by Lori Devoti
“Have you had a change of heart?” Joarr asked. It was an asinine question. It was hard to change a heart that didn’t exist. “Have you come to remove your demands?”
Joarr expected the lieutenant to laugh. To his surprise the other dragon didn’t. Instead he leaned forward. “As I said, you’ve been gone a long while. Has anything gone missing in your absence, like, say, the chalice?” There was a flash of fire in his eyes.
Joarr’s lips formed a line. How could they know?
He laid two fingers against his brow, as if Rike’s question bored him. “I know how important the chalice is. Don’t you think I’d have mentioned it if it had gone missing? I am the Keeper.”
“A job I know, since being orphaned, you take seriously,” the lieutenant replied.
Joarr kept his expression bland. They both knew Rike’s words were far from the truth.
Joarr hadn’t asked to be entrusted with the dragons’ damned holy artifact. Hadn’t asked for anything except to be left alone. He’d inherited the job as a child when his father’s death had left him orphaned.
His fingers twitched. Again he resisted glancing at the lantern. He had every intention of getting the chalice back, would have had it by now if the witch had cooperated just a little.
Rike touched one hand to his own shoulder and jerked the dragon-army badge off his tight-fitting shirt. Joarr’s gaze traveled from the bare place where the patch had been back to Rike’s face. This time it was harder to keep his expression blank.
“I am not here as a representative of the army,” Rike said. He angled a brow. “Am I still welcome?”
Joarr flipped both hands up. “More so.” He leaned back, his gaze on the lieutenant. This conversation was not going where he had expected. It at least might prove interesting.
Rike followed Joarr’s example and straddled the other bench. “Will you produce the chalice now?”
Joarr didn’t reply. It was obvious the lieutenant knew he’d lost the thing.
Rike let out a breath, a hiss actually. “It’s true. You’ve lost it. How? For how long? Has it been missing the entire time you’ve been gone? Are you that irresponsible to leave us unguarded?” He stood up, knocking against the table, shoving it into Joarr and causing Amma’s lantern to rattle.
Joarr placed his hand over the top of Amma’s lantern, stilling it, then replied, his words calm and controlled. “What makes you think it is missing? What great catastrophe has befallen the dragons? I’ve been home a month and no one has asked about the relic, no one has come to me with tales of apocalypse. Are you saying I missed this massive disaster, or that you just forgot to mention it until now?”
Personally, Joarr didn’t believe the legend that surrounded the chalice; he never had. His desire to get the thing back had nothing to do with its supposed power and everything to do with the Ormar believing in its power. If he had been able to find a fake that would have satisfied their skeptical eyes he would have tossed it where the original had been and gone on.
But an ancient artifact, with or without real power, was hard to fake, especially when dealing with dragons.
Rike placed his palms flat on the table and stared into Joarr’s eyes. “Things have happened. We didn’t see reason to tie them to the chalice since we believed it here, safe. We believed the Keeper would have told us, if it wasn’t.”
Tsk-tsk. Joarr had been a very bad Keeper indeed. He raised both brows. “I repeat—it couldn’t have been that bad or—”
Rike leaned across the table, grabbed Joarr by the front of his sweater and jerked him close. “A dragon died—a young, strong dragon—for no reason. No wounds, no tales of glory-seeking heroes. He. Just. Died.”
Joarr closed his lips, cutting off the rebuttal that had already started to form in his mind. Dragons didn’t just die. Yes, they were killed, like his father had been, but even that was rare. Dragons were the most magical and strongest of all the beings in the nine worlds. They feared no one.
Seeing that his words were having an effect, Rike loosened his grip. “And yesterday, there was a second. Exactly the same—young and strong. No battles, no wounds.” He let go of Joarr and fell back onto his bench. He turned to the side and stared at the dishes still piled in Joarr’s sink from breakfast. There were shadows under the older dragon’s eyes, and his hand trembled when he reached up to run it over his face.
“About five years ago, the first one, one of our youngest, went off to play—roamed the nine worlds. He was gone for a year, nothing unusual, but when he came back he was tired and stayed to himself. We left him alone, until we realized it was more than that. He had seemed normal at first, was able to shift, to fly, make fire, everything, but as time went on he grew weaker and weaker. He lost one ability after another until he was nothing but a shadow of himself. Our physicians could find nothing wrong with him, and we couldn’t tie what was happening to anything he’d encountered while gone. He’d been to all the worlds, been in fights, stolen treasure, done all the things the young do before settling down. We didn’t even know if it was connected to his travels. As he continued to fade, we tried all we could think of—potions, magic, even brought in witches—but in a few months, he was dead.”
