But she knew why. If she allowed Nathaniel to make love to her, it would tear him apart when she left, and she couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t hurt him more than she already had. Even asking him for help was something she’d sworn she’d never do out of respect for what they’d had, and she’d already pushed things to the limit. Already kissed him. Already allowed him to know her true feelings. His mental health was more important to her than her body’s pleasure or her heart’s desire. But she was dancing too close to the flame. Her body burned. Oh, how it burned.
She released the pillow and gasped for breath, then flipped over onto her back and forced her eyes closed. Sleep evaded her, and after tossing and turning for what seemed like forever, she eventually rose from her bed and decided a cold shower was in order.
Silver light already glowed through the window. The sun was rising and she hadn’t slept a wink. Physically, she felt both wound up and exhausted. Wired. Overcaffeinated even though she hadn’t had tea in more than twelve hours.
It was with some sense of horror that she realized this wasn’t the end. After last night, Nathaniel would be more motivated than ever to break the curse and send her on her way. He would want to try something else today. Likely something even more risky and painful. And she’d be required to go along no matter how tired she felt or how painfully horny it made her.
She groaned.
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand and she looked down to see a text from Tom.
Please tell me the therapy is working. The O2 is sold out and the tabloids are boiling over. Take a look. He included a link to a story in the Daily Mirror.
She did not click the link but left the phone right where it was. Instead, she slipped into the shower, ran the water cold, and tried to wash Nathaniel from her mind.
Chapter Nineteen
Paragon
Everything Eleanor had wanted was coming to fruition, and Aborella had been the one to deliver it to her. The high sorceress and fairy of Paragon sat in a seat of honor in the great hall, the fuchsia silk of her gown draping beautifully over her dark purple skin. Her complexion was nearly as dark as it had been before Raven had drained and almost killed her. A few more sessions among the forests of Paragon and she’d be at full strength.
Thankfully, Eleanor didn’t need Aborella’s abilities right now. Her plan was going smashingly. The band began to play, and the empress appeared at the head of the aisle, dressed in a regal black-and-diamond gown that brought out the glow of the citrines and diamonds crowding her ring, crown, necklace, and scepter.
Everyone who was anyone was in attendance, the entire Highborn Court as well as all the most important families in Paragon. Dressed in their finest vilt gowns, they stood from the rows of chairs brought in for the occasion and then knelt before her. Aborella noticed some of their jewels had been enchanted by local witches and wizards to give off their own light. None shone so bright as Eleanor’s however, but then Aborella had spelled those herself.
The empress climbed onto the dais and lowered herself to the blood-red velvet of her throne. Brynhoff wasn’t with her today. Now that Aborella thought of it, she hadn’t seen Brynhoff in a number of days. Was he ill or something else? No matter—she’d never cared for him anyway.
“You may be seated,” Eleanor commanded in her sharp nasal tone. There was a rumble as their guests rose from their knees and sat. “As your invitations suggested, I have an exciting announcement to make. Many centuries ago, my son Marius was killed in what we all thought was a traitorous uprising by my other children. That night was every mother’s nightmare. My remaining children disappeared in a clash of swords and magic. All of us believed the Treasure of Paragon were either dead or in hiding after what they’d done. Not only did it break my heart that my own children could do such a thing, their absence left no choice but for me and my brother, Brynhoff, to remain on the throne to lead our kingdom.
“We have spent significant resources trying to track down those responsible for Marius’s death. Justice, after all, must be served. But we were thwarted by a side effect of the sorcery used that night to distract us from the attack. No one who attended the coronation remembered exactly what had occurred. No one, as you will recall, except Brynhoff, who accused my other children.”
Aborella smiled at the lie. Oh, Eleanor remembered everything, as did Aborella. She’d helped Eleanor design the spell to poison Brynhoff’s mind so he’d kill his own nephew and then planted the memory of the uprising by the other children. It was Aborella who was responsible for the fact that none of the guests could remember a thing about the event. She proudly raised her chin at the importance of her magic to the crown.
“Recently, thanks to the work of Ransom and the rest of the Obsidian Guard,” Eleanor continued, “the truth has been revealed! It gives me no pleasure to divulge to you that Brynhoff, not my other children as was formerly believed, was responsible for the coup. Brynhoff, not my children, was the true traitor.”
