Blood of Stars and Gods

by Melissa Petreshock

  Grandfather moves to lean against the wall, weary and looking quite ghastly. “Yesterday, I took her hand, wanting to protect Caitriona. She did not release it, not when Theo arrived, not when she transported us to her apartment, not when she returned us. Not until the reaction to her unveiled ability caused a stir, bringing all the dragons round about, seeking answers.” He pauses, eyes focused on his ring, picking dirt out from the crevices of the design. “I understand the ability itself did not fully manifest without Theo. Despite who we are, what we are capable of in our own rights, Caitriona and I are not to be a completely singular entity as others of divine blood when joined, Corrin. The North Star is part of a triad in every way.”

  Fearing the direction this conversation may take, I stand, walking to the wall nearest the woods, watching for signs of enemy attack, scout troops, or anything to take me away. “You speak of marriage among deities, eternal bonds.”

  “You cannot honestly believe Agtos Pendragon is the sole source of information regarding the prophecy of the North Star. I did not enter the house last night; however, I did visit the High Realm and spoke to Hades.”

  “Hades?” I ask, glancing back to him in surprise.

  Dante frowns sharply. “Yes. He was with my mother at the time she wrote the Tomes of the Oracles. Many prophecies involve matters of life and death, matters in Hades’s realm, and—”

  “Then he wasn’t with your mother in that sense.”

  A bolt of lightning strikes mere feet away, brightening the entire sky, a deafening crack of thunder declaring his disposition as he levels a glare at me. “They were to be married. Mother discovered his desires were ill-intentioned. He and my mother have been at odds since.”

  I look to the ground, avoiding his eyes. “And yet he offered information to you.”

  “The politics of the Earthen Realm pale in comparison to those of the High Realm, Corrin.” His voice lowers, saddening. “It is not my home. It is a dubious chess game in which I am the piece best capable of capturing the queen. Such is the reason this becomes quite so complicated. Caitriona is the North Star, prophesied to be the guiding point in the greatest trinity of the Earthen Realm.”

  Covering his face, he allows his head to fall back against the rock wall, breathing heavily. Hands on the ground once more, the demigod who is my grandfather stares off, despair coloring his features. “I believed she ruled the triad of the Dracopraesi’s Goddess Houses then after the display of her latest gift, the particulars of how it manifested … Hades verified what I suspected. Her trinity is not her dragon houses. It is a physical connection, Caitriona and two others, one dragon and one god.”

  I take a breath to clear my head, organize my thoughts, wishing Father were here. He better understands the workings of his own father’s mind. “In light of this knowledge, will you pursue Cait as before?” Standing guard with the dragons, walking the grounds among them, I am far too aware how strong their desire to see Cait with Theo remains. My impending death leaves me torn, not wanting my grandfather alone after we have grown so close in such a short time, yet to think I could wish Oliver’s hopes crushed leaves me riddled with guilt as well.

  “Speaking frankly, I no longer know.” Pulling his knees close, he rests his elbows on them, clenching his fingers in his hair. “At one time, I felt sure where my path lay, where I belonged within Caitriona’s life, but now … now I feel lost. Corrin,” he says, raising his eyes to meet mine. “One day, my family, my blood family here in the Earthen Realm, where I choose to make my home, you will all be gone. My son, my grandsons, my granddaughter, your time will come, and I will remain here with what family I hold dear to my heart. Theo is a brother to me, the only one I shall have in all my eternal existence, one I do not wish to hurt. Yet never have I truly loved until Caitriona. How do I choose? If I choose wrongly, is it forgivable?”

  Tears sting my own eyes, watching them trickle down his cheeks, soft rain falling from the sky, but he makes no move to reenter the house. “Does Caitriona hide her love for me out of respect for Theo? Perhaps she hopes to regain those feelings for him. Could my swift action in stepping back when she chose him have given her a sense of rejection on my behalf? With her mind clear again, if I clarify my feelings, declare my love, do I complicate the situation or clear the air, allowing Caitriona to make an informed decision?”

  I say nothing, having no answers for his questions, though I suspect they were rather rhetorical, answers unexpected of me.

