Love in the Time of Dragons (22 page)

His expression was mutinous. “You ask me to raise this child of another man as if he were my own?”

“Yes. I expect you to love and cherish him. Brom deserves that. His own father doesn’t give a damn about him.”

He gritted his teeth. I narrowed my eyes. We made quite a pair.

“Very well,” he finally snapped, rolling over onto his side so all I saw was his back. “I will do so, but that is the last concession I will make to you! I am the wyvern. You are the mate. It is you who must yield to me from this moment on.”

I smiled and snuggled into his back, feeling a weight lift from me that I hadn’t been aware of. Things were going to work out all right despite the overwhelming odds. I could just feel that they were.

Fire raged in and around and through me.

“This has got to end!”

“There is only one way it will end—my way!” A shadow flickered through the flames, a black shadow of the man I loved so dearly, and who was destroying not just his beloved sept, but my heart as well.

“Baltic, you will not win! You have decimated your own ranks trying to beat Constantine into submission, but it is for naught! And now that the green dragons have sworn to aid them against you, it is doubly foolish to pursue what is nothing more than a stupid rivalry!”

“Rivalry!” Baltic snarled and stalked across the room of our bedchamber, grabbing my arms in a painful grip. “He has tried to steal you from me. Three times he has tried! He is out there now, rallying yet another force to try to bring down Dauva so that he might take you. Is your love for me so fleeting that you would wish to see both Dauva and me destroyed?”

“You are being overly dramatic once again.”

He spun away from me as I spoke, staring out of the narrow window to watch the countryside as if he expected to see a wave of silver dragons at the foot of the castle.

I looked at him, this man I loved, and knew that something would have to be done to stop him. The course he was taking was one of madness, one that could have no good end.

“My love, you know I have chosen you above all others,” I said, sliding my arms around his waist and leaning into his back, pressing my cheek against it to hear his heart beating so strong and true. “You are my life, Baltic. I do not want to be Constantine’s mate any more than I want this endless war to continue. You must find a way to end it, to make peace amongst the weyr. You are the only wyvern strong enough to do it.”

“There can be no peace for me so long as Constantine lives.”

“The war between you and Constantine is private, but the results of it are going to tear apart the entire weyr. This war did not begin with me, and I will not have it end with me!”

He turned, the muscles in his jaw tight, his eyes blazing with black fury. “What would you have me do? Go to Constantine with my tail between my legs and beg him to spare the black dragons? Would you have him absorb our sept into his without so much as a whimper? Would you have him strip everything from me?”

“The silver dragons have been autonomous for over a century now,” I argued. “You never sought to force them to rejoin this sept until Munich!”

Baltic snarled an invective. “That was the day I knew the true depths of his treachery. To steal you two days after you had been brought to bed—”

Pain laced through my insides at the reminder. I looked down, tears welling in my eyes at the memory of that time. My poor little babe who did not live through the birth. Baltic grieved the loss as much as I did, but he did not see the truth behind the tragedy. I knew it was a sign that I should not bring life into a world that was filled with so much hate, while he went almost mad with rage and an intense need for revenge.

He stopped speaking, taking me in his arms and holding me so I could weep silently into his chest. “There will be other children,
chérie
. I swear to you there will.”

“There won’t be if there is nothing left for them,” I said, looking into his eyes “You are using the war as an excuse to hurt Constantine. It has to stop, Baltic, or there will be nothing left for us.”

“Do you have so little faith in your own sept?” he asked, his arms tightening around me.

“I have only faith in the black dragons, but you are not being honest with them.”

He pulled back, strapping a leather scabbard around his waist. “We are at war. They know that.”

“But you are allowing them and everyone else to believe you have some grandiose plan for domination over all the septs. You should ask yourself why you are so hesitant to tell them what your true purpose is.”

Fire flashed in his eyes, manifesting itself in tangible form as it twisted up my body. “I will do anything to keep you safe. Anything!”

“Including sacrifice innocent lives? It isn’t right, Baltic! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were mad!”

