Love in the Time of Dragons (36 page)

“A life has been given for yours, daughter,” the First Dragon said.

My dead form shifted, then slowly stood up, whole again, my eyes vacant and unseeing. “Who gave it?” the other Ysolde asked.

“It was given willingly.”

“Baltic? Did he—”

“Much is expected of you.” The First Dragon’s words were whipped away on the wind as soon as he spoke them, and yet they resonated within me. “Do not fail me again.”

As the last word faded on the howl of snow and ice and wind, the First Dragon touched the risen Ysolde’s forehead in the same spot he’d touched mine, and she collapsed onto the ground—but she wasn’t dead. She hunched over, sobbing, buffeted by the snow before finally getting back to her feet, staggering down the hill and into the white oblivion.

“F
ascinating. Absolutely fascinating. That almost makes up for the fat dragon sitting on me.”

I shook my head, more to clear my vision than to disagree. The white mist in front of my eyes slowly evaporated, the vague figures resolving themselves into familiar people.

“That was an interesting experience,” Aisling said somewhat bemusedly as she leaned into Drake. “Is that what all your visions are like, Ysolde?”

“No.” I turned to Baltic, needing to feel his fire, needing his love. I clutched his silk shirt, shaking it in a demand for reassurance. “Do not fail me
again
? I failed the First Dragon before? When? What did I do? I don’t even know him! How could I fail him, if I don’t even know him? Is that why I was killed? Because I failed him somehow? Why didn’t anyone tell me I was supposed to do something for him? Glory of god, man, why aren’t you answering me?”

He gently pried my hands off his shirt, his thumbs stroking over my fingers, squinting at me with an odd look on his face as he did so. “I will answer you if you stop talking long enough to let me do so. What is on your forehead?”

“Who cares about my forehead!” I wailed, feeling as if the earth had suddenly dropped out from under me. “The First Dragon is pissed at me! I failed him! Dear god, Baltic, he expects much of me. What much? What am I going to do?”

“It’s the sept emblem,” he said, still staring at my forehead, suddenly looking very pleased. “It is a sun. The First Dragon has marked you.”

“Is that good?” Aisling asked Drake.

“Yes,” May said before he could answer, smiling a secretive sort of smile. “To hold his regard is an honor.”

“Which is interesting, considering that he knew your name,” Drake said to Baltic, looking extremely thoughtful.

I was still having problems with the idea that I’d somehow failed the First Dragon in the past. “What did he mean, much was expected of me? What sort of things are expected?”

“I don’t know,” Cyrene said, looking confused. “Should I know?”

“Yes, how is it the First Dragon knows your name?” Kostya asked Baltic, one eye swollen shut, his nose bleeding, and his lower lip cut.

Baltic evidently fared better than Kostya had—there was a red lump on his jaw, and a jagged- looking cut over one eye, but his nose didn’t appear to be broken again despite his growls during the fight. He didn’t respond to Kostya, instead watching me, looking very much like a cat who’d gotten into a bowl of cream.

“This changes things,” May told Gabriel.

He frowned. “How so?”

“She can summon the First Dragon. Don’t you see? She’s tied to him. And so, assumedly since the First Dragon recognized him, is Baltic. You can’t war with a sept that has ties to the First Dragon.”

“Absolutely not,” Aisling agreed. “I don’t know as much about him as May does, since she dealt with him when she re- formed the dragon heart, but what I’ve heard makes me think that summoning him is almost an impossible act.”

“We’ve just witnessed such an act, so it cannot be impossible,” Dr. Kostich commented from where he was sitting, drinking Baltic’s expensive champagne.

“No, but Aisling’s right—I talked to Kaawa after I re-formed the heart, and she told me that the only way to summon the First Dragon was to re-form it—and that has only happened a couple of times. Ysolde did it three hundred years ago. I did it two months ago.” May’s gaze shifted to Baltic. “Kaawa didn’t mention other times it has been re-formed.”

“The dragon heart has only been re-formed four times,” Baltic said, his gaze on my forehead again. I
tsk
ed to myself and rubbed it, not feeling anything different. “Attempts have been made several times, but it is not an act that is easily accomplished.”