“Was he poisoned?” Joarr asked.
Rike turned his head to look at him. “Does it matter? Does poison kill dragons?”
The answer was obvious. No, nothing killed dragons, nothing that fit this description.
Rike growled and turned back to the side. “Six months ago, another boy left and returned. Same story, same symptoms, same outcome.”
“He’s dead?” Joarr asked, his blood turning cold.
Rike nodded. There was tension in his neck and his jaw was tight. “He lasted a month. Again we tried everything. This time we sent scouts to all of the worlds, but it was like searching for a fleck of gold in a mountain of earth. He’d told us some of his travels before his illness became obvious, but after that…he got so weak…there was likely more he forgot than remembered.”
“Who was this dragon, Rike?” Joarr had to ask; the lieutenant’s emotion wasn’t normal—not for the Ormar.
Rike didn’t move, just kept staring at the dishes. “My son. My only son. And he wasn’t alone. His cousin was with him. Ari returned, but Brandt didn’t. Ari said they separated for a while, were supposed to join back up, but Brandt never showed. When Ari realized he was getting sick, he came home alone. I suspect whatever took Ari, took Brandt, too. He just never made it back to us.”
There was nothing for Joarr to say. He and Rike weren’t close, barely tolerated each other actually, and even if they were, dragons did not console one another in grief. Instead he did the kindest thing; he redirected the conversation. “And you think because of two mysterious deaths, and one disappearance, I’ve lost the chalice?”
The dragons believed the chalice kept them safe, that the chalice was what made and kept them the most undefeatable beings in the nine worlds. Joarr thought the idea ludicrous. Even more ludicrous in his mind was that he was stuck with the job of guarding it by lineage. Tradition said only the Keeper and his heirs could control its magic, could even handle the damn thing.
“Yesterday, I got this.” Rike stood and pulled an envelope from his back pocket. There was nothing ominous about the item, just a plain white envelope that could be found at any office-supply store in the human world.
Rike pulled a letter from the envelope and dropped it onto the table in front of him.
Again nothing special—white paper, black ink, printed by some type of computer printer.
I know where the chalice is. If you want it back, send one dragon to the portal. He will get more directions there.
Joarr’s lips twisted to the side. It smelled like a trap. “You believe this?” he asked.
Rike cocked a brow. “Tell me I shouldn’t. Tell me you have the chalice.”
When Joarr didn’t reply, the lieutenant shook his head. “We should have realized before. We’ve never been weak like
this, been preyed on. No one has that ability. How could they? Not with the power of the chalice protecting us. We should have realized when the first dragon came back sick that the chalice was missing, but we were too caught up trying to cure his illness, then with my son, find his killer. When all we needed to do was retrieve the chalice.” He paused. “Or you. All you need to do is retrieve the chalice.”
Of course.
Chapter 2
The cavern was dark and cool. Joarr hadn’t bothered to bring a working light. He could see in the dark almost as well as in the day. He tucked the folded note into his pants pocket and held up the lantern. Amma had made no sound, given no sign she was inside, not since Rike had left. He wondered what she had heard, if she was rejoicing in the pain she had caused him, could cause him still.
Before leaving, the dragon lieutenant had reminded Joarr of his taxes and added a threat. If Joarr didn’t find the chalice and bring it back, the Ormar would take everything. Joarr’s home would be burned, his treasure taken and the entrance to his cavern sealed. He would be exiled.
Exiled dragons became wyrms, brainless bipedal creatures unable to shift to any other form, unable to do anything besides feed the hunger that blazed inside them. Greed for food, power and treasure consumed them.
The witch and her tricks had brought Joarr to this.
He moved to the back of the first room, past his treasure, which still lay in the pile as it had when he’d discovered Amma’s pilfery. The rounded grooves where her breasts had brushed over the gold were still visible. He could probably still smell her there, too, if he would allow himself to get that close. But he wouldn’t. The sight and scent last time had sent him into a rage. He wouldn’t fall victim to that again. No, this time he would deal with Amma and her treachery the same way she had dealt with him—with cold calculation.
In the back was a narrow passageway, barely wide enough for him in his human form. It led to a bigger room, one he rarely visited, one saved for only the things he truly treasured…didn’t just feel the dragon-obsession to own. The room was empty aside from a six-foot-long table and the cloth-covered form that lay on top of it.
Amma’s lantern held over his head as if the object were actually emitting light, he jerked the cloth from the table. A gasp sounded from the lantern. It began to vibrate.
Joarr smiled. Amma had seen a ghost…herself.
