“Which is the room for male dragons. Neither of you are in dragon form. A room better equipped for the High Priestess is down the hall.”
Sounded good to her. The less time in this room the better. Any longer in here and she might consider forgiving Fafnir.
She shoved Fafnir’s shoulder and got nowhere. How embarrassing was it to try to prove a point only to need help walking past the object of her ire. By said object.
She wanted to yank her arm free of his grasp. Yell at him for his stupidity. Berate him for lying to her.
Instead she allowed him to assist her to Annaliese.
The Healer placed an arm around her waist, escorting her across the hall and down a door to the room befitting the High Priestess. Or so Annaliese claimed. To Aryana it looked the same as the other healing rooms.
A bed. A nightstand. Water pump. Various healing items.
Shaking free of Annaliese’s guiding arm and Fafnir’s domineering presence, she placed one trembling leg in front of the other until she arrived at the bed. Lying down seemed like a good idea.
Tomorrow she would deal with Fafnir and his lies. Right after she marched on the Council and demanded Fasolt’s death. Something told her she’d have no problem with the convincing. Then maybe they’d tell her if Fasolt and Latham were behind the village attacks.
After that, listening to Fafnir explain his lies would seem easy.
Until she remembered a High Priestess couldn’t have a mate.
Her position or her mate. Did she even have a choice?
Chapter Fifteen
Fafnir leaned against the wall, watching his sister tuck his mate under the covers, wishing his hands pulled the covers over Aryana. At least he had hands. All thanks to his daughter, who lay in another healing room.
Ack! Keara. What kind of male completely forgot about his own daughter?
He smacked his head against the wall, causing Annaliese to shoot him a raised brow. Life was so much easier as a coward. All he needed to do was hide and lie and avoid his family.
Now he needed to check on his daughter, tell his father he lived, and convince Aryana to renounce her coveted High Priestess position to become his mate.
And while he was at it, he could banish evil and create peace.
Right. When dragons stopped flying.
“Why don’t you go check on Keara?” Annaliese pointed to the door. “She’s at the end of the hall. I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”
A not-so-subtle hint to leave. He glanced to Aryana. She pushed up to her elbows, then raised a trembling hand to gesture at the door.
Pain, sharp and tearing, ripped through his gut. His mate rejected him.
Bloody sappy mated male. He knew her feelings. Eventually they’d change—he would make sure of that—but she wanted nothing to do with him at the moment.
So why did his chest ache like his ribs were broken?
What a sap.
“Please.” Her voice brooked no argument despite its weak, reedy sound. He fought the urge to rub his chest where he swore his heart spouted holes. “I…can’t…” She waved a hand and fell back against the pillow. “Thank you.”
Thank you? For rescuing her? For being her mate? For leaving?
As a mated male, he was nothing if not obedient to his female.
Sap, sap, sap.
Fafnir opened his mouth, thought better of the action, and shut it. A bit overly dramatic to inform her he would return.
A fact she undoubtedly knew and wished wouldn’t happen.
He sighed, nodded to Annaliese, and stepped out the door. Cool air brushed against his skin and he shivered. Cold air, cold heart.
Enough with the morose thoughts, Fafnir. Get on with it.
When as a captive he prayed to have his life returned to him, he did not mean for it to be this complicated. And he thought he had it complicated? Because of him, Aryana must renounce the role of High Priestess.
Fafnir stopped, his hand halfway to the knob on Keara’s door. No wonder Aryana refused him. Even as a child, she dreamed of becoming the High Priestess. Of possessing more magic than most Draconi. Once he told Alviss he lived and that Aryana belonged to him, her role as High Priestess would end.
Once that happened, would she resent him? Could he live with forcing the decision?
Life was much less complicated inside his titanium cell.
Not that he’d trade freedom for fewer complications.
Fafnir twisted the knob and poked his head inside. Keara lay on the bed, curled on her side, back to the door. At the squeak of the hinges, she rolled, her face lighting up as she recognized him.
