“Not of my people,” Mathias stated as if that was going to be much comfort to me.
It wasn’t, by the way. I took a shaky breath, then another, trying to stem off a panic attack. Mathias suddenly ducked down close to me and whispered, “It is all right, Lauren. If he decides to come after us, I will stop him. And, I promise to do so expediently and in as much privacy as can be afforded.”
“I do not want you to fight him,” I protested. Visions of Mathias locked in a cold fury danced through my brain and I shuddered. Absolutely not an option. Forcing cheer into my voice, I made a show of looking around the depressingly empty square. “Where, uh, where do you think Ilia has gone?”
As if summoned, the welcome sight of Ilia appeared as he stepped out of a door and waved to us. He was grinning again, smile splitting his beard, as he waved but he didn’t call out. Probably the smart thing to do given how many people had seen the initial confrontation. We started toward him, but something grabbed me by the back of my jacket and yanked hard, sending me stumbling. Mathias whirled, icy fury filling his eyes, before I was spun away from him and pinned against the base of a statue of Artemis with a Golden Hind. The 7 was back, his number flickering dangerously as it threatened to change to an 8. His hand against the base of my throat held me in place while he grabbed my right arm with his other hand and yanked the sleeve down to expose the golden tattoo. He spat something and then let me go as swiftly as he had grabbed me. He backed away a few feet, turning as he did so, and I suddenly knew why he had come back. He was trying to get to Mathias.
Still breathing hard, I half-expected Mathias to tackle the man. Instead, he was at my side, hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
I managed to nod but reached out to grab his jacket when his weight shifted toward the 7 still lurking. “Don’t,” I rasped. Licking my lips, I switched to Myrmidon and stumbled through the phrase that had cut through his rage the last time. ‘Stay with me, heart-love.’
Wrath still danced in his eyes with a coldness that sent shivers down my spine, but he finally bent his head in acquiescence.
Thank You, God, for a little miracle.
I grabbed Mathias’ hand and released my grip on his jacket. Together, we turned our backs on the man. Ilia was coming toward us, smile replaced by concern that wrinkled his brow. I told myself he represented our goal. Once we reached Ilia, it would get better.
We had nearly reached him when the 7 broke his silence, anger shaking his voice, as he shouted at Mathias in accented English, “The woman can’t protect you forever, Myrmidon!”
Mathias stopped still. He twisted around, cool calm providing a sharp contrast to the 7’s fiery rage, but there was a deadly promise laced through his words when he spoke. “Touch her again and your life will be forfeit, dragon-born.”
I tensed, but didn’t let go of Mathias’ hand. If he decided to fight, it wouldn’t do much good to try and stop him. However, I hoped the idea of dragging me across the road so he could fight would slow him down a little. The only thing almost as scary as an angry dragon was one of the dragon-born, paranormals whose heritage had been muddied enough that they couldn’t shift forms but the fiery nature and strength of a dragon was still theirs. Some stories claimed Heracles was one of their number, others liked to point to Nimrod. It didn’t matter. The dragon-born were dangerous and didn’t often subscribe to the same precepts of honor that bound the dragons . . . and allowing a fight between a dragon-born and a Myrmidon would be . . . disastrous to begin with and deadly beyond belief.
Whatever else the dragon-born might have said, he stopped when Ilia joined us. The satyr looked from me to Mathias before he gestured behind him. “Friends, I have found an excellent place, eh, eat and rest. Tonight we bring honor to the one who brought the Hind, eh, big feast and excellent stories. You will enjoy.”
The dragon-born muttered something that I would have bet was a curse given the fact Ilia immediately reacted by forming the gesture to ward off evil. Keeping my hold on Mathias’ hand, I offered Ilia a shaky smile. “Your timing is perfect, Ilia. You, uh, you want to show us where to go?”
“This way.”
I moved to follow Ilia but stopped when Mathias didn’t do the same, causing my arm to stretch back. Glancing over my shoulder, fresh concern crashed over me at the clear struggle beneath his icy gaze. I tightened my hold on his hand. “Mathias. Let’s go, okay?”