Aborella’s jaw dropped at the invented revelation, and the hall erupted into murmurs and loud gasps. Surprising—Eleanor hadn’t mentioned her plan to place the blame on Brynhoff. She narrowed her eyes on Ransom, the new captain of the Obsidian Guard. He’d risen to power months ago after Captain Scoria was murdered by Eleanor’s wayward children. Aborella watched him cross to her now, a fine-looking male dragon with full chocolate-brown hair, a square jaw, and dimpled chin. In his black-and-red uniform, he looked younger than Scoria but also a bit naive. Still, Eleanor seemed to favor him, to the point Aborella felt a pang of jealousy. How was it that she had not been included in the scheme?
“Fear not. Due to Ransom’s dedication, we have brought Brynhoff to justice.”
Ransom stepped onto the dais and drew a draped piece of black cloth off a small table. All the air seemed to rush from the room as the silver agate heart that once was Brynhoff’s was revealed. Aborella scanned the stunned faces behind her. It was as if everyone in the crowd was holding their breath.
So Eleanor had assassinated him. Aborella squelched another grin. The empress was now the ultimate power. Brilliant plan, regardless of how she chose to execute it.
“What evidence did you have against him?” a man yelled from the back, breaking the silence. Aborella couldn’t see who it was, but the accusation in his voice was unmistakable.
“I’m glad you asked.” Eleanor raised her chin. “Gabriel, Tobias, please join me.”
Aborella stiffened. Eleanor was taking a great risk trusting her older children to play this part when they knew the truth. Yes, Raven’s comfort was a valuable carrot and her life and the life of their child was a brutal stick, but all it took was one wrong word to be the spark that started a revolution.
Aborella watched as Gabriel stepped out from the staging area, dressed in a royal tunic and sash, an emerald crown upon his head. Darkly handsome, he took his place on his mother’s right side, although not a hint of a smile crossed his lips. Tobias followed, looking just as princely in his attire and sapphire crown. He took his place on her left, folding his hands and staring at the audience in a way that made his blond hair and blue eyes take on an icy quality.
The moment of truth. Would they go along with the plan for Raven’s sake? Or would Aborella be allowed to kill the witch tonight?
The murmurs rose to a deafening pitch as their guests processed that the two eldest living heirs to the kingdom of Paragon were back. They only quieted when Eleanor raised her hand.
“As you can see, Captain Ransom has recovered two of my sons, who were tortured and held captive by Brynhoff. The rest are still missing. But the important thing is that Gabriel and Tobias remember what happened that night. They were able to identify Brynhoff, and I took decisive action against him. I am more than pleased to welcome them home.”
A louder rumble began as guests began to discuss the implications.
A woman in the front—Aborella recognized her as the wife of the door maker, Darium—stood up and asked, “Will Ga
briel, now that you have cleared him of the accusations of treason, take the throne per Paragonian tradition?”
The empress smiled up at her son, and Aborella held her breath.
“No,” Gabriel said. “Not at this time.” The whispering among the crowd rose to a roar. Gabriel spoke over it. “Our abduction was difficult. My brother and I are still recovering and applying ourselves to the task of educating ourselves on what has happened in Paragon during our absence. Until we do, we feel it is in the best interest of our kingdom for our mother to continue ruling as she has.”
The murmurs started again. Aborella watched a look of disgust pass through Tobias’s features before disappearing behind a carefully impassive mask. His eyes glossed over, but from her seat in the front row, she could see his jaw work as if he was grinding his teeth.
“My sons will rule by my side for the foreseeable future. You will treat them as full princes of Paragon, and they will have full privileges and security from the Obsidian Guard. Please act accordingly.”
What she meant was the guards would be enforcing their silence and cooperation. Aborella loved every minute of it. She only wished she’d succeeded in bringing Alexander back as well.
“Now, if you will join us for refreshments in the grand ballroom, Gabriel, Tobias, and I will be available to discuss matters of politics.”
Everyone stood and was ushered into the next room by the servants. Aborella rose to follow but soon found Gabriel glaring down at her, his gloved hand on her shoulder.
“Where is my wife?”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “Comfortable, alive, and safe, thanks to your wise cooperation.”
Eleanor stood from her throne and raised an eyebrow in their direction. Aborella gave her a reassuring nod. “Come, Gabriel. It’s never a good idea to keep your mother waiting.”
