by Ann Gimpel
Hilda wrapped a thin arm around Rowan and croaked, “It will be all right now, dear. Might I have tea?”
“Of course.” Rowan kissed the witch’s forehead and started to get up.
“I’ll brew a pot for her,” one of the other witches said. “You stay put.”
Patrick tapped my arm. “Look, mate, I’m not trying to be an arse, but how’d she get it?”
I turned to look at him. Dark circles scribed beneath his eyes. “Has she been outside?” I asked.
“Aye, she went into town to retrieve a few things from one of the gardening shops.”
“Alone?” I quirked one brow.
Patrick nodded. “She said it would be fine. Town isn’t that far, and—”
“You must be warded if you leave this place.” I cut him off. “And it would be better if several of you stuck together.”
He set his mouth in a terse line. “Of course we will. From now on. I’ve never seen anyone sicken so fast, and I’ve never heard of this soul sickness.”
“You wouldn’t have. I cleared the Nine Worlds of it centuries before your birth.”
Patrick drew his gray brows into a frown. “It returned because of the Breaking, didn’t it?”
“It’s what I suspect.” A quick glance heartened me. Hilda was sitting up. Someone had pushed an ottoman and pillows behind her. Her color was starting to improve, and she was sipping tea. Rowan knelt by her side; relief carved furrows into her forehead and shaped small creases around her eyes.
I stood and walked to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Why didn’t you call me?”
She tilted her head, and her golden eyes latched onto mine. “Things happened so fast. I’d no sooner teleported inside than I heard the witches Lament for the Dying from upstairs. After that, every scrap of magic and focus was on Hilda. I was afraid if I hesitated for even long enough to use telepathy, I’d lose her.”
“Could you sense her spirit hovering?”
“Of course.” Rowan hesitated. “The only other time I’ve felt its like, the person died. I was plenty scared. Hilda has been like a mother to me. And she’s Tansy’s aunt.”
She patted Hilda’s shoulder and pushed to her feet, wincing as stiff joints and muscles were slow to cooperate. The witches had surrounded Hilda and were offering her bits of food to go with the herbal tea. I wanted to talk with Rowan, but first I scanned Hilda.
The residual shards from the soul sickness were breaking up. It appeared my job was done, but I’d check again before we left.
Hilda looked right at me out of very blue eyes. “Thank you.”
My knees weren’t overly fond of my next move. They creaked as I hunkered next to her. Placing a hand on her arm, I said, “You’re welcome. You had soul sickness. It’s a fast-moving taint that would have turned you into a vessel for Black Magic.”
Her eyes widened. “Damn. I knew it was bad, but that’s horrible. Must have happened yesterday when I went to town. I started feeling puny right after I got back here, and—” She waved a hand weakly to one side. “Could I have infected anyone else?”
“Nay. Doesn’t work that way.”
“Whew. Thank the goddess for small favors.”
I squeezed her arm lightly. “Rest. Luckily, the recovery is nearly as quick as the fall into darkness.”
She scootched higher against the pillows. “Thank you again. Ro was doing her best, but she couldn’t have saved me without your help.”
My mouth curved into a smile. “Cuts both ways, Hilda. Our magic is additive. My intervention wouldn’t have been so successful without her.”
She smiled back. It made her look young again. “Well then, I’ve already thanked her, and now I’ll offer a prayer to the goddess. Surely She was looking out for me because if you’d shown up even half an hour later, my soul would have been consigned to purgatory.”
I stood again. It was a bit smoother than the last time. Beckoning to Rowan, I moved out into the hall. Zelli was nowhere in sight. I had no idea when she’d left. And I hadn’t seen Quade since entering Inverlochy.
Rowan stumbled from weariness as she walked to my side. I put an arm around her, and she didn’t shuck it off. “This is why I can’t be gone for very long,” she muttered.
I understood. “When did the dragon leave?”
“Right after you took over the spell. She never was here, but upstairs in the council chamber.”
So it had been a projection after all. Made more sense than her being able to alter her physical form. My guess was Quade would be with her. I got us headed for the stone staircase, and we started up it.
