Breaking Ties

by Vaughn R. Demont

  The scant few strap-hangers in the car give me a glance, but ignore me. Let ’em think I’m crazy. “Marvin? You awake?”

  “Greetings, friend of James!” The voice is irritatingly cheery, coupled with a limey accent, which goes against the robot for whom he’s named.

  “I need to get down to Grunstadt, could you shave a couple minutes off the trip? It’s for James.” According to James and the Coyote, you have to be specific about how fast you want him to go, otherwise he’ll throw a tantrum. I don’t know if they’re telling the truth (especially not in that one’s case), but I’m not going to risk having front-row seats to a commuter train having a manic-depressive episode. “Thanks, Marvin.”

  “Right away!” The lights even brighten as he picks up some extra speed. Nice to see that someone’s in a good mood, and I won’t tell him about what happened to his two favorite people, to keep him in that mood. Last thing the City needs is part of the Blue Line driving himself sick with worry.

  It’ll take a few minutes to get down there, and I’ll admit I’m not excited about the idea of telling the Riordan his consort has been taken, especially after how things were left between me and the Coyote. He admits to being in love with my boyfriend, and then gives himself up to the Cobalt Order to save my ass. Even if I weren’t a Dwarf (we’ve got a code, you see), I couldn’t leave him twisting in the wind. I was raised proper, so I’m going to do the right thing and get his huckster ass back safe and sound.

  Because I’m not going to win James by default, damn it.

  I take out my cell phone and begin the series of calls that will eventually get me on the line with Her Majesty’s social secretary, who can arrange a meeting with the Riordan. More than likely I’ll be pacing back and forth in front of his building for the next hour and a half, but there are protocols to follow.

  The first link in the chain hangs up on me the moment I give my full name. The House of Bremenschmeid is respected in the court, but it mostly goes to my father and grandfather. Sidhe aren’t impressed by a business degree, they want to see weapons that can cut through concrete and armor that can withstand dragon breath. This is the reason I’ll likely never be married.

  So I proceed to the Emerald Towers in Grunstadt, find a place to loiter, and I make the call I’ve been dreading.

  “Ja. Hier Dieter.”

  “Dad, it’s me. Could we do this in English? There are things I need to say and my German’s rusty.”

  I hear a sigh on the line. “Too much time with your mother. Should have taken more of it in school.”

  “The cute girls were taking Italian, can we not get into this? I need to see the Riordan.”

  He chuffs, and I hear the clinking of an empty glass.

  “Dad, are you drinking?”

  “Have been drinking. I lost a friend, Oswald. I am not in a mood to do favors.” I hear him pouring, likely Steinhäger, into the glass. “I am in a mood to think. He had children, Oswald. Sons. I have one. A layabout.”

  “Dad, we are not getting into that, this is important. I need you to make a call to get me an appointment with the Riordan. They’ll do it for you.”

  “A son who has forged nothing of note, who dallies with a man while I attempt to find him a wife.” Damn it, James and I weren’t as secret as we would have liked. I need to derail this before it goes down the old familiar route and we hit all our marks and I hang up in a rage.

  “Dad, the Benz is wrecked, I was knocked off the road by a dragon, the Cobalt Order shot up the rest of it and nearly killed me, and likely would’ve finished the job if the Riordan’s consort hadn’t offered to be taken in my place. I’ll say it again. The Riordan’s consort has been taken by the Cobalt Order. They’re not just a nuisance anymore, they’ve openly attacked a member of the court and your own son.”

  I hear a soft crack, and see that the screen of my cell phone has a line through it now, but the call is still live. “Hörst du mir jetzt zu?”

  “Ja. Sprechen.”

  “The Riordan has to be informed what happened to his consort, and I can’t just go to his apartment to tell him, and I don’t want to delegate this information, given that he’ll want details. So protocol has to be followed, I need an appointment, and they’re not going to give one to me without you doing me this favor.” Dad won’t ask why I don’t just tell someone farther up the chain about this. This would be a hell of a thing to hold over the Riordan.