“There, you see?” Aisling said, prodding her husband. “You have to cancel the war now.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “This changes nothing.”

“Agreed. Baltic refuses to acknowledge the weyr’s decision; therefore, he is at war with us,” Kostya said, his eyes as black as deep night.

“Gabriel?” Drake asked.

Gabriel and May had been exchanging a glance filled with meaning. “Agreed,” Gabriel said slowly, turning to me. “I’m sorry, Ysolde.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” I said, my throat tightening with tears.

“Bastian? Jian?” Drake asked the two silent wyverns.

“All I seek is retribution for the deaths of my sept members,” Bastian said reluctantly. His gaze examined Baltic for a moment, the hostility which had been banked in his eyes slowly fading as he shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. It seems inconceivable that the First Dragon would tolerate someone who would murder his descendants, and yet, the evidence is there—Baltic was with Fiat.”

I slid a look up at Baltic. “You’re tired of denying it, too, huh?”

“Extremely so.”

“I will agree with the other wyverns,” Bastian finally said, looking at Jian.

“Chuan Ren welcomes the opportunity to war,” he said.

“And you?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I am my mother’s son.”

“Typical dragon answer,” Aisling said, snorting to herself.

“Then we are in concurrence,” Drake said.

Gabriel’s face was somber as he said, “Ysolde de Bouchier, born into the silver dragons, it is with deep regret and no little amount of sorrow that I pronounce you ouroboros.”

Something inside me gave at his words, some intangible little connection to him and May and the other silver dragons. It was as if tiny little silken cords were suddenly severed.

“Ysolde de Bouchier,” Kostya’s deep voice said. I looked at him, tears filling my eyes. “Once mated to a black dragon, I pronounce you ouroboros.”

I reeled backwards into Baltic. He righted me, his face dark with anger as he glared at the wyverns.

“You are henceforth named ouroboros and outside of the weyr,” Drake said, his face impassive, but his eyes glittering with emotion. “From this moment, a state of war exists between us. Should you seek mediation with regards to this, you may request a parlay with any wyvern recognized by the weyr. Safe conduct will be granted to and from the parlay.”

I bit back a sob. Everything was going wrong again. “I don’t want any more deaths,” I told Baltic, clinging to him shamelessly.

“There won’t be,” he said, looking over my head at the other wyverns. “So long as they leave us alone.”

Gabriel looked like he was going to say something, but just shook his head instead, and with his arm around May, walked away.

“Ysolde—” Aisling reached out to touch me, but Drake took her hand, pulling her after him as they, too, left. “Please send Jim back tonight. I imagine you’re getting pretty tired of it by now.”

Bastian and Jian, with an exchange of looks, murmured something and followed them.

“Ah. Looks like the watch has arrived at last,” Dr. Kostich said, glancing toward the drive. A black van was parked behind the wyverns’ cars. He slid a glance toward us, hesitating for a few moments. “I believe in light of the day’s experience, I would be willing to drop the charges of assault against me on the condition that you give into my keeping the light sword of Antonia von Endres.”

“You are mad,” Baltic said.

“On the contrary, I’m quite sane. I am also very serious that Tully will pay for your abuse of me on the occasion of your attack on the silver wyvern’s house, as well as today.” He lifted his hand, and a couple of men emerged from the van, jogging across the field toward us.

I clutched Baltic’s hand, panic swamping me. “You are not taking me to the Akasha!”

“No, he is not,” Baltic said calmly.

“It’s your decision,” Kostich said, looking only mildly interested in the whole affair. “The sword or your mate. Or do you intend to be in a state of war with the L’audela, as well as the weyr?”

“So help me god, if I didn’t have this interdict on me, I would turn you into a fruit salad,” I told him.

His eyebrows rose. “I never knew you had such a temper. I would never have engaged you had I known. It will matter little to you in the Akasha, however. Bryce, Dermott, please take Tully Sullivan into custody. We will return to Suffrage House in Paris where a formal trial will be held tomorrow—”

Baltic snarled an invective, jerking his hand out to the side, the motes of air gathering around it until a long, shining blue-white sword formed. “The day will come, mage, when I will claim this sword again.”

