by Lori Devoti
But that didn’t mean she could escape the dragon—not without killing him, and she didn’t think she could do that, not alone. And not with the low amount of power she had at the moment.
Joarr glanced at her, suspicion clear in his gaze.
She smiled. “An itch.”
He cocked a brow then looked back at the garm. “Two waters.”
His face impassive, the garm walked back to the bar.
“So, what’s so important about this chalice, anyway?” Amma had heard the conversation between Joarr and the other dragon, but it had left a lot of questions in her mind. Number one being if she had made a huge mistake by selling the thing in the first place. The information she’d got for it certainly hadn’t led to anything good, and as important as it seemed to be to the dragons…
A waitress appeared at the table with waters. She slid them in front of them and left.
Joarr took a sip, his gaze wandering over the bar’s occupants. “It isn’t.”
Amma twirled her glass in a slow circle. “There were a lot of threats coming from your friend back at your house for something that isn’t important.”
“Just because someone believes in something doesn’t make it real.”
“Are you saying the chalice isn’t real?”
He took a drink and set the glass down with a thump. “Exactly.”
The table was damp where Amma’s glass had sat. She ran her finger through the moisture, drawing a cup, then wings. “So, since it isn’t important, you wouldn’t mind telling what it’s supposed to do.”
Joarr stared at her, his eyes so blue and intense she shivered. Then he smiled. “Why not? You should know what you held in your hands, what you flittered away. At least I suppose you flittered it away. You don’t seem to have anything to show for it.” There was a question in his gaze; Amma ignored it. She had no desire to reveal anything about herself and the folly that had led her to where she was.
“The chalice—” Joarr’s tone changed and became “official,” as if he was presiding over some ancient ceremony “—is the heart of the dragons’ power, the key to our vitality. With it under our control, in our stronghold, we stay strong, maintain our rightful position as the most powerful of all the nine worlds’ beings. Without it, we will fade. Others will prey on us, our species will fail and we will fall into oblivion.”
He held her gaze for a second, then took another sip of water. “Or not.”
“You don’t believe it.” It was a statement. It was obvious Joarr didn’t believe what he had said, no matter how official his words had sounded.
“It didn’t protect my father,” he replied. “And he was the Keeper.”
“He was killed?” she asked.
“By a hero.” Joarr placed his palm flat over the top of his glass.
“So, why do the other dragons believe in it?” Amma twisted her lips to the side, her mind racing. What would happen if word got out dragons could be defeated? How many opportunists would descend on them looking for trophies? Her stomach constricted. Would dragons be like hellhounds, hunted and caged to serve others? Her sister owned hellhounds; she had got them young, stolen them from their mothers. Why would dragons be any different? They wouldn’t—except they’d be rarer, even more desired. They would be stolen, too; it only made sense.
Her fingernails scraped over her skirt.
“Heroes are considered the exception—they are born heroes, marked at birth by the Norn. They are beyond the chalice’s magic, but they are also very rare.” He drained the last of his water, set his glass down, then looked around as if expecting someone.
He seemed done with their conversation; Amma, however, wasn’t. “You said ‘under our control.’ What does that mean?”
Joarr sighed. “When the chalice is in the Keeper’s possession in the stronghold, all the dragons in the stronghold share its protection.”
“What about dragons not in the stronghold?” Her fingers twitched, brushing over her stomach.
Joarr shrugged. “There aren’t any—no males, anyway. I’m not sure how the legend affects females. I assume they have some talisman of their own.” He waved his hand in the air, as if brushing the possibilities aside.
“But what if there was? Would he be protected, too?”
Joarr studied her. “Why do you care?”
She dropped her gaze to the drawing she’d made with the water. “I don’t. I’m just trying to make sense of it, that’s all.”
“There is no sense.” He picked up his empty glass and sat it back down. “Actually, the Ormar use the story of the chalice to keep the young ones from roaming for too long.” He paused, his gaze resting on the glass. “Another reason they want the chalice back I’d guess. Without it, there is no threat, no way to keep dragons from dispersing and the Ormar losing all of their control. That—” he shook his head “—would kill them.”
While Joarr seemed to mull over this new thought, Amma stopped listening. Her child was half dragon. She hadn’t thought of what that might mean before this except knowing she didn’t want Joarr to learn of his existence. But now she realized she needed to. If the Ormar were right, if the chalice truly had the powers they claimed, raising her child away from it would make him a target for beings like her sister who got joy in owning others, especially others with rare power they could use for their own gain.