“Father!” She pushed up against the pillows. “Come in! How are you?”
He closed the door and walked toward the bed. “Human again, thanks to you. Are you recovered?”
“Humph. Nothing to recover from. Since I’ve learned how to use my magic, things are easier.” She patted the bed and he sat, propping a knee on the mattress. “It’s amazing what magic can do when you know how to work it.”
A swell of pride crested through his chest, strong in intensity. Did all parents feel this way about their children?
“I’m proud of you.” A smile crooked her lips at his words. “And grateful. I never thought to see my hands again.”
“I thought you’d stop by earlier. Not that I’m complaining.”
“We had a…complication.”
“What kind of a complication?”
Was telling her against some Council code? Good thing he wasn’t on the Council. He thought she had a right to know.
“Aryana was kidnapped by Fasolt.”
“Oh my Goddess! What happened?”
When he finished telling her, Keara sat wide-eyed and dropped mouth. “I don’t even know where to start. Hopefully with their capture, the village attacks will stop. Will you ask for Latham’s life?”
Fafnir opened his mouth. Shut it. Would he? And then another thought popped into his mind. What if Latham told the Council he was really Ragnor? Did his father already know he lived? Shouldn’t he be the one to tell Alviss, instead of the old Draconi hearing about the matter from a captive?
“What’s wrong?” Keara laid a warm hand over his palm.
“Just thought of something.”
One brow asked her question.
He sighed. “I still haven’t told Father I’m alive. He thinks I’m dead. But Latham doesn’t know that. What if he tells Father I live? I need to tell him first.”
“Why haven’t you? You never did tell me.”
He clenched his fingers together hard enough to pop the knuckles. She deserved to know. And he deserved freedom from the fear and shame choking his life.
“Embarrassment. What kind of Draconi gets captured by humans? What kind of a male leaves his daughter in a human village?”
“We’ve been through that before. You didn’t know about me. You can’t be held responsible.”
“Knowledge doesn’t negate fact. But I thank you for your words.”
“Grandfather needs to be told. Before he dies.”
“And there’s another reason.”
“He’s not going to char you for not telling him.”
“No. It’s Aryana.”
“What about her?”
“A mated female cannot be a priestess, let alone the High Priestess. And all she’s ever wanted is that role. What right do I have to take it from her? Once I tell Father, he’ll insist she renounce the role.”
“From what I gather, he’s been insisting that despite your disappearance. Even thinking you dead didn’t stop him from insisting she not hold the office since she had you as a mate. At least that’s what I’ve gathered from listening to conversations.”
“It’s not nice to gossip. But what else did you hear?”
“Aryana thinks he wants Annaliese to hold the position of High Priestess, which is why he and she don’t get along.”
Fafnir growled. His father held issue with his mate?
/> “Now, now.” Keara patted his hand. “Grandfather has never said one negative thing to me about Aryana.”
A brisk rub on the bridge of his nose stopped the growling. Mated males clearly had protection issues. Did he really think his father would harm Aryana? And yet, he felt this almost overwhelming urge to defend her.
Sap, sap, sap.
“I should go tell Father I’ve returned. I’ve delayed this conversation long enough.”
“He misses you, you know.”
“Does he?” Fafnir straightened, trying to quell the little bud of joy unfurling in his heart.
“Of course. You were…are his son. He grieves your loss. He’ll be overjoyed at your return.”
“Until he realizes what a coward I’ve been.”
“Eh. You weren’t being cowardly. You were just, just…thinking things over before you made your presence known. That’s called formulating a good strategy.”
He couldn’t stop the chuckle. Formulating a good strategy? “You’ve been around Thoren too long. It’s not a good strategy. Who returns to the land of his birth and keeps his identity hidden? No one but a coward.”
“Stop calling someone I love a coward.”
Fafnir blinked, his morose thoughts grinding to a halt at her words. She loved him? Him?