I was breathing faster by the time we finished the crap ton of stairs.
“Should’ve teleported,” Rowan panted.
I snorted. “Do you have any magic left? For anything?”
“Probably sufficient to teleport from downstairs to up here, but not much more.”
“Mine isn’t doing any better,” I informed her.
We trudged along the broad upper hall. The tall, imposing doors of the council chamber had been propped open. Zelli and Quade stood at the far end of the enormous room. As I thought about it, this was probably the only space in Inverlochy Castle large enough to accommodate both of them.
Once we’d crossed the expanse of marble floor, Quade patted two chairs. “Sit. Afore ye fall down.”
I didn’t require a second invitation and slid into one.
“Ye did a nice piece of work downstairs,” Quade said.
“It was a joint effort,” I replied. It wasn’t false humility. With Rowan’s magic linked to mine, we’d pulled off a small miracle.
“Thanks for your help,” Rowan told Zelli.
The dragon shrugged amid clattering scales. “I dinna do much. ’Twas mostly you.”
“Whilst we stood outside,” Quade addressed his words to me, “ye asked what had transformed dragons from watching and waiting to preparing for battle.”
I nodded. I hadn’t asked that precisely, but I had thought it, which told me the dragon had helped himself to the contents of my mind.
“The reason”—Quade paused, perhaps for emphasis—“is her.” He pointed a talon at Rowan.
She’d been rubbing her temples. Dropping her hands into her lap, she looked from one dragon to the other. “Huh? I don’t understand.”
“Ye will,” Zelli said firmly.
“Aye, we shall tell you about a prophecy,” Quade said.
Something about his tone worried me, and I scooted my chair close enough to Rowan’s to lay a hand on her thigh. Ceridwen had also alluded to a foretelling that had to do with Rowan and me.
Rather than pushing me away, she gripped my hand with her own. Together, we waited for something I was fairly certain would change our lives in ways we never could have anticipated. When Ceridwen had nattered on about a revelation, courtesy of her cauldron, I’d figured she was blowing smoke to keep from being imprisoned.
Maybe the canny old bitch had truly known something.
Silence grew long as I waited for the dragons to begin. My eyelids felt like they were weighted down with stones, and every muscle in my body ached, but I could hold on a little longer before I gave in and slept.
Chapter Seven, Rowan
Hearing the witches’ Lament for the Dying had driven a knife into my heart. I’d been so scared I was too late. And when I saw who they were gathered around, the knife twisted deeper. While I cared for the entire coven, Hilda had always been there for me. She’d kept my tears a secret and shored me up when I needed a swift boot in the ass.
I’d finally told her who I really was, and she’d never breathed a word.
Zelli’s magic helped, but I’d had no idea how to stop the spreading sheet of evil creeping through Hilda’s body. Even after Bjorn added his magic to the mix, things were far from certain. I knew how exhausted he was, but he ran wide open to save my friend. He didn’t stop to ask questions. Nope. He dove in with full afterburners engaged. No escaping it. The man had a ge
nerous heart. Some would have considered his altruism a weakness, but I loved him for it.
Yeah, there it was. Every time I turned around I ran smack dab into my growing feelings for Bjorn. Every time we linked our power, it drew me closer to him. When he touched me, offering comfort, I didn’t have the strength—or the will—to pull away.
I might be conflicted about him, but I wouldn’t leave the witches alone again. Not for more than a few hours. I still had to check on the other group, the ones beneath Ben Nevis. I was dragging, so tired putting one foot ahead of the other was a challenge, but I’d look in on them as soon as we left Inverlochy.
Once Hilda was out of danger, my plan had been to touch base with the dragons and go, but it wasn’t going to happen. The dragons part was an affirmative, but leaving wouldn’t occur anytime soon. Upstairs, in the council chamber where I’d hidden behind wall hangings as a child, I waited for my fate to be delivered—from two dragons no less. Destinies are strange things. You can run, but you can’t hide. Fate always catches up with you, eventually. I’d assumed Mother was lying when she’d said her cauldron warned her about Bjorn and me. But Quade just alluded to a divination with me at its center.