  Dante wipes his face, yet the rain falls harder. “And I come back repeatedly to that night Mother sent me with the message for Theo, telling him he thinks too much, the catalyst to his finally winning her heart quite squarely. However, I must question if my mother erred in her perception of Caitriona’s feelings for each of us, and the choice she would ultimately make. Perhaps it is I who thinks too much, but Hades revealed the greatest trinity is forged in blood and love.”

  “I find the blood understandable, the common seal of all significant bonds, but love, for a trinity of ruling powers?” Grandson of a demigod or not, I lay no claim to understanding the ways of his mother.

  “The North Star rules the Goddess Houses. House of Pendragon is the house of morality. House of Graywyne is the house of knowledge. House of Faerwyng is the house of compassion. Her trinity must be divined of love. The oldest belief among the Elder Fae is quite simple. From the earth below to the stars above, all children that among you be, hold strong your faith, your hope, your love. The Zega divines these truest three. True is faith. True is hope. Truest in the end is love. Love seeds divine knowledge, compassion, and morality. … At this moment, I envy you death, my child. You have an end in sight to the weight of wrongdoings, incorrect decisions, guilt you bear. I know not what to do, no direction, no guidance. I know only that I love Caitriona and cannot bear to exist without her in my heart.”

  Chapter 16

  *Corrin*

  “Clifford’s security sensors picked up something unusual in the woods, Theo” I report through the door, hearing Cait’s hushed whispers. “He says it warrants your attention.”

  After a few moments, Theo steps out of the room, and I flinch at the fearsome expression he wears, warranting an assumption there is no resolution between them.

  “Remain with Cait. I will be just down the hall.”

  Stepping into the room, I remain close to the wall, near the open door, the palpable tension hanging in the air far too heavy for feigning ignorance. Cait’s demeanor, her back to me, eyes set on the window, speak to pain reminiscent of my grandfather, of seeing him in the garden, bared and lost.

  “I am sure he will return soon.”

  She coughs quietly, wiping a hand at her face. “Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t. At least not too soon.”

  I can imagine Dante replying with his standard ‘fair enough’, but I say nothing, caught between worlds of family and responsibility, wants and needs, fanciful hopes and bleak reality.

  The lights dim and flicker in the room, and I expect the demigod to make a sudden appearance, yet everything remains eerily quiet. An old habit of millennia past, I run a hand over the hilt of the Celtic short sword at my side and feel the reassuring stiff steel of the dagger’s blade tucked beneath the back of my shirt, hoping I find no reason for their use, no danger surrounding Cait.

  “Is Cedric still planning to come back from the city tonight with Evan?”

  Making my way across the room to the window, I look out over the backyard, seeing Agtos and Falcon near the tree line, none of the others visible from my vantage point. “Yes. Father should arrive within the coming hour.”

  She laughs softly, the sound seeming distant from her, no smile accompanying it. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate Runa giving his room away to Jen.”

  “That matter concerns him none, Cait.” I hesitate for a moment, touching on subjects neither of us truly wishes to discuss. “He comes to see me, knowing time is our enemy, an enemy even of the immortal.”

  The lights
flicker again, and I glance out the window, spotting elves engaging the dragons near the trees. “Do you still have that knife, Cait?” She nods, reaching into her nightstand for it. “Do not be alarmed, but I do believe we are under attack again. Be prepared.”

  Once more, the flickering lights set me on edge, and with the appearance of coiling black smoke, we are no longer alone in the room. The door slams shut, locking without the touch of a hand before the smoke takes the corporeal shape of Z Von Yalfayr, coal-black hair slicked into his usual warrior’s braid cinched with the same nineteen gold bands.

  I take great satisfaction in seeing his own loyal faction has not considered any of his battles thus far against the dragons worthy of additional golden warrior bands.

  “Z, I do believe this is quite brazen, even for you.” His iridescent eyes flash a blaze of fury, though he otherwise remains seemingly unaffected by my words. “Whatever gifts your brother may have bestowed upon you, do you not think this unwise? Dismiss me if you want, but you cannot discount the eight dragons guarding Cait and my family’s estate.”

