by Ann Gimpel
“Ye only think ye would have.” Nidhogg softened his voice until it was almost gentle.
“You’ve been watching over Rowan ever since she was born,” I said. It was obvious from the dragon’s words.
“Aye. We take care of our own. She may not have taken her dragon form yet, but she is still one of mine,” Nidhogg said.
“Hold on.” A startled look skittered across Rowan’s face. “Bjorn said I won’t be able to shapeshift.”
“There’s never been a Celt and dragon mating afore, child,” Nidhogg told her. “We doona know what ye’ll be capable of.”
I listened with interest. No wonder I hadn’t been able to come up with any Celt and dragon blends. There weren’t any.
“Does Dewi know about me?” Rowan asked.
“None of us did,” Gwydion said. “For all her bluster, Dewi has a generous nature. If she’d understood a young dragon bided among us, she’d have made a point of spending time with you.”
“Doona say it,” Ceridwen told Rowan. “Another ally I withheld from you. Another nail in my coffin.” She scanned the group with her cool-eyed gaze. I had to hand it to her. She didn’t buckle under pressure, and apologies weren’t part of her lexicon.
“Prophecies have life to them. The one involving Rowan is far from complete. It jumped to the forefront when she and that one”—Ceridwen jerked her chin my way—“met one another. I had a feeling he had to be the central figure from the first part of the foretelling, but I wasna certain until I heard his name.”
“We have our own seers,” Odin said. “I am one thanks to my kinsman, Mimir, and his spring. Freya, too, has the gift of divination.”
“Aye, but ye need me,” Ceridwen insisted.
“They may, but I’m questioning if we do,” Arawn growled.
“Leave us out of this,” Nidhogg said. “Ceridwen is your problem. No one from our realm would be so thoughtless with their power, or so anxious to cover up their misdeeds.”
Ceridwen tried to spread her hands in front of her, but the silver cord limited her movement. “If ye toss me aside, ye’ll lose the use of my cauldron. It answers only to me.”
“Since ye’re, ahem, selective about which parts ye share, how is that a loss?” Gwydion looked down his nose at her and thumped his staff centimeters from her feet for good measure.
She shrugged. “Bind me with spells. Force me to—”
“We shouldna have to bind you with aught. What happened to decency?” Arawn’s question was without inflection, but his face was screwed into a mask of anger.
“Ye’re one to talk—” she began.
“’Tisn’t about me. None of us has magic to spare to bind you. Not if we’re engaged in a battle to salvage what’s left of Earth.”
Nidhogg puffed smoke and ash. “I propose a temporary compromise. As ye’ll recall, the Morrigan bides half the year in Fire Mountain and half the year in Hell. Your domain.” He sent a pointed look winging at Arawn. “We’re already riding herd on one of your rejects. Adding a second—for a limited time—willna tax us unduly.”
“I liked my idea about feeding her to the Hunt better,” Odin muttered.
“Aye, I liked it well enough myself.” Nidhogg’s jaws opened in a parody of a smile. “Only problem is none of your Riders are powerful enough to hold her, and she’d be gone the second ye turned your back.”
“I refuse to share the same air with the Morrigan.” Ceridwen rolled her shoulders straighter.
“World breakers doona get choices,” Arawn said. He turned to Nidhogg and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Dragon Lord, for your generous offer. However many months ye control her will be a burden lifted from us.”
“Ye’re most welcome,” Nidhogg replied. “Her cauldron can travel to Fire Mountain with her. The Morrigan is deep within a cave system. I’m certain she’d relish the company of one of her sisters.”
“That hag is no sister of mine,” Ceridwen screeched.
“One problem down.” Odin ignored her and dusted his hands together.
“Aye, the easy one.” Nidhogg turned his spinning gaze on Rowan and went on. “In front of your kin, I name ye Dragon Heir. As such, ye have responsibilities to dragonkind. Your first task is to claim your true name.”
She pulled out of my grip and walked closer to the golden dragon. “I accept my true name, but not parading it about offers me protection from those who would harm me. I apologize for my behavior when last we met, yet nothing in my life has changed. The witches need me. I can’t just pull up stakes and travel to Fire Mountain—or wherever—to learn about my dragon side.”