Which meant he would either have to be raised in the stronghold with the chalice or perhaps… A new thought forming in her head, she said, “You mentioned a Keeper. Your father was one? What does that mean?”
Joarr’s expression was strained. “The Keeper is in charge of the chalice. He’s the only dragon allowed to handle the chalice.”
“Why?”
The dragon shrugged. “Who knows? There might be a reason, but my guess is it’s just tradition.”
“But when your father died, the chalice kept working.”
At Joarr’s skeptical expression, she added, “If you believe in it.”
He tilted his head in acquiescence. “True, but the job is hereditary. So, when my father died, there still was a Keeper—me.”
“Oh.” Amma sat back against the cushion. And when Joarr died, her son would take the role. So, he could possess the chalice and keep himself safe simply by owning it.
* * *
Joarr turned his gaze to the bar. He wasn’t sure why Amma had developed such an interest in the chalice. He had assumed she’d known what she was stealing, would have researched the thing before she stole it, or at least before she sold it. Perhaps after the attack outside she was feeling regret… He shook his head, silently laughing at himself. If Amma felt regret, it was most likely for not asking enough for the item.
A couple paid the garm and made their way through the portal. Dark elves. Joarr watched, half expecting a troop of dwarves to flow through the portal before the garm stepped away, but no one appeared.
With the portal closed and the garm back behind the bar, he let his thoughts wander back to the chalice and Amma. The cup’s true value only existed for another male dragon, and as he’d already told the witch, no males of his species existed outside the stronghold. Which meant she must have sold the thing based on its outward appearance alone, unless…?
He glanced at her. “This dwarf you sold the chalice to, what did he want with it?”
She jumped, as if she’d been lost in her thoughts.
He repeated the question.
She released a breath. “I told you, he collects things.”
“He didn’t mention dragons?”
“No. He didn’t mention anything. He had something I wanted or I thought I wanted, and I asked what it would take to get it. I’d been in your cavern and seen your treasure. I thought I could buy him off with some gold, but he wanted something special. After I described the chalice, he asked for it.” She shrugged. “Simple as that.”
“Simple as that,” Joarr repeated. And now two dragons had died and one was missing. And after receiving a note to
come to the portal, he’d been attacked outside by three dwarves. Somehow it all had to fit together.
Amma tapped a finger against her glass. “Why are we here?”
“Good question.” Joarr stood, then held out his hand to Amma. They had been sitting for half an hour. If the note’s writer was here, he should have approached them by now.
She slid out of the booth and dropped her hand to her side.
“Don’t be shy.” He wove his fingers through hers. “People will think you don’t like me.”
With a laugh, he led her toward the bar. The garm watched them approach. He didn’t look as if he was watching, but he was. He stood a little too still as he bent over to select a beer from the cooler and turned a little too slowly as he twisted off its lid and slid the bottle to the dark elf who had ordered it.
Once at the bar, Joarr waited.
The garm messed with something under the counter for a few minutes before looking up.
He was playing with Joarr, trying to establish dominance that would never exist.
Behind them a Svartalfar, a dark elf, who had entered the bar after Amma and Joarr, brushed up against the witch, copping a feel as he did. She spun, her hands opening and closing, reaching for magic no doubt. Thin lines sputtered from her fingertips. She stopped abruptly, cursing.
She glared at Joarr, no doubt letting him know she regretted using the magic she’d gained to help him fight the dwarves. Joarr hadn’t figured out that move yet himself. She could have joined with the dwarves, or at least ran while they kept him occupied, but instead she’d used the bit of magic she’d siphoned to save him.
It didn’t make him trust her. If anything it made him wonder about her even more. He couldn’t take her actions as what they appeared—support. She’d tricked him before; he wouldn’t let her again. And the coincidences…her saying she’d sold the chalice to a dwarf, then three dwarves attacking… It was a puzzle that was fitting together too neatly to be ignored.
Still dealing with the dark elf, Amma squared her shoulders and faced the drunken male head-on. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, making Joarr guess she’d given up on magic for a more basic defense.
Pretending he was oblivious to what was happening, he watched the pair from the corner of his eye.
The Svartalfar made a purring noise deep in his throat. “What type of being be you, pretty?” He held up a hand. Joarr stiffened, thinking the dark elf was going to touch her…or try to. But instead something silver, a bracelet, glittered from his fingers. “A little gift,” he whispered.
Beings in the nine worlds, especially those who frequented portals, didn’t give gifts, not any without strings…sometimes deadly ones.
