The Scarlet Dragon (The Witching World Book 5)

by Lucia Ashta

  I ran a fingertip from his wrist to the inner crease of his elbow. “It doesn’t hurt?” My eyebrows were slightly raised, unbelieving.

  “No, not really.”

  “Not really? Does that mean it does hurt?”

  “Yes, it does hurt some. But it doesn’t matter.”

  “How would that not matter? Why would you think your pain wouldn’t matter to me?”

  He smiled. The love I saw in his eyes would have persuaded me to drop the whole issue right then if he hadn’t continued. “I mean that it’s no great price to pay for the rescue of your sister and my nephew. They’re alive and safe, and your sister will soon become herself again.”

  I didn’t have a chance to respond before we heard the sound of horses outside. Marcelo looked at me, eyebrows raised in a mixture of suspicion and surprise. The demanding climb from the town to reach the castle was arduous so as to discourage visitors. Guests were few, and Grand-mère’s brother wasn’t scheduled to arrive for a few hours still.

  Marcelo kissed me on the bridge of the nose and stood. He unfolded his sleeve, buttoned his cuff, and pulled down his sweater. With a tall back, he walked to the entryway, careful not to move too quickly.

  There were sounds outside and the footsteps of horses ceased. Then came shuffling across gravel and someone clanged the bell beside the front door.

  I moved behind Marcelo in time to watch Anna scurry to answer the door. This was normally Carlton’s job, and I could almost see Marcelo remembering the long-time butler, who was as much a friend as a servant. It wouldn’t be long before Marcelo turned his attention to finding him.

  Anna pulled the door open and stepped aside so the man on the other side of the threshold could enter. When he took his first step inside the castle, I took one step back, without really noticing that I did.

  Grand-mère’s voice swept down the stairs seconds before she did. “Gustave! Mon frère. Quel plaisir de ta voir ici.” She breezed by Marcelo and me to the side of the entryway, and embraced her brother in a swash of burgundy skirts. Gertrude followed her down the stairs, but came to my side.

  I picked her up. Against my chest, she swiveled her head to study the man that we’d never met before, but who shared our blood.

  He was nothing like the great uncle I would have imagined. At first glance, there wasn’t a thing about him that was as I would have predicted.

  Chapter 23

  If Grand-mère hadn’t told us in advance that this was her brother, I might have deemed this man in her embrace a stranger. A friend perhaps, but not family. Certainly not. He looked nothing like any of us in the family did. He didn’t have red hair or yellow eyes like Grand-mère, Gertrude, or I. He didn’t have blonde hair or blue eyes like any of my three other sisters or Mother did either.

  While Gertrude and I looked little like Mother and our other sisters due to our complexion, we all shared similar facial features, and were tall and slender, lithe even, just like Grand-mère who had retained the agility of her youth. Gustave, lord of the House of Acquaine, was definitively not svelte.

  Where Grand-mère’s beauty and charisma distracted from her age, Gustave had no such advantage. He looked like he could have been Grand-mère’s father, and it’s what I would have assumed, if they’d resembled each other at all.

  Grand-mère released Gustave from her burgundy silk embrace and turned to show us her brother with unmistakable—and equally incomprehensible—pride.

  “Come here, mes chéries. I want you to meet someone very special.”

  Hesitantly, under the intense scrutiny of beady eyes, I stepped forward with Gertrude in my arms. I covered three steps, and then paused to look over my shoulder at Marcelo. He’d remained where he was. Chagrined, he joined me, and together we approached Gustave.

  “Gustave, my darling, these are your great nieces. This is Clara, Gianne’s eldest living child. You remember that Gianne’s firstborn, and only son, passed when he was young?”

  “I do,” he said, without the expressions of sympathy.

  “And this one here,” Grand-mère reached out to pet the cat’s ginger head, “is Gertrude, Gianne’s youngest. You remember that after the son died, she had five girls.”

  “I do.”

  “Well she is the fifth girl.”

  It was strange to hear Grand-mère speak of us in such stark terms, reducing us to our birth order, and I urged myself not to bristle, a bit unsuccessfully. What was wrong with what she said, after all? Nothing really, yet I still didn’t like it, and I didn’t think Gertrude did either.

