“You okay, there?” Balthasar asked, indicating Hadrian’s injured cheek.
“Just a scratch.” He tugged off a glove and wiped the blood away, letting Balthasar peer at it.
“But from a Fae dagger. I’ll put some of Sloane’s salve on it.” He strode away with purpose, then rummaged in a knapsack at the end of the kitchen counter.
“Sloane is the Apothecary of the Pyr,” Hadrian told Rania. “Balthasar has apprenticed with him.”
“I know maybe five per cent of what he knows,” that Pyr said. “But his big secrets will only be surrendered to his son, Tynan, when he trains to become the next Apothecary of our kind.”
It made sense to Rania that the healer’s skills were passed along the family line so she just nodded.
It was interesting that the other Pyr were both handsome men who looked like they worked out a lot, and obviously, both were Pyr. Rania didn’t find either of them as attractive as Hadrian, though.
Was that because of this persistent firestorm? It shone white, illuminating the lair as brightly as a beam of sunlight. Finally, she realized why one of the Pyr’s names was familiar.
“Alasdair,” she repeated, glancing at Hadrian. “Wasn’t he one of the Pyr who entered Fae with you?”
Hadrian nodded and his tone turned teasing. “He’s quite the dancer, my cousin.”
“Very funny,” Alasdair said, his tone more grim.
So, they’d both been cursed by Maeve. Well, if they’d entered the realm without permission, that was the price.
Rania looked at the Fae dagger again. The last of the pool of silver left by the Fae warrior was disappearing. The liquid clung to the inscriptions on the blade and the indentations in the hilt, then suddenly vanished completely. The blade’s glow flickered, then started to dim. Was its fire cold or hot? What fueled it?
“I wonder about that light around the blade,” she said. She remembered the intruder in her home and realized that once she started wondering, it was hard to stop.
“Me, too,” Hadrian admitted. “And the blade itself. How does it generate the light? Is that why it can slice portals between realms, or is there more to that?”
“The light must be from a spell,” Rania suggested. “Maybe magick, maybe conjured by the inscriptions.”
“Maybe. Maybe it’s something else. Magnesium burns white, for example.” Hadrian bent and picked up the blade with care. “Cold,” he said with satisfaction and tightened his grip on the hilt. The glow continued to dim steadily, like the blade was dying, too. The star sapphire in the pommel emitted a faint glow, as if a distant star was captured within it, but even that seemed to be fading.
“So, they light their blades?” Alasdair asked.
“With matches?” Balthasar said, his tone joking. “Like tiki torches?”
“Maybe. I’ll have to analyze the composition of the blade. The weapon can’t be steel, because the Fae can’t touch steel.”
“What if it’s something else that makes the blade glow?” Rania asked, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re thinking like a blacksmith, not like the Fae.”
He grinned crookedly. “Guilty as charged. Call it a habit. What’s your idea?”
Rania shrugged. “That it could be more like fireflies. There are so many of them in Fae, and often the Fae congregate in hollows where fireflies are found. How do they glow?”
“Bioluminescence,” Alasdair supplied. “A chemical reaction. It’s kind of the same: things glow when they burn oxygen. Magnesium burns white, as Hadrian said. Fireflies combine oxygen with calcium, adenosine triphosphate and luciferin in the presence of the enzyme luciferase.”
“Whoa. How do you know that?” Balthasar asked.
“I looked it up once. I was curious one night. And it’s a cold light, one that doesn’t use a lot of energy or produce much heat.” Alasdair smiled. “Not unlike the light of an ice dragon’s firestorm.”
“And just as effective when it comes to mating signals,” Balthasar said, nudging Alasdair. The two were looking at the light of the firestorm, while Hadrian and Rania considered the Fae sword.
An ice dragon’s firestorm. Hadrian had referred to being an ice dragon before, and so did that prophecy. What exactly did it mean?
“If that’s so, why is the light fading?” Rania asked. “There’s a lot of oxygen here.”
Hadrian shrugged. “Maybe because there are no Fae. Maybe it’s sensitive to their presence.”