“I thought long about your words.” Nidhogg puffed steam until Rowan was surrounded by clouds of it. I took it as a good sign. Dragons only produced steam when they were in a nurturing mood. “Try as I might,” the dragon continued, “I canna fault you for caring about those weaker than yourself.”
“That’s my daughter,” Ceridwen spouted. “The original bleeding heart. Goddess only knows where that trait came from.”
“Not from you,” I said firmly in hopes she’d shut up. Among her other despicable qualities, she craved attention and did what she could to ensure the limelight fell on her.
“Thank you for understanding,” Rowan told the dragon.
“While I empathize with your predicament,” Nidhogg went on, “it doesna excuse you from your tasks as a Dragon Heir, so we will come to you to ensure your lessons proceed apace.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” she asked.
“A dragon—the one most conversant with your current requirements—will find you each day. Ye will absorb knowledge and practice new skills.” Nidhogg’s gaze fell on me. “Ye will be there as well.”
The thought of never leaving Rowan’s side thrilled me, but I still asked, “Why? Have I been relieved of my duties as chief sorcerer for the Nine Worlds?”
“Of course not.” Odin looked at me as if I were brain damaged. “Ye’ll have time for both pursuits.”
I didn’t correct him, but I didn’t see how, unless I gave far worse service to my clients than I’d been in the habit of. I’d just have to be less available. Way less available.
“The reason”—Nidhogg continued to spear me with his unrelenting eyes—“is your conjoined power is additive. Synergistic. It has a role to play as we battle to save Midgard, but none of us fully understand how to maximize that benefit. Not yet, anyway.”
“I do,” Ceridwen trilled.
“Ye lost your chance for a seat at the table,” Gwydion said firmly.
“If ye doona pay heed to my knowledge, the two of them—my daughter and that Norse sorcerer—will rise up and destroy the lot of you.”
“And now you’re making things up.” I’d had a bellyful of Ceridwen and strode near enough to add, “Silence. If you say anything more, I’ll spell your mouth closed.”
“Why wait?” Arawn asked pointedly. “I tired of listening to her years ago.”
“You have power.” I eyed him. “No one is stopping you from using it as you wish.”
“Power over the dead,” Ceridwen sniped.
A jolt of black lightning shot from Arawn’s hands and wrapped around her bound wrists. The cord snugged until it cut through her skin. Blood dripped onto the floor, but she didn’t cry out.
I’d half forgotten about Ysien, or whoever the second dragon was, until his bright blue scales popped through a gash in the air. Wings spread, he flapped over Nidhogg’s bulk and said, “At your service, sire.”
“Take her.” He waved a foreleg at Ceridwen.
“Same cell as the other Celtic whore?” Ysien raised both scaled brows.
“It’ll do.”
Ysien flew above Ceridwen. “Your air taxi has arrived, bitch.” He brayed laughter, coating her with fiery ash, and landed.
“Wait a moment.” Rowan ran lightly to where her mother wobbled on her feet, face twisted with pain. “Mother.”
“What? Ye were always more trouble than ye were worth.”
>
Rowan shook her head, and her eyes sheened with tears. I started to go to her, but Nidhogg’s voice in my mind held me back. “Her task, not yours.”
Dragons were big on task assignments, but maybe he was right this time.
“No, Mother. I was never any trouble at all. You were blinded by hating me, so no matter how little I required, it was always more than you had to give. I may be a fool and weak as fuck, but I forgive you.
“For everything.”
A tear glistened and rolled down Rowan’s cheek. When it left her face, it turned to a large red jewel before it landed on the ground at her feet.
“Hating you was eating me up,” Rowan went on. “I’m done with all of that. We could have been so much together, you and me. Instead, we’re strangers. It makes me sad, and I feel sorry for you, but I’m not wasting any more of my precious time wishing you were someone warmer, more loving—or loving at all. I accept you. I love you. And I’m sorry things couldn’t have been different.”
