Dragon's Mate: A DragonFate Novel (The DragonFate Novels Book 4)

by Deborah Cooke

  Neither of them knew that the stranger also visited the witch and the brigand. He looked upon them while they slept in her hut, then poured out the tonic the witch drank each day to ensure that she didn’t conceive. The stranger put plain water in the bottle instead and replaced it, as if it had never been disturbed.

  The stranger came three times, at regular intervals, though Trymman and his mother never spoke of him in his absence. On his third visit, he gave the queen the ring that was on his finger, a silver ring graced with that large gleaming stone. The swan prince’s ring was too large for his lady’s hand, but she wore it on a chain around her neck and often closed her fist around it as she slept. By midwinter, the queen’s belly rounded and she wept with joy when she told her youngest son that he was going to have another sibling. She bade him keep it secret from the brigand king, for he had not visited her bed in years and he would know it was not his child.

  The brigand king’s attention was occupied, though. He shouted with pleasure when he told his men that he had bested the witch’s dare and gotten a child upon her—the stores of ale were deeply diminished that night in the hall as the men celebrated with the brigand king. The witch, however, was less pleased. Not only did she fear that the brigand’s attention would stray from her and she would lose influence, but she knew she would have to pay a debt she had never anticipated would come due. The tonic she drank to keep from conceiving had been created by a great Fae sorceress, Maeve. The price for the tonic was that the witch would have to surrender any child she conceived to Maeve. She had thought this wager a jest, since the tonic would ensure that she didn’t bear a child, but now she fretted about the fate of the babe in her womb. She knew enough of Maeve to doubt that the Fae sorceress had any kind plan for the child. She had given her word, though, and she knew that Maeve would collect. Her fears affected her pregnancy, for her stomach twisted and turned, she slept little and she ate poorly.

  On midsummer’s day, wife and whore labored in unison, though none outside the queen’s chamber knew of her condition. The queen delivered of the daughter she had always desired, a girl of radiant beauty with a rare light in her eyes. Her hair was as fair as the moonlight, her eyes were as blue as a robin’s egg, and she was both delicate and lovely. Her mother and the youngest brother looked upon her with awe.

  “How shall we hide her?” Trymman whispered and his mother had no answer.

  “Her name is Rania,” she said instead. She took the chain with the ring and placed it around the child’s tiny neck, for it was her legacy from her father.”

  “Rania,” Hadrian said, looking at the ring again. “My mate’s name is Rania.”

  He really had met her mother.

  And this ring had belonged to her father. Why hadn’t she known him, or her mother? Could the answer be in this book? He indicated that Alasdair should continue.

  “The witch, too, delivered of a daughter, much to the displeasure of the brigand king. The child was dark, her features twisted in a scowl, and he feared the future when he looked upon his spawn. It could be no good portent that such a disfigured child was of his seed, but he had ensured that the witch laid with no other man. It was in his moment of doubt that he heard a second babe cry.

  The sound came, against all reason, from his wife’s chamber.

  The brigand king strode to the queen’s room and unlocked the door, fury upon his brow. He found the queen with a new babe at her breast and ripped the child from her, casting it aside as he bent his anger upon her. Trymman, forgotten for the moment by his father, caught his infant sister and hid in the shadows, holding her close and keeping her quiet. The brigand king shouted, calling his wife a whore and a slattern, and vowed he would ensure her chastity forevermore.

  He drew his dagger and he killed her in her own bed, before the horrified gaze of their youngest son.

  Trymman fled his father’s rage, knowing that his sister might share their mother’s fate. He took advantage of the open door and the brigand king’s inattention. He used the forgotten stairs that the stranger had shown him and slipped through the palace unseen. He heard his brothers mustering and feared of their intentions. They ran up the main stairs to their mother’s chamber, boots pounding on the stone, the sound of their rage filling the castle. Little did Trymman know that they, too, had come to hate their father: four of them were of age but their father surrendered nothing to them. He kept all in thrall and that created bitterness in the hearts of those who should have loved him best.