“Indeed?” Dr. Kostich caught the sword as Baltic hurled it at him. “You may try, dragon, you may try. I will accept this in lieu of punishment for your mate. Tully . . .” His mouth tightened as he looked at me.

I lifted my chin and gave him a look that let him see Baltic’s dragon fire raging inside me.

“The sorbet was excellent. My compliments.”

He strode off with two puzzled- looking members of the watch, his hand rising to deflect the arcane ball- turned-banana that I hurled after him.

“Damn him. Damn him!” I railed, turning to Baltic. “Why did you give that to him? I know you loved that sword.”

“If I told you that you mattered more to me than anything, even something so unique as the light blade, would you do unnatural things to me?” he asked, his fire simmering in both of us.

“I’ve told you I don’t do unnatural things! Why you insist on thinking my simple little common everyday sexual fantasies are bizarre and depraved is beyond me.”

He just waited, his eyebrows raised in silent question.

“What sort of unnatural? You mean something like tying you down and coating your entire body with chocolate so I can lick—”

A noise behind me reminded me we weren’t quite alone. I spun around, my cheeks heating as Kostya gave me a very odd look.

“Tying him down, hmm?” Cyrene said thoughtfully. “Milk or dark chocolate?”

“Milk. Belgian. Or Swiss,” I answered.

“Melted, of course?”

“You can do so ahead of time, but I think it would be more fun to melt it right on him with dragon fire.”

“Hmm,” she repeated, looking at Kostya.

He cleared his throat, trying to scowl but seemingly not able to with Cyrene’s speculative gaze on him. “If I see you again, Baltic—”

“You will try to kill me,” he answered wearily, sliding an arm around my waist. “Yes, I know—again.”

Kostya was silent for a moment, some of the antagonism leaving his face. “I am glad you are not dead after all, Ysolde.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to be alive,” I said with no little irony.

He bowed to me, then glanced at Baltic. “I would have taken care of her.”

Baltic waited for the count of five before answering. “I know. I never distrusted you with regards to my mate.”

“You never had cause to,” I said, frowning a little at Kostya. “Not since that time when you showed up to claim me, and Kostya ran from me because he was afraid I would accept him, instead.”

A little smile flickered at Kostya’s lips at the memory, and for a moment, I was transported back to happier times.

“Oh, really? I’m going to want to hear about this,” Cyrene said, tugging on his arm. “Come on, let’s go home. I want to swim in the pond.”

“The pond,” I said, thinking of that beautiful home, with the even more beautiful grounds.

“That house was built for Ysolde,” Baltic called after Kostya. “She will have it again.”

“You can try, dragon,” Kostya said in mimicry of Dr. Kostich. “You can try.”

We stood together alone in the field, the afternoon sun beating down on us, the smell of the warm earth sinking deep into my soul, where Baltic’s fire resided.

I let my gaze roam over his face, over the high, Slavic cheekbones, along his widow’s peak, to the eyes that shone like polished ebony. “Everything is wrong, Baltic.”

“Not everything.”

“We’re at war with the weyr.”

He shrugged. “We don’t need them.”

“We do. They are our kind. More importantly, I want to be a part of the weyr. I want there to be peace between us.”

He took my hands, his mouth hot on my fingers as he kissed them. “I don’t know that I will be able to give you that.”

“We’ll work on it together, OK?”

He said nothing.

“Then there’s the First Dragon. How do you know him?”

He dropped my hands and wrapped an arm around me, gently urging me toward the house. “If I tell you all my secrets now, what will you have to worm out of me with your inventive sexual persuasions?”

“Typical dragon answer. I can’t tell you how annoying that is.”

“I am not typical. I am the dread wyvern Baltic.”

“You are the annoying wyvern Baltic, that’s what you are. What are we going to do about this thing that the First Dragon expects of me? How can I do whatever it is when I haven’t the slightest idea what he was talking about? And how did I fail him in the past?”

“Questions, questions, you were always full of questions,” he sighed, pulling me tighter against his body until his heat became mine.

“What about your sword? That’s not right that you should just hand it over to Dr. Kostich.”