by Ann Gimpel
“Guess it picked the right person as its savior.” Konstantin grinned and shook his head. “Come on,” he told Johan. “We’re going to need to get more fish. No one would ever take pity on them. Besides, we’d just be in the way in the kitchen.” Power shimmered around him and Johan before her twin’s teleport spell snapped them up.
The goat had shifted from bleating to baaing. It edged to a thick patch of marsh grass and bent its head to graze. Erin grabbed the sacks Johan had left. “I’ll move these inside.” She glanced at the goat. “It’s a relief he’s okay. My dragon is laughing her head off, but I didn’t really want the goat’s death on my conscience.”
Katya picked up the rest of the fresh produce and walked back toward the house with Erin. “Congratulations, Sister! Welcome to our family. I’m happy for you.”
Erin’s eyes sparkled with merriment. “I’m surprisingly happy myself. I’ve avoided commitments forever, but Kon and I feel right together.”
Katya passed through the open door and started down the stairs. “It’s because you are right together. My brother has needed someone like you for years.”
“What exactly did you mean by that?” Erin asked.
Katya picked her words carefully. There’d been a prickly note in Erin’s question. “You’re not like us. Not yet. You’ll become more dragon shifterish given time, but your human qualities are what drew him. You’re bright and incisive and compassionate. You think for yourself and aren’t afraid to disagree with him.”
She set the vegetables down on the long ledge spanning the length of the kitchen and looked at stacks of fish, some small and some weighing as much as two stone.
“Thank you,” Erin said. “You’re being kind. I can be bitchy as fuck.”
“We all can. Dragon shifters aren’t known for their kindheartedness and gentle ways. Did you have any ideas for the fish?”
Erin snorted. “You’re kidding, right? I was wondering if I needed to skin and bone them before or after I cooked them. Johan is better at this than me. He at least cooked for himself. I tried to eat at the hospital so I wouldn’t have to bother with food at home.”
“Let’s make a kind of casserole,” Katya suggested. “We can add to it as we go.”
Katya had a credible mixture simmering. Threads of dragonfire wrapped around two large urns created a perfect temperature. If the goat had been female, she’d have used a spot of magic to encourage milk to flow. Milk would have gone well in her fish stew. The men had returned, and all of them sat around the kitchen table drinking a mildly alcoholic beverage she and her twin took turns distilling.
A wave of magic so potent it stole her breath rolled through the room. Followed by several more.
“What the hell?” Erin sputtered. “It’s not serpents. I recognize them.”
“Well, well. It would appear Y Ddraigh Goch’s call to parley was successful,” Konstantin said. “Enough time had passed, I figured the other gods were ignoring him. We’ve never been particularly well placed in the magical pecking order.”
“Not where the Celts are concerned,” Katya muttered. “They never had much use for us once we made it clear we weren’t magical steeds for them to summon at will.”
“Shall we join them?” Johan raised a well-formed dark brow.
“We should wait until the dragon god requests our presence,” Kon replied.
“But that makes us look like scullery staff,” Erin protested. “Good enough to cook for them, but not good enough to include in a discussion about a future that impacts us all.”
“I would clap, but it would probably not be appreciated,” Johan mumbled.
Katya got to her feet slowly. She was still considering what she wanted to do, but this might be her one chance to lay eyes on anyone from the Celtic pantheon. It was too enticing a prospect to walk away from. “I’m going downstairs,” she said. “Y Ddraigh Goch can chase me out of there if he doesn’t want me to remain.”
“Bad idea, Sister,” Konstantin said.
She tipped her chin in his direction. “I know you believe that, but I happen to hold a different opinion.” She wound a length of cloth around one of the urn’s bails and hefted it. “Probably cooked enough. For all I know, the Celts prefer their repast raw. I’ll be the delivery dragon.”
Erin stood and grabbed the other urn. “I want to come too. Oomph. Heavier than it looks.”
Smoke-tinged ash flew from Konstantin’s mouth as he stood. “We will all go.”
“I can carry that,” Johan told Katya.