A slight noise heralded the arrival of Pavel, who stood in the open doorway, his eyes watchful. “My pardon for interrupting. All is ready. Do we ride?”

“Yes.” Baltic bent down to kiss me, his lips sweet, but my heart broke nonetheless. “You will be safe here,
chérie
. No one has ever breached Dauva, and no one ever will. I will send word to you as soon as I can.”

“Don’t go,” I said, knowing it would do no good.

“Constantine approaches Warsaw. I can’t let him cross the Vistula.”

I bowed my head for a moment while he slid his sword into its scabbard. “If you will not stop this war, then I will,” I warned as he strode across the room to the door.

He paused and looked back at me, a question in his eyes.

“I will bring together the five shards of the dragon heart, and I will use them to end this battle between you and Constantine.”

“The rumors about the dragon heart are grossly exaggerated,” he said simply, and left. Pavel gave me a thoughtful look before turning to follow him.

“Stay safe, my heart,” I whispered even as my own was shattering.

It took me two weeks to travel to Paris from Riga. The city was still in a shambles; the plague that had been triggered by the dragon war a century before continued killing mortals without prejudice. Rotting corpses of nobility and serfs alike festered in the streets, the stench almost unbearable. Outside of the city proper, the air was a bit cleaner, although carts laden with the dead rumbled by with a frequency that was unnerving.

From the safety of a clump of birch trees in Montfaucon, I watched the small group of people gathered, three men and a woman. One man I recognized. The other two—one blond, one dark-haired—were strangers, as was the woman, who was clinging to the dark-haired man in a manner that bespoke of intimacy. The dragons spoke together for a moment. I stepped out, wary lest the plea Kostya had made was some sort of a trap.

“We were not sure you would come,” he called to me as I made my way through the boggy ground to where they stood on a small hillock. The woman squawked when one of the men disengaged her from his person and tried to shoo her away.

I accepted the hand Kostya held out to help me over the remains of an uprooted tree. “You knew I was in Paris. Why wouldn’t I meet with you?”

“Come back to the inn with me,” the woman cooed to the tall, dark-haired man. She was all but falling out of her bodice, and the look she gave him would be clear to a blind man.

“Go away, woman. I told you that I have business to attend to,” the man answered, trying once again to shoo her away.

“With her?” the woman asked, glaring at me.

“Yes, but not the sort you understand. Leave me now or you will make me angry.”

“What will you do if I don’t?” she asked coyly, trailing her fingers up his arm. “Will you paddle my bottom?”

“No.”

“Then what?” Her hand moved around to the front of his breeches.

He turned and breathed fire on her.

She ran screaming from the field, the hem of her skirts smoking.

“Mortals,” the dark-haired man said in a disgusted tone, and proceeded to turn his attention to me. Both he and the second man eyed me with frank curiosity. I returned the compliment.

“This is Allesander de Crovani,” Kostya said. “He is the younger brother of Mercadante Blu, the wyvern of the blue dragons.”

Allesander made a bow, his light blue eyes watching me with amusement. He was slightly taller than me, had hair almost as pale as my own, and was slight of figure, but I sensed strength in him that I would not underestimate.

I murmured the polite responses and was introduced to the third man, the fire-breather. “This is
my
brother, Drake Fekete. He is heir to Fodor Vireo.”

I looked at the man in surprise. “You are not a black dragon?”

“No.” He had a different sort of accent, one that reminded me of Eastern Europe. He shared Kostya’s height and general coloring, but his eyes were a pure, brilliant green. “Our grandmother was a reeve. She mated twice.”

“I see. And Kostya is Baltic’s heir . . . how unique it will be to someday have wyverns of two different septs in the same family. Does it cause competition between you and Kostya?”

“Only with women,” Kostya said, shooting his brother an irritated look.

“There is no competition,” the latter said with blithe indifference.

“True words.” Allesander laughed, giving Kostya a little nudge. “The women all go for Drake and give your scowls a wide berth, eh?”