  His lip curls into a sneer, baring the elf’s angular, dangerously edged white teeth. “How amusing, Corrin,” he comments, cocking his head to one side, peering around me to Cait. “I see only one fragile excuse for a monarch guarding the girl.”

  “Girl? I am not just some girl, you psychotic maniac,” Cait shrieks, and I must catch her behind me with one arm, unsheathing my sword with the other hand, pushing backward at the sound of a steel blade sliding along a bronze scabbard.

  I meet Cait’s eyes for one moment, speaking volumes of the love I hold for her in a single glance before I make my move, sure the clashing steel as he blocks my attack will bring dragons running from all directions soon. Maintaining the engagement in a series of aggressive attacks and bold parries, I drive Z farther from Cait.

  A hard thrust to his left catches my former Minister of Defense in the ribs, wounding more than his pride as I pull my sword back, blood glazing the blade. “Did you believe I would be such an easy target, Z? I’ve lived far longer than you, and the mere weight of a crown has not made me weak.”

  But he is not an unskilled warrior either and strikes back, a quick counterattack warding off a blow to my shoulder. With a snick barely audible over the noise of our confrontation, my fangs drop, a hiss escaping in anger, continuing an offensive assault, refusing to be on the defensive after what happened to Cait last time, the memory of her lying on the ground, motionless, fueling my rage.

  Theo bursts through the door, releasing a furious roaring growl. “Cait.” His tone warns of impending death and destruction in his path.

  “I’m fine.”

  A momentary distraction in glancing toward Cait is the very opportunity I need, Z’s defenses lax for a fraction of a second, and with Dante’s blood still coursing through my veins, I thank the Goddess for such divine assistance to fell my foe, as I grasp the dagger from its sheath at my back, jabbing it into his neck, just below his ear.

  His eyes rise, meeting mine. He knows his battle ends soon, cursed by the Goddess and time itself, but one last sneer crosses his lips, and steel slips beneath my breastbone, penetrating upward, hitting its mark. The metallic taste of blood taints my tongue, Z’s final harsh laugh ringing in my ears as I push him away, his body falling to the floor, meaningless trash to discard.

  Somewhere, I heard Cait’s voice yet miss her words, stumbling backward, large arms capturing me, resting me on the floor. The pressure is too much, and I pull Z’s dagger out.

  “Corrin,” Theo’s deep voice is near, his arms catching me, and I want to thank him for many things unsaid. “Do not try speaking. You have atoned in your deeds and shall die an innocent in a noble, selfless death.”

  In the warmth of her hand on mine, the dampness of her tears against my fingers, my heart admits I am not selfless. I desire her remembrance. I desire thoughts of me, heartfelt and colored by a hint of love, a love that could have been yet I never deserved. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, words distant despite her nearness, or perhaps it is I who grows distant.

  The room blazes with a flash of blue light. Dante. My grandfather.

  “No. … No. Not yet. What happened?”

  And I know his gentle touch, his hand on my face, have memorized his affection, acceptance, and approval in recent weeks.

  “Z is dead, and Cait is safe. Corrin saw to it.”

  A curt nod, glance toward Cait, and a tear down his cheek are silent responses to Theo’s brief explanation of events.

  “My father?” Try as I might, the question lingers behind blood, strangling spoken sentiments and farewells.

  But he knows.

  “Cedric is on his way.” He shakes his head, lips in a tight grimace, tears filling his eyes. “I will not let you go.” Dante drops lethal fangs, tearing into the flesh of his forearm, and Cait backs away, closer to Theo. “You cannot leave,” he insists, pushing his arm to my mouth, the sweet blood of my demigod grandfather mingling with my own. “Think of your father, of Evan.”

  Choking and struggling, I swallow, not in an effort to survive, for I have no false hope of such an outcome, but in an effort to say good-bye, give closure, and have closure. Even the blood of a god cannot save everyone in this world, and I have made peace with my destiny, the mortality that exists within the immortality we believe is ours as vampires.

  Hurried hushed whispers behind me grow clearer, Dante’s blood salvaging more time than fate wished for me. “It could be another thirty minutes.”