She shook her head. “No. Women do this type of work. It would make you appear weak.”
“That is stupid, circular reasoning,” he said and snatched the pot from her.
Before Katya had a chance to argue back, Erin cleared her throat. “Will we need silverware? Napkins? Bowls?”
“All of the above,” Konstantin said. “Katya will bring them.” He leveled a pointed look her way. She rustled through a cupboard, coming up with the requisite items.
“Let our mate take care of us,” Katya’s beast said quietly, employing their private mind speech. “It speaks well for him and bodes well for us.”
“But I only wished him to make a good impression on the gods,” Katya replied in kind.
“I understand. If they pay any attention at all to us, they will view him favorably. He was an excellent choice for us, although I admit to doubts when he had so much trouble shifting.”
“Doubts? I was scared out of my mind he’d die.”
“Yes, that too, except he did not. And now he is ours.”
Konstantin led the way downstairs. As their prince, it was fitting for him to take the front position. Katya was holding her breath. She let it out in a whoosh that filled the stairwell with smoke.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
They came out into the great room. Several people stood in proximity to Y Ddraigh Goch. The dragon god turned their way and actually smiled. Katya had rarely seen him do anything but look stern and foreboding.
“Here are some of my dragons,” he boomed. “They have made a lovely repast for us. Go on, children, put everything down over there.” He gestured toward a spot at the far end of the room.
Katya bristled at being referred to as a child, but it was common for their god to label them thusly. At least he hadn’t ordered them out of the room. Not yet, anyway. Once Erin and Johan had set the urns down and she’d placed the napkins, bowls, and forks nearby, she waited.
And took in the men and women—gods and goddesses—trying to determine who was here. A burly man with a tumble of very blond hair and eyes the shade of a summer sky was garbed in a white robe with runic embroidery in red and blue. Leather bags hung from a black sash belted low across his hips. He gripped a fascinating staff that glowed with an inner light. Her bet was this was Gwydion, warrior magician and master enchanter. A short reddish beard followed the line of his jaw.
Next to him stood a man as dark as he was fair. Straight black hair fell to waist level. Intense dark eyes peered out of a sharp-boned, smooth-shaven face. This man wore black robes sashed in white. He was probably Arawn, god of the dead.
Katya was getting into her appraisal. Another tall blond man was less heavily built than Gwydion. He had coppery eyes, an otherworldly look about him, and wore formfitting hunting leathers that left nothing to the imagination. He could be Bran, god of prophecy, war, the sun, music, and other arts. Her heart beat double-time. If she was right, he was the Celts’ seer. Maybe she could learn something from him.
A woman who looked like a Valkyrie wearing battle leathers and with her blonde hair in a Celtic warrior pattern might be Andraste. Her sharp green eyes zeroed in on Katya. “I can save ye the trouble, dragon shifter.” Pointing, she said, “Meet my kin. Gwydion. Bran. Arawn. Ceridwen. Arianrhod. I am Andraste, goddess of war. Over there are Thoth and Anubis. Other shifter deities are on their way.”
“Thank you,” Katya murmured. “Forgive me if I was rude to stare, but I grew up steeped
in stories of Celtic glory.”
“We are humbled in your presence.” Konstantin bowed low.
“Stop that!” Gwydion clapped his hands smartly together. “None of us has land-linked magic. Stand tall, dragon prince. I knew Inmar. Ye do his legacy proud.”
More deities shimmered into view. Johan moved to her side and took her hand. “It is like the old tales come to life,” he whispered.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Only better.”
Delighted the gods weren’t going to chase them away, she settled in to listen to what the outcome of their discussion would be. Just because the others had hearkened to Y Ddraigh Goch’s call didn’t mean they’d be willing to help. She reminded herself to keep quiet. No one wanted to hear from her.
Konstantin, maybe, but if she mouthed off to anyone, they’d send her packing, and she wanted to remain in this room, bathing in all these mixed magics, as much as she’d ever wanted anything.