Her body. The new rulers of Alfheim—a hellhound and the elf princess whose body Amma had shared for a while—had sent him Amma’s form. She had been separated from it not long after she had stolen his chalice. She’d gone to Alfheim, apparently in search of family, but been turned away. According to stories, she became crazed and with the help of her sisters, attacked the elves. The elves had been unable to destroy her, but they had managed to separate her spirit from her body. Her body had been kept in Alfheim while her spirit had been locked in a vessel and sent to the in-between land of Gunngar.
Gunngar…where he had been trapped, too. He and Amma both had been prisoners there for one hundred years. She locked in a gemstone, he locked in his dragon form. He’d dreamed of the day he would see her again and seek his revenge, but now that the day was here, revenge was the least of his concerns.
He needed his chalice, and while Rike had provided him with the note, he knew simply following its directions would be foolhardy. He needed more information—like what Amma had done with the cup all those years ago.
He ran the backs of his fingers over the witch’s still, cool cheek and shook his head at the irony of her appearance. “You are a beauty. Deceptively innocent-looking with your golden hair and blue eyes. What color do they call that? Cornflower, I believe. Just a hint of purple if I remember correctly. And big…angelic, except in bed. Then they crackled with life…your true nature showing through. Wicked little thing that you are.” His hand hovered over her face, his thumb brushing over her lips.
“According to Rike and what I’ve heard from others, the elves tried everything to destroy your body—every magical tool they could dig up, but did they try a dragon’s fire? I know of nothing that can survive the full force of that.” He pulled in a breath, then released it, a tiny puff of smoke escaping his lips as he did.
Lowering the lantern an inch, he peered through the glass. “Are you willing to talk now?”
* * *
Amma swirled around the inside of the lantern like she’d done a thousand times before, searching for a crack, a pinhole, anything that would give her an opportunity to escape. Her body! The dragon had it. How had he gotten it?
She stared at the form laid out on the table—the lantern gave her the ability to see when she chose to use it. Not a hair seemed out of place. There was no dust or grime, nothing to indicate her body had been treated with disregard, much less abuse.
Unable to form another cognizant thought, she pummeled her spirit against the glass.
Joarr jerked, then stared into the lantern. His blue gaze froze her in place. He dangled the lantern over her body’s closed eyes and murmured against the glass. “Help me find the chalice and I will return you to your body.”
Her spirit stilled, but her thoughts began to move as swiftly as a cat’s tail when its owner had spied a fat dove. If she helped Joarr recover his property, she would in essence be saving him from whatever veiled threat the older dragon had tossed out before leaving. She hadn’t understood the significance of what Rike had said, but it had been obvious Joarr had. He had paled considerably as his visitor stormed out the door.
And Amma had no desire to help Joarr. She was no fool. She knew he was angry at her for stealing his chalice and that was before the other dragon’s threats. Now? Now she could only imagine he wanted her to return to her body so he could roast it with her inside.
Still, the chance to be herself again, to truly feel and experience the world overwhelmed all else.
Her decision made, she gathered herself together and stared at Joarr. He pulled back. She didn’t know what he saw when he looked into the lantern, but she could tell by the startled look in his blue eyes that now he could see her or some representation of her, and he knew she was ready to deal.
“Release me into my body and I will help you,” she murmured, hoping the words flowed, that Joarr could understand her.
He smiled. “Tell me who you gave the chalice to and I will release you.”
Amma pulled back into herself, hiding again. Dragons were known for their craftiness. If she gave Joarr too much information there would be no reason for him to keep his word.
“A dwarf,” she said, testing him.
He sighed. “That isn’t even a fraction of an answer.” He picked up her lifeless hand and held it to his lips. At first Amma thought he intended to kiss it; then she saw the flicker of fire escape his lips.
“Stop,” she yelled, before realizing the word had even formed. Annoyed that she had slipped and shown her concern, she immediately pulled back into herself again. She had no idea if her body could survive a dragon’s fire. As he’d said, little could.
“What?” He angled his head. “I only thought a fraction of an answer deserved similar payment…a fraction of your body.” He laid her pinkie flat on his palm. “One finger perhaps? Frozen, it should snap off easily.”
Amma ground nonexistent teeth. She’d forgotten he had the dual powers of fire and ice. It made him an even grander adversary.
Joarr stroked the limp digit. “No? Do you have a counteroffer?”
Amma fixated on that pinkie, how it would feel to feel again. If she was in her body, the dragon wouldn’t toy with her like this. She would use her magic, blow him to bits before he had a chance to so much as breathe on her…
“Half,” she yelled.
“Half a body?” Joarr eyed her lifeless form with exaggerated disbelief. “That will be much messier.”