After another tense moment, Mathias stepped toward me. He was completely silent as we walked, only his grip on my hand offering any sort of reassurance that he was still in there. The dragon-born’s attempt to draw him into a fight had almost worked. We needed to get out of Perperikon quickly.
Between worrying about Mathias, trying to keep an eye out for the dragon-born, and above all attempting to not show how worried I really was, I didn’t pay much attention to where Ilia was taking us until we were inside. The whole house smelled of herbs. It was fresh and clean, if a little overwhelming with the conflicting scents. Mint was very prevalent, though, and only grew stronger as Ilia closed the door behind us.
I cautiously loosened my grip on Mathias’ hand in favor of touching his arm. “You okay?”
Mathias gave a nod, but I didn’t believe him. He was too still, too silent, and this was way too much like the silences of Scotland for my comfort. Keeping my hand on his arm more for my comfort than his, I looked around the room. Neat bundles of herbs and flowers hung along the walls and dangled from the ceiling’s exposed rafters. A low wooden table filled the center of the room with pillows arranged around it while a much taller table was wedged against the far wall, its polished wooden surface nearly hidden from sight by piles of herbs, folded cloths, and what looked like cooking utensils and possibly medical instruments. I turned to Ilia. “Where are we exactly?”
“My home.”
I looked from the satyr to the room’s decoration. “You are a healer as well as a horse whisperer?”
Ilia chuckled. “No, eh, she is,” he said with a nod toward the doorway in the far wall.
A dryad with silver-green leaves threaded through her light brown hair had appeared. A large apron covered her clothes. She appeared to be wearing light blue jeans with a black cotton shirt that looked rather similar to Ilia’s current concert shirt, something confirmed when she removed her apron as she approached speaking to Ilia in Bulgarian.
He answered her and then turned back to me. “Lauren and Mathias, this is my wife, Galina, eh, skilled healer.” He grinned at me then at his wife as he added, “I marry her because she liked my horses. She married me because she liked my horses more than me.”
Despite Ilia being the taller of the two, Galina managed to look down her nose at him at that remark. Although there was a hint of a smile hovering around her mouth as she scolded him in accented English, “You tell more fables than Aesop.”
Her amusement faded, however, when she drew closer and started looking Mathias over. She asked her husband something, making his own smile fade. He looked from her to Mathias before he asked, “Galina thinks you are . . . ill, eh, this is true?”
“No” came the cold, stiff reply.
Galina frowned at him then at me. “He needs healers, no?”
I hesitated. “I can’t . . .” I trailed off as I remembered what he had been looking for in Scotland. “Mathias takes an herbal mix to help his . . . control. Something to calm. Perhaps, you can help with that?”
Mathias stiffened under my hand, but he didn’t say anything. Galina was already moving around the room, rattling off something in Bulgarian, as she plucked herbs from the wall. Ilia smiled at me. “She will help.” Then, he went to his wife’s side and reached for the herbs she pointed to but couldn’t grab herself.
“Mathias, I hope I didn’t overstep,” I started to apologize only to stop when he raised a hand.
“No. If this gives you comfort, I’ll do it.”
He didn’t say another word as we waited. He also didn’t say anything when Galina brought him a steam
ing mug that smelled faintly of mint. He only drank it all, lowering the mug with a faint grimace. As Galina took the mug, she spoke to Ilia once more. The satyr looked at me and said, “She says it will make him, eh, tired. Just for few hours. We will host you gladly. I will make ready the rooms.”
Ilia vanished from the room, and I turned back to Mathias. I froze as I took in his hunched posture. His number was flickering. For the first time I had ever seen, his number was flickering almost as though it were attempting to change and couldn’t. “Mathias.”