  Trymman fled into the village, holding his sister close, uncertain where he might find help. From the celebration in the streets and the tavern, he learned that his father had a new daughter by the witch. He followed the revelers to the witch’s hut, in time to see her hurry into the street.

  There was a hue and cry from the castle above, then the voice of Trymman’s oldest brother, Edred, rang out. “The brigand, our father and king, is dead for his crime of murdering our mother! I declare myself king in his stead!”

  “Long live King Edred!” cried the other ten brothers in triumph and Trymman saw the flash of their swords at the high window.

  “He will not prosper from this deed,” the witch muttered. “No son kills his own father and lives to celebrate as much.” She raced toward the castle, her own child abandoned in her dismay. She raised her hands, summoning a curse as she hastened to the queen’s chambers.

  Trymman wanted only to save his sister. On impulse, he exchanged her with the wizened and dark infant sleeping in the witch’s hut. He wrapped the witch’s daughter in the robe from the queen’s chamber, tucking it over her face, and left his sister in the rough furs of the cradle in the witch’s hut, her father’s ring on that fine chain around her neck. He saw the light in the stone die and feared the portent of that.

  When the witch saw her lover dead in the queen’s chamber and knew her influence was gone forever, she invoked a curse of ferocious power. She bestowed it on the eleven brothers, for they were responsible for her loss, and they were powerless to escape her wrath.

  Far below, Trymman heard the trumpeting of one swan and then that of another. He watched in wonder as eleven swans flew out of the window of the highest tower of the castle, soaring high in the sky. They called as they flew and he understood that they were his brothers, enchanted forever. The witch had cursed them to become swans, to live as wild birds instead of the sons of kings, as the price of their offense against their father.

  The sight was Trymman’s undoing, for as he stared in disbelief, the witch returned home and spied him. She guessed his identity and his burden, mostly from the once-rich robe wrapped around the baby, and snatched the infant from him. She cursed this twelfth son as well, and Trymman could only watch in horror as he also was transformed into a swan. He watched in despair as his arms grew into wings, as his stature shrank, as feathers appeared all over his body. He opened his mouth to shout in protest, but only a houp-houp call came from his beak. He soared into the sky, trumpeting in frustration, trying to catch up with his brothers.

  The witch then killed the infant in her fury, shattering the child’s skull on the ground with brutal force. It was too late when the witch looked into the robe and realized she had killed her own daughter.

  She guessed then what the boy might have done and ran toward her own hut, intending to kill the queen’s child, too.

  But the cradle was empty and the babe had vanished. Maeve had come to collect her due of the witch. Left with nothing but the malice in her heart, the witch tried to cast a spell against Maeve. That was when she discovered that all the magick she had ever possessed was gone, as well, seized by Maeve along with her child.”

  “Taken as a tithe by Maeve,” Balthasar mused. “That explains a lot.”

  “It does,” Hadrian agreed. He would have said more but he felt the glow of the firestorm.

  Rania was back!

  Lynsay thought about her conversation with the dark stranger as she drove back to town and the pub. The hour was l
ate and it was really dark on the lane that led to Hadrian’s studio. Maybe she was better off without seeing Hadrian. She’d recognized his truck and that of his cousin at the house. He’d been gone more than a month and hadn’t even sent her a text on his return. His studio had burned down, but he hadn’t contacted her for consolation or help from her.

  The break was obviously permanent to him. What if she did let it go and move on? What if there was a better relationship ahead for her, and that pining after Hadrian was an obstacle to her own happiness?

  The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the right choice.

  Something white suddenly flashed ahead of the car and Lynsay swerved hard to one side. She swore as the car spun and she felt her rear tire slide into the muck at the side of the road. She knew without getting out to look that she’d be walking the rest of the way home. No one would come out to give her a tow at this hour.