Amma made a sound of disinterest deep in her throat and turned. As she did, the dark elf moved closer. Another flash of silver, a weapon this time hidden in the Svartalfar’s hand. Bait and switch.
Too bad for the drunken dark elf, he hadn’t paid attention to what else lurked in the waters.
Joarr shoved Amma to the floor and shot frigid air over her head. The dark elf was so focused on Amma, so focused on whatever plans he had for her, he didn’t see the blast coming. He was still there, his hand still outstretched, the bracelet still dangling from his fingers, but now he was encased in solid ice.
Joarr ran two fingers along the sides of his mouth, knocking ice crystals to the floor beside her. “To stop any further confusion. This pretty is mine.”
Amma lay on the floor, shivering. From the beer-soaked wooden planks, she stared up at Joarr, then glanced to her right where the dark elf had been standing.
Joarr couldn’t tell if she was pleased or not.
Around them, the room cleared. Every patron took a step back or turned to study their drinks, the floor, anything except Joarr. He glanced around the room, checking for any other challengers.
If losing the chalice had weakened the dragons, these beings didn’t realize it. None even met his gaze.
He held out a hand to Amma. She ignored it, instead choosing to scramble to a stand by herself. Almost upright, she slipped and was forced to lean against him. He slid his arm around her, supporting her weight despite her sounds of protest. She was soft and warm. For a second, he forgot his suspicions.
Then he glanced down and saw the shine of silver in her hand—the dark elf’s weapon.
Chapter 7
The object was cold and heavy in Amma’s hand. She’d felt it beneath her when she fell and picked it up without thinking. Now she realized what it was—a weapon that the Svartalfar had been going to use against her—and why Joarr had shoved her to the ground.
She ran her thumb over the object’s smooth, round top. Thoughts raced through her head. Joarr had saved her, but she had saved him before, and if he hadn’t dragged her here, hadn’t refused to release a tiny bit of magic to her, she wouldn’t have needed saving at all. She felt a tiny knob, like the tip of a toothpick, protruding from the metal canister. Forcing herself not to think any more, not to let herself weaken, she pointed the object at Joarr.
Then she remembered the chalice. If she attacked Joarr, he would never trust her. She would never get close enough to the chalice to steal it and save it for her child.
She opened her palm and held out the weapon. “Thank you,” she said.
Joarr started, surprise clear in his eyes. But before he could reply, or move to take the weapon, the garm leaned across the bar and plucked it from her palm.
“No weapons near the portal.” He pulled out a bin and tossed the thing inside.
Joarr still watched her. She folded her hand closed and tapped her knuckles against her leg. She’d given up the weapon to buy his trust—that was all. Still, his analysis made her uncomfortable; she shifted her gaze to the end of the bar. A dwarf sat there, a hat pulled low over his face. She stiffened, and then forced herself to relax. Thousands of dwarves had to be traveling through the portal system; it made sense some would be here. It didn’t mean he was with the group that had attacked them.
Still, she kept track of him from the corner of her eye. When she looked back at Joarr, the dragon was watching her, then without warning he moved. She tensed, afraid he’d somehow read her motive, but he just reached past her and grabbed the bracelet from the frozen dark elf’s fingers. With a twist, he snapped it free. With one finger he coaxed her fist open and laid the silver bauble on top of her open palm. “He doesn’t need it.”
Amma stared at the jewelry, then back at the dragon. She couldn’t decide if she was angry or pleased. If he wanted to give her a gift, unlocking the manacles or letting go of a little magic would have been a lot more practical. And she had always prided herself on being practical. Still…she weighed the bracelet in her hand…no one had ever given her such a purely girly gift before. Her fingers folded closed over the bracelet, seemed unwilling to loosen. She told herself to toss the thing on the ground, but her fingers wouldn’t open. Annoyed with her reaction, she stared at her closed fist, but still couldn’t make herself let go of the bracelet.
Deciding to wait to decipher her emotions, she slipped the object into her pocket.
“Do you have business here?” the garm asked Joarr. The wolf-shape-shifter had waited patiently, bored really, while Joarr had disposed of the dark elf, only showing life when he took the weapon. Now he looked annoyed and suspicious…and his gaze was on Amma.
Realizing this was an opportunity, she stepped forward. “I do.” She glanced at Joarr, pretending to ask his permission. He raised a brow, but didn’t stop her. She leaned across the bar and whispered into the garm’s ear the coordinates for the portal that led to one of her sister’s homes.