  “It will take a few minutes. Wait there.”

  He hangs up a second afterward. It’s the best I could hope for, to tell the truth. I lean against the building, my chest still complaining with aches and pains. I must look a damned sight, given that I didn’t have time to change my clothes, but hopefully the Riordan will appreciate my priorities.

  After several minutes, a tall man in his midthirties with dark hair, dark eyes and very tanned skin emerges from an early-model Corvette, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the Jaguar logo across his chest. It doesn’t take him long to notice me. When he finally speaks, his voice has a thick Irish brogue. “Dwarf.”

  I point at myself, just to be sure.

  “Yeah, you. You looking for me?”

  I nod, then remember to bow. “Thank you for taking the time to see—”

  He waves a hand. “Clearly there’s something you need to tell me, given your appearance. So shall we spare the pleasantries? I’m a Phouk, the Phouk, if we’re going to be formal about it, but I’m hardly a sidhe. Speak plainly, Dwarf.”

  “I don’t see how speaking plainly will help here, Riordan. I need to tell you something important, but I’m afraid how you’ll react when you’re told.”

  At that, he smirks. “And do you believe I’ll take this news better if you deliver it in soaring prose and iambic pentameter? Neither of us are peacocks…” A slang term for the sidhe that’s never used in polite company. “Simply tell me. You have nothing to fear.”

  I take a deep breath. “Your consort, Spencer Crain, has been taken by the Cobalt Order, they’ve got a dragon working with them, and the Lightning Rod is missing.”

  A few seconds pass, and his accent vanishes, or rather changes when he speaks again, unrecognizable. But I have the sense it’s from a land far older than the countries I’ve ever heard of. “Spencer Crain has been taken.”

  I nod.

  “Dragons aid the ones who took him.”

  I nod again.

  “And the Lightning Rod…the Ra’keth is missing?”

  “Yes, Riordan.”

  His eyes barely contain his fury. “Fetch me a blade of the coldest iron. I am conscripting you into my service, and you will give me aid in addressing the conflicts you have brought to my attention.”

  I will admit I tremble. “Sir?”

  His accent returns to Irish. “There will be blood tonight.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  James

  December 20, 10:01 am

  So it turns out that dragons can cook, or at least that a few of them picked up the skill over the centuries. There is a subtle difference when you eat conjured food; it tastes a little too perfect. Considering that conjured food, at least in my case, is based off memories, it always tastes as you remember it, and nothing is ever as good as you remember it.

  But what Dungeons & Dragons didn’t get right about dragons? God, they’re boring. When the council gathers for a meal, I got to be formally introduced to all of them. With their unabbreviated names. Over three hours later, we’re finally ready to eat.

  I have no idea what I’m eating; the little details are just wrong, but it appears to be some sort of fish, rice and vegetables. This could be breakfast, lunch, dinner—I have no idea what the draconic meal schedule is like.

  Parivian is sitting several seats down on my left, and he doesn’t make eye contact, which leads me to believe that, yes, he did in fact hear what Slartibartfast
was thinking about him. Ras is also on my left, acting as if sitting on a throne is perfectly normal while he eats. It’s not, by the way.

  First of all, the chair is too damned high, considering I can swing my legs. Also, the stuffing in the cushions isn’t all that plush or comfortable. It’s itchy, even through my pants. I’m not that in favor of the symbolism either. I’ve enjoyed being a low-profile sorcerer, as everything in the supernatural community outside of that Knight of St. George has left me alone.

  Ras doesn’t have the best of table manners, but I’m guessing he’s either from a time where proper utensils weren’t all that important or he got too used to eating with his face. He hasn’t spoken much. No one has, really, only the sounds of feasting fill the hall.

  “So…”

  And now, dead silence as dozens of eyes train on me.

  I swallow hard and mutter to Ras. “Why are they all staring at me?”