Johan
I still couldn’t believe the men and women I’d read about in mythology existed. Oh, I’d guessed the stories were patterned after true events, but I’d assumed the players were mortal. Within me, my beast was as fascinated as I was, but likely for different reasons. Magical creatures probably didn’t waste even a second worrying about whether they were real. They’d have been affronted had anyone suggested otherwise.
Given his reaction, I assumed my bondmate had never met any of the Celts before. For the umpteenth time, I wished I knew more about him. I’d done my best to be respectful of our bond, so I hadn’t asked any questions, but I wanted to. Since he could read all my thoughts, he must know how curious I was about him, yet he’d chosen to remain silent about who he’d been and what he’d done before linking his fortunes to mine.
I’d been casting surreptitious glances around the large room. We hosted quite an august gathering. On the Celtic side, Ceridwen, Andraste, Bran, Arawn, Gwydion, and Arianrhod were present. On the shifter side of the house were our god, Anubis, Thoth, and Bast. Not surprisingly, Oberon and Titania had shown up. More closely bound to Earth than any of the rest of us, they had a stake in the outcome of this war council.
Katya labelled it a discussion, but I disagreed. Before we disbanded, we would know who would fight alongside us. So far, there’s been a lot of mudslinging. Ceridwen and Bran are seers. She has her cauldron. God only knows what he uses. Anyway, both of them saw nothing but trouble on the heels of Y Ddraigh Goch’s clemency toward the sea-serpents.
The dragon god held onto his temper—for a while. “What is the purpose to this?” he asked at last. “If you had knowledge, you didn’t share it with me.”
“Surely, ye have your own seers.” Ceridwen scanned the room. Her gaze landed on Katya. “Like her, for example.”
Next to me, Katya stiffened. Rather than lashing out, she inclined her head. “Thank you for recognizing my poor ability. It is nothing compared to yours.” She stopped on the prudent side of saying anything further. Her opinions about the serpents’ fortunes wouldn’t have mattered once Y Ddraigh Goch made up his mind.
With a shock, I noticed Ceridwen and Y Ddraigh Goch had the same eyes. By that I mean, a string of images marched across them. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower, but I felt certain if I stared long enough, the pictures would tell a story. Were the two related? Not the kind of question I could ask. Ceridwen and her cauldron dated to the beginnings of the world, but perhaps the dragon god did as well.
I dragged my attention back to the conversation, which had finally moved past blaming Y Ddraigh Goch for the present problems. I hadn’t caught all of what he’d said, but it had been something like if he had it to do over again, he’d destroy every single serpent and have done with it.
Bast had taken her cat form and was washing her front feet. Titania sat next to her. So far, no one had bothered sampling the fish concoction. I was hungry, but it would be rude to help myself first.
The air around Y Ddraigh Goch brightened until I shielded my eyes with a hand. When the glare quieted, the book that had caused all the havoc was clasped in his hands. “May I read you something?” he asked.
“What lore is that?” Gwydion marched to his side and peered at the tome. It looked a whole lot newer than it had when it first showed up in the library.
Konstantin brought a hand downward and the illusion hiding the library fell away revealing all the overflowing shelves. “The book came to us,” he said.
“It was scribed by me,” Y Ddraigh Goch added, “and the First Dragon.”
“What happened to him again?” Thoth tilted his head in a very avian gesture. Tufts of dark hair stuck out from his head at odd angles, and his amber eyes gleamed with keen intelligence. He looked like an absentminded professor, complete with his angular body stuffed into corduroy pants and a linen shirt.
“He killed him.” Ceridwen extended an index finger toward Y Ddraigh Goch. “Like he should have killed the serpents.”
“Are you quite done?” Y Ddraigh Goch looked pointedly at Ceridwen before adding, “Sister.”
Aha! So they were related. Intriguing. Who had their parents been? But I was interpreting events with my human brain. For all I knew, they’d risen from mold or sunshine or interplanetary dust.
“Perhaps,” she replied.
“We didn’t come to rehash the past,” Gwydion reminded her.
“Back to the book,” the dragon god said. “May I read you a passage? It won’t take long.”