  “This little one is the one I want you to help, the one I told you about. Did Gregore bring you my message?”

  “He did.”

  “Do you think you can transform her back into her human body?”

  “I have no doubt that I will be able to do as you wish.”

  “Oh, mon frère, that’s wonderful! I knew that you’d be able to help. I told them all how amazing you are. Didn’t I, mes chéries?”

  “You did,” I said obediently, with an attempt at a smile.

  “Ah. In my excitement to see you, my dear Gustave, I forgot to introduce the new Count of Bundry to you. This is Marcelo, fiancé to our Clara.”

  Marcelo stepped forward with a hand extended. Gustave studied it before finally reaching his own hand. While they shook hands and shared artificial pleasantries, I studied my great uncle.

  He was bald, with wisps of hair of an undefined color—was it gray or a dingy brownish white?—that encircled the base of his head, making his ears look large. His eyebrows were big and bushy and white as snow. His mouth, unlike the rest of the family’s, was small and puckered, peeking out beneath a bulbous nose.

  When he caught me looking, I smiled, but he seemed to know what I was doing, and returned my smile with unmistakable ice until he corrected the gesture, imbuing it with feigned sincerity as an afterthought.

  “Come to the parlor, Gustave. I’ll have the servants bring some tea. We have so much to catch up on. What delayed you? Was it your work with the dragons?” Grand-mère’s voice began to fade out as she steered her impeccably outfitted, short brother into the parlor.

  Normally, I wouldn’t have been able to resist a discussion about dragons, from family members especially, but I hung back and did not immediately follow. Instead, I looked to Marcelo. In his alert, intelligent eyes, I discovered that the malaise I was experiencing extended also to him.

  What was it about Gustave that I didn’t like? I couldn’t pinpoint any particular thing. Obviously, his lack of handsomeness was not the cause. But I didn’t understand what caused my resistance. And Grand-mère evidently felt none of it. The trail ends of what she said ventured out from the open door to the parlor. She continued to speak with what would have normally been contagious enthusiasm.

  “Clara, darling, are you coming?” she called.

  I didn’t want to go, but I couldn’t be rude to my great uncle, or my grandmother, especially when I couldn’t identify a single reason to be such. I steeled my will and moved toward the parlor. Marcelo followed close behind. He wasn’t about to leave me alone with a man he didn’t yet trust, not when our lives had been as they had lately.

  Caution was smart until it became paranoia. But could it be paranoia when I could name at least one powerful and resourceful person that wanted to steal my soul and then kill me and my loved ones? Bound or not, Count Washur was an omnipresent threat. And there was Mirvela besides, somewhere in the sea just below us.

  I drew on my excitement of Sylvia’s waking and Marcelo’s return from the clutches of darkness to show the appropriate enthusiasm for Grand-mère. But when I met Gustave’s steely eyes again, even that didn’t seem enough, and I had to force myself to breathe regularly.

  “Take a seat, ma chérie.”

  I moved to the settee to obey.

  “No, my darling. Closer. Gustave will want to see his lovely great nieces. Aren’t they lovely, Gustave?”

  “They are.”

>   “Besides, my darling Clara, we’ll want him to begin helping Gertrude as soon as possible. I imagine she’s ready to be a girl again. Aren’t you, little Gertrude?”

  I knew Gertrude could understand Grand-mère, even as a cat, and a girl-who-is-a-cat would have nodded. But Gertrude didn’t do anything.

  I pulled her closer to my chest and scooted an eighth of an inch closer to Marcelo on the love seat.

  “I can begin right away,” Gustave said, his eyes trained on me and the cat in my arms.

  “That’s wonderful, my darling Gustave. But would it not be better if you rested a bit first? And perhaps had a nice dinner? You’ve come a long way, and I’m certain you’ve been working hard too. You always do. Those dragons can be a lot of work.”

  Gustave paused before answering. “I suppose you’re right, Ariadne. I’ll wait until after dinner.” He patted the top of his belly, where it was round. “I do always enjoy a nice meal.”