“Maybe they make it glow,” Rania suggested. She leaned closer, noticing that something white was appearing on the edges of the blade. “What’s that?”
“Hoarfrost,” Hadrian replied, astonishment in his tone. Sure enough, fine crystals of ice were growing from the sharp edges of the sword and slowly covering it.
Rania was intrigued. “Is it freezing?” she asked and Hadrian shrugged, obviously as mystified as she was. “It’s not cold in here, though.”
“No, it’s not.” Hadrian frowned. “This sword is like you.” He flicked a glance her way. “It gives me questions for my questions.”
That didn’t seem to trouble him and Rania found herself blushing a little.
“While you just give me trouble,” she countered and he laughed.
He sobered as he peered at the blade again. “It’s getting dimmer.”
“It’s almost like the light is changing to ice,” she said, frowning.
“Then maybe we should act fast.”
“Excuse me?”
“Maybe we should use the blade sooner rather than later.”
Rania eyed Hadrian with suspicion. “How?”
“These blades open portals between the realms. What if we invite ourselves to Fae? We might have the element of surprise on our side.”
Rania shook her head. “No shortage of verve,” she murmured. Hadrian had a talent for challenging expectations, but this idea troubled her deeply.
“Count me out,” Alasdair said and took a step back.
“You really don’t learn, do you?” Rania asked. “You’ll be invading the realm again. You’ll be cursed again as a result.”
“Ah, but you’re going to kill me anyway,” Hadrian said lightly. “I don’t have much to lose. Maybe I should make these last moments count.”
“I’d like to get on with completing my assignment if you’re done stalling.”
“I’m not. I might never be. After all, I still haven’t convinced you about the merit of the firestorm.”
Rania lifted the bichuwa and took a step closer, just as the glow surrounding the Fae blade winked out. All four of them stared.
“How did you do that?” Balthasar asked.
“I didn’t. At least I don’t think I did. Did you do it?”
Rania shook her head.
“So, it extinguished for some reason,” Hadrian mused. “Too bad. It probably won’t slice open portals anymore.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Alasdair said and Rania was inclined to agree.
“Maybe that’s why,” Balthasar suggested. “Maybe it guessed your plan and made sure you couldn’t do it.”
Hadrian and Rania looked at each other.
“Eithne said the Regalian magick was sentient. If that’s what makes these blades light, it could have decided,” Alasdair noted.
“Whoa,” Hadrian said, picking up the blade with care. It was completely frosted over and was becoming transparent. “I’d love to take this into the studio and examine it more closely.”
“You aren’t going to make more of them,” Balthasar protested.
“No. I want to know how to destroy them.” Hadrian glanced at the bichuwa, then he met Rania’s gaze. “What do you say? One last wish?”
“Another one?”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He leaned closer to her, dropping his voice low. His eyes were sparkling and that smile got to Rania right where she lived. Never mind the steady glow of the firestorm and the effect it had on her thoughts. “How long have you been hunting on Maeve
’s behalf?” he challenged.
“A thousand years, give or take.”
“Then what’s another couple of hours?” Hadrian asked. “Let me check out the sword and see what I can learn from it.”
“One track mind,” Alasdair said, nodding at his cousin with obvious affection.
“I thought that track would be the firestorm,” Balthasar murmured.
“Who says it isn’t?” Alasdair replied.
“I shouldn’t,” Rania said, ignoring the two Pyr.
Hadrian wagged a finger at her, his eyes dancing. “But you’re tempted. How long since you’ve surrendered to temptation?”
It was easy to remember the interlude in his bedroom and Rania felt herself blush a little. She wasn’t used to blushing and the unwelcome heat in her cheeks made her feel flustered.
Hadrian turned toward his studio, the Fae blade in his grip. “It won’t take long. I’ll stay nice and still when it’s time for you to kill me, so you can do it neatly. I promise.”
“Fifteen minutes!” she said, trying to sound tough.
“Twenty!” he replied.
“You...”
Hadrian caught her up and spun her around, giving her an enthusiastic kiss that almost made her consider helping him leave another legacy.
