her to pretend I’m starving and must be fed several times a day.”
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