  The car was sideways on the lane, the headlights shining into the woods on the other side of the road. To her astonishment, there was a swan there. The bird blinked in the light but didn’t fly away. Was it dazzled by the light?

  Lynsay got out of the car as slowly and as quietly as she could. The swan held its ground. It was also watching her, and if a bird could have had an expression, this one’s would have been wary.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she said quietly, lifting her hands. Was it wild? It had to be, since there were no more tame ones up at the big house anymore. It hopped a little, heading toward the woods and flapped its wing. Was it hurt?

  Lynsay moved closer, taking her time, and the bird just watched her. It was much bigger than she’d realized swans were, and when she crouched beside it, they were almost eye to eye. Funny how it seemed to understand her intention, like it was a person and not a wild creature. She reached out slowly and lifted the wing that had flapped. She felt the swan quiver, but it didn’t pull away.

  She caught her breath when she saw the gash in its side and the red smear of blood on its white feathers.

  “Who would do such a thing?” she whispered in horror. She took off her scarf and tried to staunch the bleeding, amazed that the swan let her touch it. It must be dazed from the injury. The wound seemed to be scabbing up, so it must have been hurt for a while. There was blood on the ground: she could see the dark stain of it but had no idea how to guess the quantity.

  She bit her lip and looked around, well aware that she had no transportation now. How could she help?

  The big house. Lynsay recalled that Abigail, the housekeeper, had tended the swans while there had been any living on the pond. She would have a better chance of knowing what to do than Lynsay did.

  The fork in the road just ahead led to the big house. It couldn’t take her twenty minutes to walk there, even carrying a swan. Abigail had often complained to her that she didn’t sleep until the wee hours of the morning, so Lynsay wouldn’t be disturbing her. And Lynsay had walked these woods all her life: she felt perfectly safe doing it alone at night.

  Her mind made up, Lynsay turned off the car and locked it, then returned to the swan. It seemed to be waiting for her.

  “I can take you up to the big house,” she explained, knowing it was silly to expect it to understand. Maybe the sound of her voice would be soothing. “There used to be swans living on the pond there so Abigail will know how to help you.”

  The swan ruffled its feathers, apparently waiting.

  Lynsay crouched down in front of it and lifted it into her arms. For all its size, it wasn’t that heavy, and its feathers were wonderfully soft. The swan laid its wings on her arms, such a gesture of trust that Lynsay was amazed. When she stood up, it twined its neck around hers. Lynsay felt the warm soft feathers where her scarf had been and saw the swan lay its beak on her chest, right over her heart. It sighed then, as if it felt safe. She smiled as she started to walk, carrying her burden with care.

  The swan was right to trust her. She would take care of it as best she could.

  Hadrian felt the firestorm and in the instant before Rania appeared, his heart thundered with anticipation. He’d returned her bichuwa to her so she could defend herself, knowing the risk, but instead of taking the opportunity to pay her debt to Maeve, she’d saved him. She’d taken back the kiss of death and it had to be because she knew the firestorm was right. She was his destined mate, his partner and his complement.

  They were going to be an amazing team.

  She manifested on the other side of his kitchen counter, the firestorm lit to brighter radiance, and he grinned. “Rania,” he whispered, savoring the sight of her, and her eyes widened.

  “How do you know my name?” she asked with suspicion.

  Balthasar shook his head and went to get a beer. “I’ll never get used to that,” he muttered and Alasdair chuckled.

  Hadrian didn’t worry about his fellow Pyr. He concentrated on Rania. “Your mother told me, in the realm of the dead.” He frowned as he wondered at his own words. “How did I get from there to here? Did you do it?”

  “I took back the kiss of death. I hadn’t even known it was possible, but I guessed and it worked.”

  “It sounded plausible,” Balthasar said but Rania and Hadrian ignored him. “Any gift can be retrieved, and it makes sense that a curse could be undone by the creator...”

  “Shut up,” Alasdair muttered. “Let’s go outside.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  Alasdair gave Balthasar a hard look. “Yes. I need some fresh air.” He jerked his head toward Hadrian and Rania and Balthasar sighed. He put back his unopened beer and the two Pyr left.