He didn’t respond other than a low groan escaping past his clenched teeth. He was nearly doubled over now, growing paler by the second. I grabbed his arm and placed my hand against his cheek. His skin was clammy to the touch. His number kept flickering and then its normal bright, almost flaming gold color changed. It grew muted and pale streaks spread through the gold as the number flickered from a 10 to a 9 then almost to an 8 before going back to a 9. Mathias dropped, ripping free of my attempt to hold him up. His eyes fixed on me before they rolled back into his head and he went still.
“Mathias!” I dropped down next to him frantically pressing my fingers against his throat. My fear hardly dropped when I found his pulse, it was thready and rapid and a sheen of sweat was starting to appear. “Mathias, can you hear me? Mathias!” I shook his shoulder, trying to get some sort of reaction out of him but he remained limp, head lolling alarmingly. “Ilia! Ilia, help us!”
There was the sound of clattering steps, but Galina reached us first. She dropped down on Mathias’ other side, one hand wrapping around his wrist as she pushed up his eyelid. “When?”
“Just now. What was in that drink?”
The dryad didn’t respond as Mathias started seizing. She grabbed his head, forcing it to hold still, while I grabbed his arm and shoulder. He still might have gotten away from us if Ilia hadn’t arrived just then and grabbed his legs. Galina was murmuring in Bulgarian but I didn’t know if it was to me, Ilia, or perhaps Mathias. His number was still washed out, the gold fading faster and faster, still hovering at a 9.
His body went rigid and then he went limp once more. Sweat drenched his clothes and beaded on his skin. His breathing rapid and shallow. I glared at the healer as I demanded, “What was in the drink?”
“A simple tea, eh, to calm,” Ilia answered. “She has given with no trouble at all to many paranormals.”
“Has she ever given it to a Myrmidon?” When they didn’t respond, I snapped, “Has she?”
“No,” Galina answered quietly. “This . . . should no happen.” She looked at her husband and added something in a hushed tone.
He nodded. Then, she moved back as Ilia grabbed Mathias and put him in a hold across his shoulders. Mathias’ head lolled disturbingly as he remained completely limp, not even responding to the fact Ilia was carrying him. I followed on his heels, eyes fixed on Mathias’ pale face and the disturbing problem with his number. Ilia deposited Mathias on a long bed that looked like it had been carved out of a tree trunk. He was lying quietly, but I wasted no time in helping Ilia to get his jacket and boots off. Galina came in with a tray of implements, and I assisted her with getting Mathias out of his shirt once she’d cut through it.
Following gestures and translated instructions, I helped her place cold packs against Mathias’ chest and neck before laying a damp cloth across his forehead. He didn’t look any better, but anything had to be an improvement over the seizures. His number was still wrong, both in color and in value.
“What do you see?”
I blinked and looked around to find both Ilia and Galina watching me closely. My life’s goal of concealing who and what I was shattered as I gestured helplessly at the number. “His number is wrong. It has always been a 10, bright and steady. Now it is a 9 and so . . . so very faded. It’s like losing that little bit of his number is, umm, it’s almost like it’s draining him. It is hurting him. I’ve never seen anyone react this way to a change in their number.” My voice cracked as I added, “He only drank it because I wanted him to do what he could to stave off the rage, to help take off the edge.”
“You are Spotter.”
I nodded without looking away from Mathias. “Yes. Mathias . . . He’s never had his number change before, not since I met him. It didn’t matter if he was relaxed or sleeping or drinking his tea. He’s always been a 10.”
Galina spoke in a rush of Bulgarian. It wasn’t until I turned my full attention to them that Ilia translated. “The drink, eh, it calms the powerful. By their will or no. Ancient recipe known to dryads and once carried by Spotters.”
“What are you talking about?” I frowned as I tried to calm my racing thoughts enough to understand what they were trying to say. “Wait, you mean, it was a tool used when Spotters found high numbers?”
Galina waved her hand at Mathias. “Works for dragon kith. Why no Myrmidon?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. Reaching out to touch Mathias’ cheek, I murmured a quiet apology then kissed him. “You’re going to be okay.”
Getting to my feet, I slipped out of my jacket and draped it on the foot of the bed. If Mathias came to before I got back, I wanted to leave something that could act as an anchoring point. Reassure him that he was still in a safe place. Of course, given how he’d been reacting, well, I would have to hurry if my plan was going to work.