No one objected, and I listened as the dragon god outlined the two paths related to our current situation.
“Mmph,” Gwydion tapped his staff, glowing brighter than ever, on the stone floor. “How do we know there are no other options?”
“There may be,” Y Ddraigh Goch agreed. “It’s why we are all here in the same room. To discuss how to proceed.”
“Before we do,” Oberon spoke up, “know that leaving Earth is not possible for the Sidhe. We are bound here because of the Dreaming.”
“That is changing.” Ceridwen nailed him with her eerie eyes.
“Aye, but not fast enough. It might take a hundred annums afore the Dreaming rises anew on a borderworld.”
“Not quite that long,” she retorted. “Have a wee bit of faith, Faery King.”
Gwydion made a chopping motion. “As I understand the prophecy, if we leave this world to the serpents, they will make a grab for enough magic to disrupt the rest of us. How likely are they to succeed?”
“Very,” Y Ddraigh Goch said. “Earth holds a wealth of resources. With no one standing in the sea-serpents’ path, they will become far more powerful than they are today. It pains me to admit this, but a few dragons have aligned themselves with the serpents. It compounds our problem.”
Gwydion raised bushy blond brows. “Dragons? Do ye not have better control of your subjects than that?”
“Apparently not,” the dragon god growled.
“A problem for a different day.” Andraste blew out an annoyed-sounding breath. “We must select one problem and see it through to its conclusion afore we look at aught else.”
“List the ingredients in the ice-spell,” Anubis woofed. It surprised me to hear speech roll from his mouth since he’d taken the form of a horse-sized black dog.
Y Ddraigh Goch rattled off a complex casting requiring many elements I could only guess at. At Ceridwen’s request, he repeated them twice more. She moved her hands in a complex pattern, and a large iron pot materialized in front of her.
I’d thought I’d moved beyond being surprised by much of anything, but I wasn’t expecting the Mother Goddess of the World to summon her cauldron. Magic sheeted from its bubbling contents, reminding me of the witches in Macbeth.
A bit of blackened charcoal appeared in her hand, and she knelt and scribbled the list of spell components on the floor. She had her own method because she grouped the items into five columns. “Is this all of them?” she looked up at Y Ddraigh Goch.
He peered at her hieroglyphics since she’d us
ed runes rather than letters. “Not quite. Add the North Wind to the third group, and we’ll need a sea god to mix the elements in the fifth group.”
Konstantin had walked near enough to peer over Ceridwen’s shoulder. “Where does the land come into play?”
The goddess rocked back on her heels. “Och, we need her to blend everything together and ensure it remains so long enough to snare the serpents in magic.”
“What if she doesn’t cooperate?”
Gwydion trotted closer. “Do ye have reason to believe she may not?”
“Perhaps.”
“Say more.” Y Ddraigh Goch skewered Konstantin with his command.
Kon shrugged. “This is entirely conjecture, but she is weary and feels she’s been sorely used. That part is true. I did my best to direct her to look forward rather than being mired in past slights, but my last go-round with her didn’t go well.”
“I instructed you to try again,” the dragon god said.
“I know. I haven’t had time.”
“We can invite her into our midst,” Ceridwen suggested silkily and turned to Oberon. “She likes you. Perhaps the summons—er, invitation—should come from you.”
“She knows we are trying to unshackle the Dreaming from her purview.” Oberon spread his hands in front of him. “She is furious and has appeared in my dreams threatening to crush Faery.”
“I like the idea of requesting her presence among us,” Konstantin said. “If I’m reading her correctly—and I may not be—she feels everyone is plotting behind her back and is out to get her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she were close by, listening to us talk. She is ancient, deserving of our respect and consideration.”
“If mankind had respected her,” I blurted, “we would not be in this predicament. We were the first to treat her with contempt, and it has hardened her heart, embittered her toward everyone.”
“And ye are?” Bran focused his hazel gaze on me so intensely it made my skin crawl with his magic. He frowned. “Aye. A dragon shifter, but a brand-new one. How has this come to be? I believed ye were born with the bondmate already in place.”