  Hadrian thought it was about time.

  Rania moved to stand beside him and he felt taut with need. Her eyes were shining and she smiled slightly as she reached up to run her fingertips over his cheek. Her touch made him simmer and shiver at the same time. “The mark is gone now.”

  “Why did you do it?” he asked. “My death should have fulfilled your bargain.”

  She frowned, her gaze clinging to his. “But it was wrong,” she said with quiet heat. “You were in the realm of the dead because Maeve killed you. She wanted to cheat me and keep me in her service. You were right: I think that was her plan all along.”

  “So you brought me back to do the dirty work yourself?” Hadrian didn’t really think that but he had to ask.

  Rania, to his relief, shook her head. “I like you being alive.”

  “That’s all?”

  She opened her mouth and closed it again. “I like how you all work together, how you support each other. I’ve always been alone.” Her hand stayed on his shoulder, the white sparks of the firestorm dancing between them. She moved her hand, playing with them, driving Hadrian crazy. “Alasdair offered to sacrifice himself instead,” she said, then raised her gaze to his. He saw her awe. “I can’t even imagine anyone doing that for me.”

  “I would,” he said immediately.

  “Because I’m your mate?”

  He nodded, watching the full import of that dawn upon her. She’d never had anyone love her, but he was going to teach her that she shouldn’t expect anything less. She was already learning rapidly.

  He had to tease her then. “So, you came back to take Alasdair instead of me?”

  “No!” Her frown deepened. “I don’t want to kill anybody, not for any reason, not anymore.”

  “You’ve changed.”

  “Yes. I don’t know how and I don’t know why...”

  “I do. It was the firestorm. It cauterizes and it heals. It creates possibilities and offers a promise.”

  She considered this, her gaze still fixed on the sparks beneath her fingers. “The other thing is that it was my fault that she came after you.” She looked up. “I told her about the gloves, before I knew I shouldn’t trust her.”

  “She appeared in my studio with one of her warriors and Kade, too.” Hadrian frowned, half-remembering something important. It was elusive, though, and he couldn’t quite grasp the m
emory. “They destroyed the blades, too, and set the studio on fire. I was powerless, frozen, and could only watch. It was awful.”

  “I can imagine.” She shivered in sympathy, as much a fan of controlling her fate as he was.

  “Kade helped her instead of me,” Hadrian said with bitterness.

  “I thought he was Pyr.”

  “I think he’s loyal to her now. Who knows what his price was? I don’t think I want to.”

  Rania nodded and swallowed. “You said my mother told you my name.” Hadrian nodded. “What was she like?”

  He smiled down at her, dropping one hand to her waist and pulling her closer. The firestorm raged between them, and he caught his breath as his heart matched its pace to hers. “Like you. Feminine but strong. Her hair was more silver, but she had blue eyes like you. She was concerned for you.”

  “Why?”

  “She wants you to be happy.” He lifted his hand so the ring glinted in the light. “She said this was your father’s.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. She misses him.” He nodded. “I think they were very much in love. They’re mentioned in the book. He gave her the ring when she got pregnant with a daughter, his daughter.”

  “But they’re not together,” she mused, her fingertip sliding around the stone set in the ring. “I wonder why.” She was obviously thinking for a long moment and Hadrian was content to watch her and savor the firestorm. Then she glanced up. “What book?”

  “The book Sara sent.” He retrieved it and handed it to her. “We were reading it. We got up to here.”

  “It’s hardly the time to lose myself in a book,” she said, chiding him.

  “I think you’ll find it interesting. Go on. Read it.”

  Her skepticism was clear, but she did as he suggested and sat down at the counter. He watched her, recognizing the moment that she realized she was reading her own family history. Her attention became sharper as she turned the pages and he moved to stand beside her. He inhaled at the sizzle of the firestorm, knowing he was going to miss it.