Rowan was crying in earnest now. A pile of multihued gemstones formed around her feet. Nidhogg be damned, I went to her and cradled her in my arms.
“You don’t deserve her,” Ysien told Ceridwen just before he bound her with magic and leapt through a gateway that formed out of nothing. One moment the air was empty, the next a fire-ringed portal blasted into being. And was gone just as quickly.
“I’m all right,” Rowan snuffled and wormed out of my arms. Turning to Nidhogg, she said, “I accept your offer and welcome the dragons who will come to teach me. I will work hard and make you proud of me.”
“I’m already proud of you, Dragon Heir.” He breathed more steam. It wafted across the room and wrapped around Rowan and me.
“Thank you again for taking Ceridwen off our hands,” Gwydion said.
“’Tisn’t forever,” Odin cautioned him. “Only long enough for us to get a handle on how we address the enemy who would destroy Midgard—and the other worlds linked to it through Yggdrasil.”
“We understand,” Arawn said. “Both she and the Morrigan are our problems, not yours. We shall take both of them back once Earth’s fortunes are looking brighter.”
“Do the two of you speak for the other Celts?” Odin asked.
Gwydion shook his head. “If decisions are to be made about how to address Earth’s problems, we must convene far more of us than Arawn and me.”
“My word binds my people,” Odin said, “as Nidhogg’s binds dragonkind, but I would prefer including Thor, Loki, Frey, Freya, and others as we develop battle strategy.”
“Be sure to include Hel,” I blurted, followed by, “Never mind. It’s not my place to say aught.”
“More your place than ye imagine,” Odin said.
Before I could ask what he meant by that, he nodded sharply at Nidhogg. “We have work to do.”
“Agreed,” the dragon said.
The ravens started cawing again, as if they’d suddenly come awake from being in some kind of trance.
“When will I see you again?” Rowan asked Nidhogg. “You, or the dragons who will teach me.”
“We will find you, Dragon Heir. Meanwhile, Bjorn has lore books. Immerse yourself in them. Learn about the dragon side of your heritage.”
“Will you be able to locate me if I’m in Vanaheim?” she asked.
Nidhogg laughed. It broke the tension that had thrummed through the room. “What do ye think?”
Rowan grinned. “Sorry. It was a stupid question. You’ll take good care of Mother? I shouldn’t give a fuck, but—”
“That one has always been a master of taking care of herself.” Gwydion spat the words. “Apologies from me. I had no idea how miserable your youth was.”
“Nor did I,” Arawn said. “And Dewi will be devastated.”
Gwydion turned to Odin. “I will gather my kinsmen. When and where would ye like to meet?”
Odin tipped one of his drinking horns to his mouth and swallowed deep. Once he capped it, he said, “Asgard. Three days hence. Will that give ye sufficient time?”
“It will,” Arawn said and stuck out a hand. Odin shook it. Gwydion did the same.
“We are bound,” Odin said. “Shall we formalize it with blood?” He pulled a small dirk from a sheath that hung from his belt.
“Fine by me.” Gwydion chopped a short gash in the ball of his thumb with a knife of his own. Odin did the same, and they slapped the cuts together. Once they were done, Arawn stepped close and offered his own blood bond.
Nidhogg had lumbered near. “Hold up your hands,” the dragon instructed and bent his long neck until he could snake out his tongue and lick blood from each of them.
The feel of the power dancing through the room changed as Celtic, dragon, and Norse magic slotted together. It grew stronger. Richer. And it gave me hope. Maybe the fight for Midgard wasn’t as hopeless as I feared.
Rowan stood, hands clasped behind her. Together we watched as first the Celts and then Odin and Nidhogg shimmered into nothingness. Rowan bent and scooped two handfuls of gems into her pockets.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “I’ve never cried jewels before.”
“Nor did you acknowledge you were a Dragon Heir,” I reminded her. I didn’t point out she’d not only cried gems, she was also gathering them for the beginning of her very own hoard.
“Maybe that’s the difference,” she said. “It would almost have to be. Let’s go down and reassure the witches I’m still alive and no one will disturb their garden.”