  “Because the Ra’keth is speaking.” He returns his attention to his food as if it’s perfectly normal.

  “Uh, you guys can just talk amongst yourselves. I was talking to…” I gesture to Ras, as I suspect they wouldn’t appreciate that I’ve given him a nickname. They’re still staring, and it’s starting to get a little creepy.

  I lower my voice again. “So when do I get to leave? Or contact anyone and at least let them know I’m here and not in mortal danger?”

  “When I deem you capable enough to defend yourself.”

  “I didn’t need to defend myself before. No one knew about me.”

  He hmphs. “And you truly believed you could continue your reign in obscurity?” He reaches over and flicks my lock of white hair. “Sooner rather than later, that would be apparent to all. We all cannot be as the Recluse.”

  “Why not? This world’s clearly moved on from magic. Why do I have to go public?”

  “Humans have embraced science. The mythics, on the other hand, have not. To many, the Keth are trophies, targets, just cause for long-repressed vengeance, and eventually someone will learn who you are and decide the world would be better off without you. Hence, you will remain here under guard of the Dracon Council until it is determined you only require limited accompaniment.”

  “So I have to choose a protector no matter what.”

  He simply nods and takes another bite of the fish before making a face. “Of all the clans you could give support to…”

  “Huh?”

  He points to the fish. “A staple of the Snow Clan. As you are the Ra’keth, and you showed them your favor…”

  “We’re eating…fish.” I shrug—it’s not bad or anything. When I catch Parivian’s eyes he immediately casts them downward. “Parry?”

  He freezes and meekly looks in my direction. “Yes, my liege?”

  “Did you arrange to have that door fixed? That one you busted down while you tried to save me from the terror of starting my day off right?” Ozzie and I don’t often do it in the mornings, but it could’ve gone there, you never know.

  “I…”

  “Parivian!” Ras stands, his jaw set. “You were asked a question.”

  “Y-yes, my liege.”

  I glance at Ras. “You don’t have to yell at him.” When I look closer, I can see that his eyes have shifted to the serpentine slits.

  “He should be honored to even be allowed at this table.”

  “I am, Great Ra’saar! Deeply honored.” Parry’s actually trembling.

  I reach over and pat Ras’s hand. “Lay off, okay? Maybe I could’ve worded it better.” I look to Parry. “Thank you for attending to that matter.”

  He nods quickly. “Yes, my liege. Thank you, my liege.” The dragon lowers his head and focuses his attention on his food, the fish already down to the bones. Not many other dragons are eating the fish. I eat it anyway. Screw ’em.

  I’d like to note to Ras that his people don’t seem to be as free and happy as he implies, given the rigidity, but it’s not polite to talk about people in front of them. Plus, I’m pretty sure it won’t be taken all that well. Instead, I decide to concentrate on finding a way out.

  Seeing as I sent Coda off to Dave’s, I have to assume I can do that to myself, if only I knew how. I have done something similar to teleportation before, when I yanked Spencer all the way back from Japan, but that required a lot of work, preparation and energy. I’ve never ’ported myself, and I don’t think slipping into Tartarus counts…

  And I doubt that dragons could follow me there.

  But first, I need to find something out.

  “Parivian?”

  Parry snaps to attention. “Yes, my liege?”

  I smile genially. “Where are we? I mean, where in the world are we?”

  He tilts his head. “I…I don’t understand, my liege.”

  “If I had a map of the world, and I asked you where we are, where would you point?”

  He blinks several times. “We are in His Majesty’s realm, my liege.”

  I sigh with exasperation. “Yes, yes, but where is that?”

  Ras chuckles to himself with amusement, and I squint at him.

  “What, if I may ask, is so funny?”

  Once he’s composed himself, he smiles at me. “We are in my realm. You will not find it on a map of the world.”

  “Because…?”

  “It is not of the world.”

  I start to speak several times. “Run that by me again?”