  “And then I have a surprise for you.”

  “You do?” Gustave’s bushy eyebrows rose to take up half his forehead.

  “Oh, yes, I do.” She smiled mischievously, and I got a glimpse of what she must have been like as a girl. “Unless you’ve tired of dragons already.”

  “Me? Tire of dragons?” He smiled, and I realized that it was the first true smile he’d given since arriving.

  “I didn’t think so,” Grand-mère said, and I wondered what it was that dragons liked about this man? I didn’t think I would like him if I were big and fierce like Humbert, capable of forcing the issue of whom I surrounded myself with.

  I snuck a glance at Marcelo, and I saw that he was thinking the same thing I was. We wanted to see how Humbert reacted to Gustave. Animals often sensed things humans do not.

  “There you are! Finally. I’ve been waiting.”

  I followed Grand-mère’s beaming look to discover Mordecai and Brave entering the room. “Mordecai, this is my brother. Gustave, this is Mordecai, presiding lord of Irele.”

  Mordecai came forward and extended his hand right away. I watched him closely. To the less watchful eye, he reacted with enthusiasm. But I saw something sweep across his eyes, and I felt Marcelo tense next to me, almost imperceptibly.

  “And this is Brave, Marcelo’s nephew, son of his late sister, Clarissa.”

  Grand-mère looked to Brave expectantly, but he didn’t come any closer. “Come now, Brave. Don’t be shy. My brother doesn’t bite.” Her smile was convincing, but Brave remained where he was.

  “Come now. Be gracious to our guest.”

  “My apologies. Please excuse me. I’m suddenly feeling unwell.” And in seconds, we could hear Brave’s footsteps on the wooden stairs.

  Marcelo stood a fraction of an instant before I did, and cradled his hand around my elbow, encouraging me up. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Gustave. Please pardon us now. It’s most unlike my nephew to act this way. I presume that he must be feeling quite unwell. I’d like to go check on him to see if I can do anything to ease his discomfort.”

  “Of course,” Grand-mère said, while Gustave nodded his head in a regal bow, giving his permission. “I hope that Brave is all right.”

  “I’m certain that he will be, Ariadne. Thank you. Now we’ll take our leave.” Marcelo ushered me out and rushed me up the stairs. It was only once we reached the second floor and the chambers where Sylvia was recovering that I let out the breath I hadn’t realized until then I was holding.

  Chapter 24

  Brave’s haunted eyes told me that he’d reacted to Gustave in the same way we did. A lot was said in exchanged gazes devoid of words.

  We moved to the other side of the chamber, away from where Sylvia appeared to be resting under Mathieu’s watch. He hadn’t left her side since she woke, and I wondered if it was out of loneliness for another of his kind, or something else.

  Brave said, “What on earth is going on?” and Sir Lancelot decided what we were about to discuss would be more engaging than his view of the castle’s entrance. He flew over to my shoulder.

  “Hello Sir Lancelot,” I said.

  “Why hello, Lady Clara. What’s happening?” Sir Lancelot wasn’t used to being the last one to find out anything. Rather, he was often the first, quick to see the connections between facts and utilize them to form astute deductions.

  “There’s something distinctly off about Lady Ariadne’s brother,” Marcelo said, with an unmistakable growl. “I don’t like him one bit.”

  “Neither do I,” I said, surprised that Marcelo and Brave’s reactions to Gustave were as strong as mine. Gertrude rubbed her head repeatedly against my chest. “And Gertrude doesn’t like him either.” She purred in approval; I had interpreted her message correctly.

  “How is it that Lady Ariadne does not see it?” Brave asked the obvious question, to which none of us had a ready answer.

  “It makes absolutely no sense. Grand-mère is an intelligent woman, and clearly she’s also a powerful witch, even if her magic is limited to magical creatures. How could she not see what is so immediately evident to the rest of us?”

  Marcelo began pacing. I watched him run a hand through his hair, and I smiled despite the bewilderment of the situation. Marcelo was acting as he had before Count Washur’s dark attack. The only apparent remnants of the attack were the way his left arm hung floppily at his side.