Surely, the two had to be related. There couldn’t be two prophecies about me. He hadn’t mentioned Bjorn, so perhaps Mother had made up that part. After such a long pause, my worries shot through the roof, Quade settled on his haunches across from us and began to speak.
“Long ago when the world was still very young—” he began.
I leaned forward, lulled by the same words that began all the old tales. And then I got a grip. This wasn’t going to be a sweet story. No happy endings here. Not unless I clawed flesh from bone to make it happen. Even then, I wasn’t at all certain anything I could do would make a difference.
I was strong, but far from invincible. If it weren’t for Bjorn and his magic and his knowledge, Hilda would be worse than dead. I knew a little bit about soul sickness, and it wasn’t pretty…
“Celtic and Norse deities were perhaps not the best of friends,” Quade continued, drawing my focus back to him, “but they visited one another frequently. Dragons had only recently ventured beyond Fire Mountain. We were still uncertain of the Nine Worlds and the infinite array of borderworlds stretching through the universe. Yet many of us were hungry to expand our horizons.”
“We were distrustful of the gods,” Zelli said. “They always wanted something from us. It was as if they viewed us as an exotic type of steed, and they resorted to strong magic to compel us to take them on our backs.”
“It dinna work,” Quade growled. “All it did was add to our misgivings about interacting with anyone outside of dragonkind. Unfortunately, a few of us dinna view things the same way. They enjoyed mingling with those who weren’t dragons. Years passed, mostly without incident.”
“Aye.” Zelli picked up the thread. “During that time, the first Dragon Heir was born, spawn of a dragon and a Norse warrior.”
Bjorn held a hand in front of him, fingers splayed. “May I ask a question?” When Zelli nodded, he went on, “By Norse warrior, do you mean one of the Valkyries?”
“Aye, and it created a major meltdown all around,” Zelli said. “Odin was furious. He considered the winged women his personal property. The dragon in question refused to apologize. The resulting child was hidden away for a verra long time.”
Bjorn was nodding. “Hel kept him safe in her dominion.”
“Ye know the tale?” Quade raised both scaled brows.
“Of course. Hel refused to reveal the Dragon Heir’s location until Odin gave her his word he wouldn’t harm the lad who’d grown into a fearless fighter.”
“Scarcely a lad.” Zelli puffed steam. “By the time his identity was revealed, he’d passed his first century.”
Bjorn had asked a question, so I assumed it was all right if I did. “What happened to all the other Dragon Heirs? Surely, they’re still alive.”
“We are getting ahead of things,” Zelli told me, “but yes they are. Eventually, all of them wearied of being harangued by the Norse gods and retired to Fire Mountain with the dragons they’d bonded with.”
“How many is that?” I risked a second question.
“Six, I believe,” Zelli said. “And now, no more questions from either of you until Quade and I are done.”
“Nidhogg and our dragon elders made it abundantly clear we were not to breed with anyone other than dragons,” Quade said. “Despite that prohibition, some of the gods made it difficult to say no to them. Arianrhod was a prime example. The Celts ‘virgin huntress’ is a garden-variety slut.
“Dragons claimed she blinded them with magic and seduced them, but I never believed they dinna realize what they were doing. At least she had the good sense not to become pregnant.”
“Our council of elders,” Zelli continued, “includes two blind seers. One fine day, they raced into our meeting room in Fire Mountain breathless and bent out of shape. They’d seen something in their pool. Both of them looked; both came up with the same conclusions.”
Breath caught in my throat, and I grasped Bjorn’s hand tighter. Whatever had to do with me, it was nearly here. I felt a shadow hovering, ready to smash down on my head and smother me.
Quade folded his forelegs across his black-scaled chest. “At that time, the few Dragon Heirs had all resulted from matings with Norse women.” He sent a stream of ash scudding across the marble floor. “Not that dragons weren’t fucking the Celts, but none of them had gotten pregnant.”