  “I could hardly have you traipsing off to Tartarus. All manner of beings would butcher you in a heartbeat. My realm has no such connection to Hades, or any of the other lands of the dead for that matter.”

  “We’re in another dimension?” I’ll admit I’m having some trouble wrapping my head around that.

  “I am a Ra’keth, an archmaster of conjuration, of creating things from nothing.”

  I stare at him, then get up to look out the windows onto a perfectly lovely pastoral vista replete with blue skies and forests and snow-capped mountains in the distance and a bubbling brook winding its way across the countryside. “So you conjured all…” I gesture at nothing in particular, “…I mean, everything here? A whole world?”

  “It was my will, yes. My dragons needed a place they could be safe, where their rookeries would be unmolested. I was not the first to create such a place and I doubt I will be the…” He glances at me. “Perhaps I will be the last, given the state of the Keth, as it were.”

  Shit, that makes things difficult. Jumping over to Tartarus and making a break for it wasn’t much of an option. I can only stay there as long as I can hold my breath and it takes a lot out of me. But it was at least an option. An entirely different world? No wonder scrying Spencer practically killed me.

  “So how do you get back and forth then? I mean, I thought most of the dragons lived in Europe.”

  He waves his hand, and all of the plates on the table disappear as he rises from his seat. “They do, and the majority of the ways that lead here begin in Europe.” Shortly afterward the dragons begin to file out, though Parry spares a lingering glance. “A temporary way can be opened, though it often requires great effort. You are fortunate that I prefer this realm to the one that I once called home.”

  “I am?”

  “Indeed. The world shall have only one Ra’keth.” He looks at me. “Unless I am willing to take my greater form, I have been forbidden to step foot on…” He furrows his brow. “You call it Earth now, yes?”

  I nod. “I… You can’t ever go back? I mean, not as a human?”

  He shakes his head. “And the Ra’saar is quite limited in where he can go. It is also rather easy to lose myself in him.” He smiles to himself. “And he finds you quite insolent. That was quite a display you put on, and insulting to many who only wished to serve you. Codacintha herself was in line to join my personal guard. She eschewed her opportunity
when you took the throne.”

  “What about what I did to Salondine?”

  “Truly, I am grateful you pointed out the oversight in a method that was not so damaging. Once Salondine had served out a reasonable time of punishment, I saw fit to remove the offending title.” He looks at me quizzically. “Stuffington Fluffypants?”

  “The Third. Esquire.” A few seconds pass in silence. “I want to go home.”

  “I’ve told you what is necessary to achieve that.”

  I shake my head. “No. I want to go home. Ozzie’s probably going out of his mind, and he doesn’t deserve that. He deserves to know where I am and that I’m coming home to him.” Ras gives me a blank look, and I have to chuckle. “You don’t get it. Guess you’ve never been in…”

  Oh shit, is that what it is?

  After Cale I didn’t think I could…

  I was certain I’d never feel the same way about anyone ever again, and I have to admit I was right. What Cale and I had was special, a once-in-a-lifetime love that stays with you for as long as, well… And it’s not the same with Ozzie. It’s definitely different but…

  But it’s just as good.

  God damn you, Hades. Fucking smartass.

  “Listen, I appreciate that you’re trying to teach me and everything, but requiring that I take myself out of here when you know I don’t know how doesn’t make me a guest you’d like to stay. It makes me a prisoner you’re forcing to attempt escape.”

  Ras waves his hand dismissively. “Again, you try to convince me with words, which is proper for a Ra’keth, but not the right kind of words. When a Ra’keth speaks, the world alters to his will. He does not request, he does not take, he does not steal. If there is something he wants, he wills it his.”

  “I want to go.” Even Tartarus would be better than listening to a lecture in Megalomania 101.

  I hold my breath.

  Nothing happens.

  Well, the air shimmers a little and I feel tired, and he notices this.

  “Why would a Sorcerer King allow his realm any sort of connection to the land of the dead?”