“You are not a coward, Father. You’ve been kept in a cell for longer than I’ve been alive. Anyone would react to their freedom as you have. You’re learning to deal with your new life and everything that’s changed in it. He’ll understand.”
Doubtful. But as he hated to disappoint her, he formed what he hoped was a reassuring smile and nodded his head. “I’m sure you’re right.” Not that he believed his words. Alviss might forgive him for his lapse in revealing his identity, but would never let him forget it.
And the longer he put off the telling, the worse the lack of forgetting would be.
“I should go talk to him.” But not if his father joined the Council in questioning the captives. No sense pulling his reveal with everyone around.
“Would you like me to call him? That way you don’t have to go in front of the Council.”
Did Keara read his mind? No matter. He liked her suggestion. If Alviss decided to char him he’d at least be in the healing wing of the Temple.
Provided anything was left of him to heal.
Fafnir swallowed, his gaze darting to meet hers. “All right.”
She nodded and closed her eyes.
No going back now. He swallowed. Drew in a deep breath. He was not afraid of his father. Was. Not. Afraid.
So why did his stomach feel like a writhing ball of worms?
Pop!
Fafnir kept his eyes on Keara, not needing to turn around to know his father appeared at the foot of the bed.
The ball of writhing worms seemed to solidify and grow, choking his breathing as sure as if they existed.
“What is wrong, Keara?” Alviss thumped his cane against the floor. “I’ve been called to a Council meeting.” He paused, followed by a sharp intake of air. “Who is this male?”
No cue better than that one. Fafnir tried a swallow, got nowhere and licked his lips. Twisting around, he met Alviss’s gaze.
“Hello, Father.”
Alviss’s eyes grew wide, color bled from his face, and he swayed, planting a hand on the mattress. “Ragnor?” His voice, pitched high and reedy, made him sound like a frightened hatchling.
Or a father reunited with a son thought long dead.
Fafnir drew in a breath past the lump in his throat, blinking until Alviss’s outline grew steady. “Hello, Father.”
Alviss took two steps, his cane thumping against the floor like the pounding beats of an overexcited heart. One hand touched Fafnir’s cheek, calloused fingers shaking in an invisible wind. Then he collapsed against Fafnir’s shoulder.
“My son, my son.” Alviss sobbed as he clutched Fafnir in an embrace tight enough to break ribs.
Not that he complained. Broken ribs were a small price to pay to hold his father after all these years.
When Alviss pulled away, he placed a hand against Fafnir’s cheek, his touch like roughened parchment. “I never thought to see you again.”
Now was the time to explain himself, to tell why he returned to Draconia and kept his mouth shut about who he was. Fafnir opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened again.
“Well, have out with it, son. That was you who fought Fasolt as a dragon, was it not?”
Fafnir’s lids did a rapid open-close and one more time for good measure as if waiting for his lips to form words. No such luck.
“Did you think I would not recognize my own son? I was simply surprised. To say the least. Why did you not say anything?”
“I—”
“Wait.” Alviss glared at Keara. “You know this is your father, do you not? And said nothing to me about it?”
“Um.” Her gaze bounced between the two males as red tinged her cheeks.
“I asked her not to tell.”
“But why?” Alviss’s brows clashed together. “Why would you do that?”
Fafnir looked down at his hands, at the blue veins crawling beneath the surface. Crawling like the coward he was.
No, no, no. He was no longer a coward. He would admit to his failings come what may.
“I…” Emotions clogged his throat, feelings of hopelessness, of failure choking his windpipe. How was he supposed to tell his father?
“Well?” Alviss cocked his head to the side like a bird eyeing a worm.
Fafnir ran his hands through his hair. Stared at the ceiling. Drew in a breath. He could do this. He needed to do this.
When the words came they exploded out of his mouth, hot and blistering. “I failed my daughter! I left her alone. With humans. What kind of a male allows himself to be captured and treats a female like that? Not a real one. So what does that make me?”