“Our seers foretold a Dragon Heir born of a Celtic god,” Zelli said in a strained voice. “They further predicted her birth would be a harbinger of doom, perhaps presaging the end of all worlds.”
Already narrow, my throat closed completed. I gasped for air like a landed fish, but couldn’t move any to my lungs. Damn Ceridwen to Hell and back a thousand times. She’d given birth to a disaster. Me. I was the herald of doom. Everything bad that was happening to Earth—to the Nine Worlds—was because of me.
Bjorn’s magic washed over me, warm, soothing, calming. The next time my starved lungs made a grab to breathe, air flowed into them. A spasm of coughing followed. When I could talk, I gasped, “Did the Celts know of the prediction?”
“Of course, they did,” Quade snarled.
Zelli sent fire whizzing outward. “Aye, we made damn good and sure they understood they needed to rein in their lust.”
I covered my face with my hand and fought the bitter sting of tears. What in the unholy fuck was wrong with Mother? She’d known, and she’d done it anyway. When I lowered my hand, I stumbled to my feet and bowed before the dragons. “I am so sorry. You can’t kill me, but I could go far away. To a distant borderworld. Maybe if I’m gone—”
“Good of you to offer,” Zelli cut me off, “but it willna help.”
“Then what can I do?” Desolation scoured me. Guilt tromped over my soul. This might not be my fault, but it scarcely mattered. I was the vector of a disaster that could well wipe out everything.
“We canna undo what your mother set in motion,” Quade told me.
“We hoped the divination wasn’t true,” Zelli said. “Many times they are not. ’Tis why we did nothing for so long, despite knowing of your existence.”
“After the Breaking, we brought the matter to our elders. Nidhogg counseled us to wait. To see if Odin could repair the damage,” Quade said. “The thing about any prophecy is ye must first view an event, and then evaluate it to determine if ’tis the leading edge of what was predicted.”
“The only true test is time,” Zelli agreed.
I rocked from foot to foot, feeling dirty, like soiled goods. I had no idea what to do next, but standing here mired in self-pity wasn’t going to help anybody. I slapped my forehead with my palm.
“The witches. I have to check on the others.”
“There are more?” Zelli sounded surprised.
“Aye,” Bjorn told her. “Most of them live beneath Ben Nevis
in that cave system the Celts hogged out eons ago.”
I tried to stand tall, but my shoulders were too heavy. I folded my hands behind me and said, “Thank you for telling me. I have no idea what I’ll do with the information, but—”
“You said the Celts knew of the prophecy,” Bjorn spoke over me. “Do my kinsmen know?”
Quade shook his head. “Not unless the Celts told them.”
My tired eyes widened. The council meeting. Our attendance was even more critical now. I formed words out of the twisted mess my brain had turned into. “After I make certain the witches are all right, Bjorn and I will crash—er, show up at—a joint meeting in Asgard.”
“Who will be at this meeting?” Quade asked.
“Many Celts,” Bjorn said. “I was hiding when they arrived.”
“Hiding? Why?” Zelli shot him a pointed look out of her whirling eyes.
“It was after I’d been shanghaied. I told you how I ended up in Asgard. The Celts stood between me and Bifrost. I had to wait for them to leave.”
The dragon nodded. “I see.” She smacked Quade with a foreleg. “Shall we attend this gathering too?”
“I doona see why not,” he replied. “We’re in this up to our wings as it is. Besides”—more fiery ash shot from his mouth and bounced harmlessly off a crystal wall—“if ye and I are there, ’twill make it far more difficult for them to refuse to admit Rowan and Bjorn.”
I’d been worried about going to all the trouble of showing up in Asgard only to be given the boot. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” I mumbled.
“Double thanks from me,” Bjorn said. “Odin can be unreasonable, and if things with the Celts aren’t going well, he may not be in the mood to listen to anything Ro or I have to say.”
My mind was sluggish and well past the point of overload, but something worked its way through. “If the Celts knew of the prophecy, it means at least Arawn and Gwydion put two and two together,” I said.