Turning to Ilia and Galina, I stated softly, “I am going to find out if there’s anything we can do to help him and to find out why this even happened. Please stay with him. I will be back as soon as I can.”
I started moving past them, mind already filling with questions that I had no answers to, when Ilia stepped in front of me. “Wait. Wait, where do you think to go?”
“I will go to the elder.”
I tried to move around him, but he raised his arm to add another barrier. “You have no translator, eh, he will not speak.”
“I am not going to give that man a choice,” I stated, hating the tremor in my voice. “Mathias could die because we don’t know why he’s reacting to a simple herbal mix this way. I won’t let that happen when there’s a possible source for answers in this city. I won’t.”
“I will go, eh, to provide voice.” Ilia turned to his wife and murmured something to her before he added, “Come now. You must clean up and present yourself, eh, as lady not wanderer.”
As much as I hated to waste any time, a quick glance in the mirror was enough to make me wince. I certainly wasn’t going to convince anyone looking travel worn and in need of a hot shower. “I need twenty minutes, then I’m going to find the elder.”
* * *
Lauren
Thirty minutes later I was standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the first level of the palace. Panic beat its wings against my ribs and only the thought of Mathias lying helpless because I made a huge miscalculation kept me from running back into the relative anonymity of the city. Not for the first time, I was having very serious regrets about refusing Ilia’s offer of escort and translating help. I had begged him to remain in his home to keep watch over Mathias, who had shown no sign of improvement. Standing in the shadow of the palace, I had some very definite concerns about this plan. But, it was the only way I could hope to get some sort of help for Mathias.
Casting a silent prayer for success and that this wasn’t about to become the biggest mistake I ever made, I squared my shoulders and forced myself to climb the stairs. I passed two landings as I climbed, each guarded by men wearing stylized leather breastplates and carrying either spears or no weapons at all. The back of my neck prickled as their eyes followed my progress. Every last one of them was a 7 or 8. Dragons or even dragon-born perhaps? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know. The only important thing was that they didn’t try to stop my progress.
Still, it took a lot for me not to reach across to cover up the gold tattoo coiled around my wrist. I had made the decision to approach the elder with as much openness as I could, so I had left my jacket behind and w
ore only a pale green short sleeved shirt and a clean pair of black jeans. I had even exchanged my hiking boots for my nicer black boots, and I had left my shawl behind. I felt strangely naked and vulnerable to go around without those layers of protection against easy identification. However, if there was one thing most of the powerful paranormal species appreciated, it was a show of bravery in not coming to an audience as though you’re expecting trouble. Bravery . . . With every step feeling leaden and difficult to make, much less with an air of determination and confidence, I certainly didn’t feel brave.
It didn’t help that, according to Ilia, Perperikon falls under the jurisdiction of a dragon prince. I really hoped I wouldn’t need to go anywhere near a dragon prince. Regular dragons like Royal were scary enough. Unlike regular dragons, however, royal dragons had a habit of inheriting the skill of knowing. They were able to detect not only powerful paranormals, but also all powers no matter the paranormal’s strength. It was part of the reason dragons remained a powerful and potentially deadly force among the paranormal community. They were too strong to be conquered by other paranormals even though there were times in history when one species or another rallied against them. And, yet, another reason I needed to stay invisible.
I could only pray that I would be able to communicate with the old man when the time came for an audience. French, perhaps, or Turkish would be wiser choices than German since I knew them better and could speak without having to search for the right words. Unless the old man was obliging enough to speak one of the three mother tongues for the Fae, which I doubted.
Upon reaching the first level of the palace proper, I half expected to be turned back at the gates. But they remained open and although the guards watched me, not one of them even hinted at making a move to stop me when I passed through. Something that was only half comforting given the fact that they all had 8s gleaming above their heads. The further into the palace I ventured, the higher the numbers and that scared me a lot.
Trials by Numbers Page 10