  “What’s unusual about Lord Gustave?” Sir Lancelot asked.

  “Everything,” Brave said.

  “I’m not sure what it is exactly about the man,” I added. “But there is undeniably something off about him. He looks normal enough—”

  “He looks ‘normal’ to you?” Brave asked, incredulously.

  “Well, no, he doesn’t look ‘normal.’ But I don’t want to judge a person based only on his appearances either. Suffice it to say, Sir Lancelot, that he looks nothing like you would imagine he would being Grand-mère’s brother.”

  “I see,” said the owl. “And what else about him disturbs you?”

  Marcelo was still pacing. “Perhaps you should go down and see for yourself, Sir Lancelot. Because, like Clara and Brave, I can’t put my finger on what it is precisely that frightens me about him either.”

  Frightens? I thought. That was a strong word coming from Marcelo. He’d faced enough in his life not to frighten easily.

  “It would be helpful to have your input.” Marcelo continued to direct himself to Sir Lancelot. “I fear that it’s urgent to discover what’s going on and to prepare against it.” Again, the fear. I tensed despite myself. My pulse started going faster than I wanted.

  “I think so too,” Brave added, becoming more courageous and outspoken now that he had his uncle’s approval.

  “Very well,” Sir Lancelot said. “I’ll go now.” He left the room and we all began to pace, avoiding each other’s circuit across the rugs. We walked deep in thought, but making no more sense of the situation than we already had, until the pygmy owl finally returned.

  Chapter 25

  Sir Lancelot’s arrival was less smooth than usual. His breath was more agitated than the trip downstairs warranted.

  Under normal circumstances, Sir Lancelot’s mind was a vault with endless rows of files, information that spanned centuries and encompassed much of the history of the magical world. He constantly surprised me with his stories, experience, and insight. But now, he was as easy to read as the black and white print in a book, and I hoped he’d done a better job of concealing his reactions to Gustave when he was in his presence.

  “So you felt it too?” Marcelo said.

  “Oh yes. I most certainly did,” squeaked Sir Lancelot, lifting a wing to attempt to flatten out some of his feathers, sticking up in places, flustered as he was. “The conclusion you reached about Lord Gustave, that there is something ‘off’ about him, is an unavoidable one.” Sir Lancelot shook himself. “I couldn’t wait to be away from him.”

  Brave nodded. He’d spent the least amount of time with my great uncle,
unwilling even to enter the room he occupied. “But could you tell what it was exactly that bothered you about him?”

  Sir Lancelot stilled gave great thought to his answer before he spoke. “No.” He shook his head, and the feathers that crested it flopped up and down comically. Yet the rest of his answer was far from comical. “I don’t know what about the man is so terribly offensive.”

  That was a very grave answer coming from the pygmy owl. I never thought I’d hear him say he didn’t know something. My concern grew, and my grip on Gertrude tightened involuntarily.

  Marcelo also looked surprised by the owl’s reply. “Surely, however, you have theories you can share with us?”

  “No, Lord Bundry, I do not.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “At least none I feel confident enough to divulge at this juncture. I will, of course, give consideration to the matter.”

  “Please do, Sir Lancelot,” Marcelo said. “Because this is a serious situation. I’m uncomfortable at the idea of having a man I don’t trust within our home.”

  Obviously, I thought. Yet he couldn’t ask Gustave to leave. That would be a great offense to Grand-mère, who was a special guest and the family of his bride-to-be. It would take more than a possible threat of danger to persuade Marcelo, even as removed as he was from many of the standard traditions that existed since long before him. He’d require concrete proof.

  “So what do we do?” Brave asked, with an edge of sarcasm. “Just pretend that everything is normal?”

  A quick bark of laughter escaped, and Marcelo, Brave, Sir Lancelot, and even Gertrude moved to look at me. Marcelo cocked an eyebrow at me in question. “Sorry. I know it’s not funny. In fact, it’s very far from funny. It’s just that, when Brave suggested that we just act ‘normal,’ it struck me that there aren’t many normal things about any single one of us.” I shrugged apologetically.