  Thirty minutes could be a year for all it matters. My body has outlived its lifetime.

  Tearing into his arm once more, he forces the freshly opened wound against my mouth. “No. He will live, Theo. My son will not mourn over a rigid corpse. Cedric shall gaze into his child’s eyes, say proper farewells.” Eyes meeting mine, the strength in his tone falters. “I owe you both that much, do I not?”

  I push away his arm, swallowing back blood, choking again, and he assists me in sitting up, though in my weakness, I lean heavily on his shoulder. “This is not your burden.” Telling him such will not change his mind, but I cannot leave him believing I place blame where none resides.

  A flurry of chaos in the hall gives way to Oliver exploding into the room in a fit of snarls and growls, blood staining his disheveled clothes, tears staining his cheeks. “No. Corrin.” His countenance softens as he comes and stands at my feet. “I felt it.” Part of me wants to rejoice our bond never broke, yet his expression chases away such thoughts. “I could not reach you sooner. They attacked from all sides.”

  “You served Cait honorably, Oliver. You are no longer mine.” Turning away from the pain in his eyes, the sight of Cait gaining comfort in Theo’s arms serves as a cutting reminder she never was mine.

  Plumes of thick black smoke fill the air, blinding, disorienting. “Cait,” we each call out, our commitment to and love for her deeper than all else.

  “I’m still with Theo,” she replies, voice low and cautious. “What in Hades’s name is happening?”

  The quiet shuffling from her direction, I do not doubt her dragon moves Cait to a location within the room more defensible to attack. Beside me, Dante tenses at the only other sound in the room, a heavy thud at my feet, and the smoke disappears just as quickly as it came, taking Z’s body with it.

  Oliver rests on his knees, inches from my feet, eyes fallen to his hands … hands holding the Fae-forged steel arrow where it protrudes from his chest, dripping blood, penetrating his heart.

  For one solitary moment, the world freezes, not a sound, not a movement, not a breath then fate releases us, and Oliver falls, Cait screeching his name before he lands.

  Cait crawls across the floor in a mad scramble to reach her beloved dragon, hair fallen in her tear-covered face, wailing Oliver’s name, begging him not to leave her, with nothing I can do for her. Nothing I can do.

  “Save him,” I beg Dante, knowing I ask the impossible, yet he looks at me and
cannot refuse a dying request, leaving my side in futility.

  Lying with my head on the floor, I let the tears fall, the scene of Oliver’s death playing over in my mind, an endless stream of loss as I close my eyes.

  Chapter 17

  *Claaron*

  Under the snow, I know they’re there, the footprints where I danced with Cait the day of our arrival here. She felt safe. She felt secure.

  And she wanted Oliver to waltz with her. He’s the only one of her dragons who waltzes to Cait’s standards. Or, at least, he did.

  We all return from death changed, affected. It leaves its mark, as scars on the physical body and as a marring unique to the eternal soul of the dragon. Brushing my fingers over the scar under my eye, these are truths I can attest to from experience … stupidity if you had asked Oliver.

  Perhaps he better understands now.

  I lean my head back, breathing in the frigid air, and stare at the clouds. If one were to believe in angels, I’d say there’s a cloud resembling angel wings.

  Perhaps Oliver will see. … Sometimes we have loved and acted out of that love, to our own foolish detriment at times, but no one said dragons were perfect … except maybe Oliver.

  Angels may not exist, but deities and dragons do, and we are not perfect.

  “Feeling reminiscent?”

  As level as his tone remains, his unwelcome voice still bristles the hair on my neck. “Feeling the loss of a brother, Falcon.” I refuse to face him, refuse to respect his presence with such acknowledgment. “Do you not mourn Oliver’s death at all? The First Brother of our First House, surely even you can feel something for such a death.”

  He huffs indignantly, and I consider knocking him on his ass. “We are deathless.”

  “We are eternal, Falcon. Deathless? We meet it, embrace it, then bid it farewell until we meet it again.” The biting cold of a late November afternoon cocoons me in warmth unlike the hold of death’s fingers, even in its impermanence. “Dragons know death too well. We have the familiarity of old friends.”