I had no doubt of that. Drake seemed like the ultimate lady’s man, if the tavern wench was anything to go by. “Do your wyverns know you are here?”

Both men nodded. “Merca wishes for an end to this battle between septs,” Allesander said stiffly. “If you can bring it about, you will have the gratitude of the blue dragons.”

“And green,” Drake said quickly. “We, too, are tired of fighting our brother septs. We wish for peace in the weyr once again.”

“I’m surprised the war continues if everyone is so desirous of its end. Certainly the mortals must be praying peace will return to the dragons,” I said softly.

“It would end but for your mate and Constantine,” Allesander said with an edge to his voice. “If they would settle their differences, we could band together and force Chuan Ren into an accord. But divided as we are . . .” He shrugged and looked away.

“Then we shall have to pray that the dragon heart can do what the dragons themselves cannot,” I said, glancing at Kostya. “Baltic does not know I am here, but he is suspicious of your absence. I fear that he may discover I have come to Paris.”

His eyes held mine with a fervor that made me uncomfortable. “We will have to risk that. Do you have the Modana Phylactery?”

“Yes.” I touched a spot on my cloak. Beneath it, the phylactery hung between my breasts. “I have it with me. Were you successful with Chuan Ren?”

“I was.” He reached into his doublet and removed a small box. “This is the Song Phylactery.”

“I shudder to ask what it cost you to borrow it.”

He grimaced. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

I turned my attention to the other two men. “I take it that you have your respective septs’ shards, as well?”

Both men nodded.

I raised my eyebrows as I glanced at Kostya. “Then all we are missing is the shard belonging to the First Dragon. Do you know where the Choate Phylactery is?”

“Yes. I have it, as well.”

“How did you get that?” I asked, amazed. From what Baltic had mentioned over the last two centuries, the Choate Phylactery’s whereabouts had been unknown since the weyr had formed.

He looked away. “That is another thing you don’t want to know.”

On the contrary, I very much wanted to know, but now was not the time to pursue such an intriguing subject. “Then nothing is stopping us from doing it now,” I said, my palms suddenly damp at the thought.

“No.” Kostya turned to a small satchel on the ground. He pulled out a wool cloth and spread it out, gesturing toward it. I knelt on one corner and removed my cloak, shivering a little in the cool morning air as I pulled the gold-chased vial housing the dragon shard from beneath my chemise.

One by one, the other dragons knelt at the remaining three corners of the blanket, each removing from their safekeeping the phylacteries that bore the precious shards.

“Baltic never told me much about the shards,” I said nervously, rubbing my palms on my skirt before placing the shards in a line before me. “All he said is that there are five of them, and that together, they make up the dragon heart, the most powerful relic known to dragonkin. What exactly is the dragon heart? And why does it have so much power? It can’t really be the actual heart of the First Dragon, can it?”

Kostya shrugged.

“I know less than you do about it,” Allesander said. “All I have been told is that it is too powerful to remain whole, and thus it was broken into shards and placed with each sept for safekeeping. Except the silver dragons, but that is only because your sept was not formed when the heart was first sharded.”

“So I gathered. Drake, do you know anything about it?”

Drake glared over my head to a point in the distance. I turned to look. Three women were clustered together at the edge of the bog. All three waved and giggled when they noticed he looked their way.

“I take it you’re not mated,” I said, unable to keep from smiling despite my nerves.

He snorted. “Nor will I be, if I have a choice. Women are good for one thing only, and I don’t need a mate to get that.”

“Evidently not.” The women clutched each other and giggled more, waving and calling to him, trying to tempt him over to them. I looked again at the shards, touching each one of them, hoping against hope that I would be able to do what needed to be done. “Well. Shall we get started? Do you have the words, Kostya?”

“I have them,” Allesander said, pulling out a piece of battered parchment. He handed it to me, grimacing at the large blots on it. “I’m not very good at writing, but I took it down just as I heard it from Merca.”