“Do you have plans for after that?” I smiled. My heart was full of unfamiliar emotions. Love. Tenderness. Fierceness. Pride. Nidhogg had said he was proud of her, but I was too.
“Many.” She paused. “But they depend on you. Are you good with catching some rest and then digging into your lore books?”
“Do you suppose we could work in a meal, either before or after sleep?”
“Only a meal?” She batted her eyelashes my way.
“Didn’t want to get too presumptuous,” I teased back, but my body came alive with wanting her.
“Presume away,” she said and threaded her fingers in with mine. I ached to kiss her, but we’d have time alone later. The witches were probably worried sick about her, and it wasn’t fair to make them wait any longer than they already had. They loved her.
Just like I did. The realization hit me hard, but I didn’t fight it. I was too tired, and she was too precious to me to play games denying my feelings.
Chapter Twenty, Rowan
I was such a sap. Such a softhearted fool, but if I hadn’t opened my heart to Mother, it would have made me as big a bitch as she was. I felt sorry for her. Giving voice to my sorrow over our failed relationship made me a better woman, not a worse one. For all the clarity I had around Ceridwen, though, my feelings about Bjorn were cloudy, tangled up in my obsessive need for independence.
I yearned for him, and we could make love from now until forever. I’d never tire of him, but the simple sharing of our bodies wouldn’t be enough. Neither of us would be able to leave it at that. We’d want more, and that more would get in the way—of everything. We’d been within moments of joining our bodies. Once we did, we’d belong to each other.
Part of me welcomed it—the part that had fallen hard for his muscled body, Greek-god gorgeous face, and brilliant mind—but another bigger part worried it was the worst idea ever. We’d need all our resources as we slogged through one enemy after another doing our damnedest to salvage Earth. If he was more worried about me than himself, he might make a fatal error. One that would rip him from me forever.
There it was.
I’m immortal. He isn’t.
At least, I don’t believe he is. His magic feels different to me. I figured it was a byproduct of me not running into very many from the Norse worlds, but Odin and Hel have a common thread flowing through their power. Not that I met her, but her magic was woven into her blankets. Bjorn has it too—that particular magical feel—but it’s mixed with a bu
nch of other elements.
As we walked down the stairs to find the witches, I decided he and I needed to talk—about a lot of things. And the conversation needed to happen when we weren’t so tired the simple act of keeping our eyes open taxed us.
I found the witches hard at work in the garden. Small, green shoots stood a few centimeters tall already. The witches must have felt me approaching because by the time I got there, they’d all straightened and were dusting dirt from their hands.
“You’re still in one piece, lass.” A slow smile lit Patrick’s face. “’Tis glad I am to lay eyes on you.”
“We were never in any danger.” I smiled back. I started to step around what had happened to Mother, but the witches had a right to know. “Ceridwen is on her way to Fire Mountain. The dragons promised to hold her there.”
Hilda whistled, long and low. “The dragons’ home world. She’ll not be bothering us again.”
“No. She won’t,” Bjorn agreed.
“So we can let this batch of seeds grow naturally?” Patrick waved an arm to the side. When I nodded, he said, “Excellent. The plants will be larger and hold more nourishment that way.”
“Ceridwen was only one danger,” Bjorn cautioned.
“She won’t bother you, nor will the other Celts,” I said, “but it still isn’t safe traveling between here and Ben Nevis.”
“You didn’t make the other creepy-crawlies go away, eh?” Leif came as close to smiling as he ever did, which involved a slight uplift to one side of his mouth.
“Much as we’d love to have accomplished that, sadly, we haven’t,” Bjorn told him. “Not yet, anyway.”
“We can transport some of those bins of food you located,” I said to the witches. “There’re limits to how many we can take in a single teleport trip, so if we take some each time we’re here…”
“Eventually, we’ll have them all,” Bjorn finished the thought for me, and then added, “Naturally, we’ll leave the provisions you require to complete your planting project.”
I looked from one witch to the next. They were all special to me. “Do you need anything that’s not already here?” I asked.