“Go before you change my mind,” she said, trying to sound stern, but he laughed.
“You know where to find me.” He put her down, kissed her in the middle of the brilliant radiance of the firestorm’s light, then strode toward his studio with purpose.
He was even whistling.
Cocky dragon.
Sexy dragon.
Rania watched him go, unable to drag her gaze away, then realized the other two Pyr were watching her.
Alasdair cleared his throat. “I know you have an obligation to fulfill to the Dark Queen,” he said, his voice husky and his Scottish burr more pronounced than it had been. “I know you want to keep your word and that you want to see your brothers freed. I’m not going to argue with any of that.”
“But you’d like me to spare Hadrian,” Rania guessed, bracing herself against his inevitable appeal.
Alasdair shook his head. “There’s another way for everyone to get what they want. You can have it all. You don’t have to choose.”
“The choice is made...” Rania began.
“Change it.” Alasdair said. “Take me as your Pyr victim instead. Give me the kiss of death, spare Hadrian, and set your brothers free. Then you can satisfy the firestorm and stay together.”
Rania was shocked and touched that Alasdair would make such an offer. She stared at him, unable to summon a word to her lips.
Because it was a lot more tempting a proposition than it should have been.
Too bad it was impossible.
Hadrian was glad that his mate had trusted him to examine the Fae blade before fulfilling her quest. He saw each incremental victory as a sign that her determination was weakening, and that she was appreciating the merit of the firestorm, too.
The sword had been tipped with hoarfrost when he’d brought it into the studio and gradually, it seemed to be turning to ice itself. He couldn’t figure it out, but each time he touched it, the process seemed to accelerate.
Would it melt? Would it vanish completely, like the Fae warriors had?
Was it self-destructing because it was no longer in Fae, or because it was no longer in the possession of a Fae warrior?
He wished it hadn’t changed. It would have been sweet to turn the tables on Maeve and surprise her in her own realm. The strategy might change everything. It might also have been a suicide mission, but Hadrian didn’t give a lot of weight to that. He’d be dead soon, anyway, unless he could find a way for his mate to fulfill her quest and leave him alive.
The sword had given hope of that possibility, too, at least briefly.
What if he could satisfy the firestorm and leave a son to follow after him?
What if he could give his son an even bigger legacy, like a world without the Dark Queen hunting all shifters to oblivion?
He heard Alasdair gearing up to tell a story in the main room and smiled. He was going to get more than his twenty minutes, and he’d make it count.
He fired up the forge, wanting at least two pair of gloves done ASAP.
Seven
Rania was amazed that Alasdair would offer to sacrifice himself in exchange for his cousin. It was one thing to try to help family and friends, but dying for them was beyond her experience or expectation. She couldn’t believe he’d volunteered for the kiss of death. “I can’t do that,” she began to protest.
But Alasdair wasn’t dissuaded. “You just don’t understand how important the firestorm is.”
“It’s about sex. And babies.”
“No,” Alasdair said with a shake of his head. “It’s about partnership and destiny, about honor and becoming the best you can be. It’s a dream and an objective, and it’s not something to easily cast aside.”
“All the Pyr work together to ensure that a firestorm is a success,” Balthasar insisted.
“To ensure the survival of your kind,” Rania said. “I understand that, but you have to see that there’s no point. Others are going to be eliminated.”
“But what if we aren’t?’ Balthasar asked. “What if the Dark Queen loses?”
Rania had never considered that to be a possibility. What if it was? “She has all the magick...” she began.
“But we have the firestorm,” Alasdair said, interrupting her. “Let me tell you a story,” he offered. “Let me tell you about the commitment of the firestorm, then maybe you’ll understand why Hadrian should survive to enjoy his.”
“Maybe you’ll understand why the Pyr should survive,” Balthasar added.
Rania understood what Hadrian had meant when he’d said that Alasdair was a good storyteller. She was already tempted to listen to him. She was curious again, even though she recognized that as dangerous. Would it hurt to learn more about the Pyr and their firestorm? She might end up the only person who knew or remembered.