“It’s all right.” Keara patted his shoulder, but he shook off her hand as he jumped to his feet.
“I’m a failure.” Fafnir stalked away from the bed, jerking his hands through his hair as he shouted at the wall. No use in screaming at stones. He needed to face his father. See the rejection in his eyes.
Fists balled, he turned. “A failure.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Why would I want to admit that to my family?”
Keara made a small noise, like she was about to speak, but Alviss placed a hand on her leg and she closed her lips. Chest heaving, he stared at his father, waiting for the rejection, the pity. Banishment. Anything but the raised eyebrows Alviss wore.
One second. Two. Alviss blinked his brows down. Took a deep breath. “Were you waiting until I died before telling my burning body you lived? Did you think of how I felt all these years, believing you dead, hoping you weren’t? You let your fear conquer you, convince you it was right. I taught you better than that.”
“You taught me better than that?” Fingernails bit into his palms as he glared at his father. “How would you have felt being captured by humans, told your child died at birth only to find out upon your escape she lived? That you failed her? That you were not the male you thought you were?”
Alviss thumped his cane against the floor. “I would have been happy she lived, you fool! Happy! I beat my captors. I would seek revenge.”
“I already had my revenge. I cast a spell as they captured me. It was meant to kill, but instead rendered them all insane.”
“That’s my hatchling! Good for you. Now get over yourself. You could not help getting captured. Titanium would affect even me. And you have given me a blessing for a granddaughter.” He patted Keara’s leg. “Stop fearing repercussions.”
“You don’t blame me?” Truly?
“You are my son. You might have done some irresponsible things when younger, but you are still my son. Stop acting the fool, Ragnor, and get on with your life.”
“It’s not Ragnor.” With his teeth gritted together the words came out like a growl. “It’s Fafnir, Father. Rag
nor died in that cell.”
Alviss furrowed his brows, his head cocked to the side. “Fafnir? Are you addled? Fafnir was the wolf’s name.”
“I liked that pet wolf.” He crossed his arms, defensiveness bristling the hair on his arms. His father accepted his failings. Was happy to see him. So why did he want to punch the wall and scream?
“He was a good wolf. That doesn’t mean you need to take his name. Ragnor.”
Fafnir tensed his jaw until it popped. His father might accept him, but clearly failed to understand. Ragnor died. Fafnir emerged from that cell.
Alviss huffed. “I refuse to call you a wolf’s name. You are my son. Ragnor didn’t die.” Using his cane as leverage, he pushed to his feet. “He just decided to act like a stubborn fool.”
“I am not a fool.” Although he might want to give that one another thought. Perhaps his father had a valid point. Actions that once seemed logical in retrospect appeared foolish.
Not that he’d admit to it.
“Stubborn dragon.”
“Irascible old male.”
“Humph.” Alviss thump-shuffled over to Fafnir. “You will always be my son, but I must disagree with you. Now, I’ve been told the Council has captured Fasolt and your former Watcher, Latham.”
“I know.” He swallowed, clenching his fingers into a fist. “Latham is the one that told the humans about titanium and led to my capture.”
Alviss’s eyes hardened. “Did he, now? Well, you will want to attend the meeting with me. That way all will know my son lives.”
Just what he wanted. No, no, no. His old way of thinking had no place in his new life. He wanted to come clean about his identity. He needed to tell the Council who he was.
Before Latham clued them in.
He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath. Shook off his bristly attitude. He could always find it again, if need be.
Tilting his head, he gave his father a nod.
“Then it’s settled. You’ll come with me.” Alviss turned to Keara. “And you, granddaughter, will endeavor to heal quickly.”
“Oh, I’m all right. I’m here more of a precaution than an illness.”
“However you like to phrase it. Just feel better. Son, hold on.” Alviss gripped Fafnir’s forearm, throwing them into a transport.
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