She’d already given Hadrian permission to examine the Fae sword. A story would fill the time. He’d told her that she didn’t listen to enough of them.
And he’d told her to seize any chance to hear Alasdair tell a story, too.
Maybe she’d been missing something.
Rania nodded agreement and Alasdair grinned.
“But I can’t give you the kiss of death,” she said, wanting to ensure he understood.
“I’ve no doubt you could still kill me.” When she would have argued, he raised a hand and began to shimmer blue around his perimeter. He looked more vital and his eyes brightened, reflecting the light that indicated he was on the cusp of change.
“Is it a long story? Should I bring snacks?” Balthasar asked with enthusiasm.
“Why not?” Alasdair said as he moved into the middle of the great room.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Rania protested.
“Just about the right time to go to a movie in New York,” Alasdair replied. “I’m still on Eastern time.”
“This is a fog dragon thing,” Balthasar assured Rania. “It rocks.”
Then Alasdair shifted shape, becoming a dragon of hematite and silver. He wrapped his length around the perimeter of the main living space of Hadrian’s lair, his tail tucking beneath his chin. His eyes glittered like mica as he narrowed them and breathed a cloud of fog. It hovered in the air in the middle of the room, becoming steadily whiter and larger as he continued to exhale.
Balthasar lowered the blinds on the big windows facing the river, as if they were going to watch a movie, then gestured for her to take a seat on the big leather sofa. Rania did, uncertain what would happen. It was meditative to watch Alasdair breathe his cloud of fog, but not exactly fascinating.
She certainly didn’t understand why Balthasar made a big bowl of popcorn before joining her on the couch to watch. His anticipation was palpable and inexplicabl
e.
‘A fog dragon thing.’ What did that mean?
She heard Hadrian hammering in the studio and found the steady rhythm of the sound reassuring. Of course, he was working on the gloves. With his keen hearing, he probably knew what Alasdair was doing and was making the most of every moment. She did admire that.
Maybe he’d even be able to hear the story.
A bit too late, she wished Hadrian hadn’t taken the Fae sword with him. She wanted to see how it changed, too. She started to get up, but Balthasar put a hand on her arm. He pointed at the cloud, which had to be twenty feet across.
“Watch,” he advised in an undertone.
Alasdair began to chant something, although Rania couldn’t distinguish or understand the words. The rhythm of his voice was as soothing as a slow-running stream. She found herself relaxing despite her concerns and wondered whether this was a kind of beguiling. She leaned forward to see whether there were flames in Alasdair’s eyes or not. There weren’t, but to her amazement, images began to form in the cloud of steam.
That made her sit up and pay attention. It was like a movie.
“I remember Hadrian’s father Notus well,” Alasdair said softly. A dragon profile formed in the mist, then shifted into focus. Rania clearly saw a dragon of amber and gold turn a glittering gaze upon her. She knew it was an illusion of some kind, but the dragon looked solid and real. He had long red feathers and his eyes were a thousand shades of orange and red, as if his very being was aflame. He was stunningly beautiful and exactly how she’d always imagined dragons would look. There was something in his expression that reminded her of Hadrian, a certain audacity and confidence, a trait that maybe ran in families.
Alasdair continued. “He and my father, Boreus, were cousins and they were close in their youth. They mastered their Pyr skills together and fought together. They celebrated together and they challenged each other. It was said that they were often seen together, flying over the Highlands.”
The dragon in the vision became smaller, as if a camera drew back to create a panoramic view. Rania saw the hills of Scotland, touched with the purple of heather, their rugged peaks wreathed in clouds. Above them flew a pair of dragons, sparring with each other playfully, spinning and diving, then locking claws to feign battle. One was the amber and gold one that had surveyed her, with magnificent feathers streaming from his tail and wingtips, while the other was amethyst and silver, a hundred shades of purple touched with starlight. His feathers were long and grey. Rania had never seen Pyr with such feathers before this and thought they were beautiful. They were as wild as the countryside beneath them and the sight of them in flight made her smile.
Dragon's Mate: A DragonFate Novel (The DragonFate Novels Book 4) Page 15