Chapter Twenty
Mistwood
When Nathaniel woke in the morning, the memories of the night before came crashing back into his head. Warwick’s tobacco had saved him from a night of tossing and turning, but its numbing effect only lasted so long. Now his emotions were all on the surface again. Clarissa loved him. It wasn’t enough. The dichotomy made him want to tear down the walls.
He needed to do whatever was necessary to recover Clarissa’s voice and get her out of here. He couldn’t stand much more of this. Every moment with her here was like having his heart in a vise. He tapped the heel of his palm against his forehead. Think, Nathaniel. Who could wield a dragon curse other than you or the order?
The phone rang, distracting him. He glanced down at the caller. Professor Wallace. A friend. A colleague. He’d been a member of the order at one time, until a bout with cancer moved his heart close to home and he simplified his life.
Nathaniel answered the call, curious why he was phoning at the early hour.
“Nathaniel, I’m so glad I caught you.”
“Peter, you sound distressed. What can I do for you?”
“Oh dear, I’m afraid I have some disturbing news. It… it might be nothing, you understand. Just a coincidence. But it was odd, I tell you. So odd.”
“What are we talking about?”
“A few days ago two young women brought me a book. The owner of a gallery in New York and her assistant. The book is in perfect condition, late seventeenth century. Written in a combination of ancient Greek and Latin. It’s about the order, Nathaniel. You are mentioned in its pages.”
“Hmm. I remember we made a few manuals back then, mostly books of medicinal healing for the locals. It’s incredible one survived.”
“There’s more.”
He waited. Judging by the long pause, Wallace was concerned about telling him this part. “What is it, man?”
“The assistant… She… I was taken aback when I saw her.”
“Why?”
“She, um. Do you know that American singer you used to have a relationship with ten years ago, when I was part of the order?”
“Clarissa?”
“Yes… Well… This assistant could have been her twin. It flustered me, her having the book. I thought Clarissa was posing as this person for some nefarious reason, and I’m afraid I consequently treated her quite badly. But then I remembered your Clarissa is blond these days. I just thought it was odd, magically odd, to see a doppelgänger show up at the university with a book connected to you.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Nathaniel felt a chill work through his body.
“Huh?”
“She’s here. Clarissa is here. She lost her power Friday night. It looks like a curse.”
“This woman came to see me Saturday afternoon.”
“Who knows anything about doppelgänger magic? Who can I call in on this?” he asked, his mind racing. Doppelgängers were rare and their magic was innate, metaphysical. He wasn’t sure exactly how Clarissa’s double might be involved in the curse, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that she was interested in dragon magic.
“The only one I can think of is the Cornish pixie queen. Pixie genetics produce a pair of doppelgängers with every one thousand births. I’ve read they have mystical properties. Perhaps she could help you sort out the dynamics.”
Nathaniel rubbed his head, the memory of what Clarissa had told him flooding back into his thoughts. Someone had taken her hair. “What if she’s not a doppelgänger but a skinwalker?”
“Do you have reason to believe someone got hold of her genetic material?”
“Hair.”
“Good heavens, Nathaniel. This is complex magic. Very complex. There’s only one creature in all of England who can help you if that’s the case.”
“Don’t say it.”
“You need to consult an oracle.”
He grabbed his head. He knew a creature that could answer all their questions, but the price of her abilities was higher than he was willing to pay. “Thank you, Peter. I must go now, but I appreciate your letting me know. I’ll be in touch.”
“Absolutely. But Nathaniel?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. My sixth sense is buzzing on this one. I consulted the cards and pulled the Tower. Something is coming for you. I don’t know what. I don’t know who. I can’t say how the girl or the book ties in. But change is coming. You must beware.”
“I understand, and your warning is fully heeded.”
“Blessed be.”
“To you too.”
Nathaniel frowned as he disconnected the call. This was getting weirder and weirder.
He showered and dressed, then went to the kitchen where Tempest had prepared porridge and bacon. He tried to eat, but his mind spun around what he’d learned.
“Porridge again? What, are special omelets only for dinner?” Clarissa stood at the end of the dining table. She was smiling, but there were dark circles under her eyes.
“You look exhausted.” He stood and poured her a cup of tea.
She dropped heavily into the chair across from him. “I don’t suppose you read the Daily Mirror this morning?”
He shook his head slowly, sat back down. He hated the tabloids, and he dreaded hearing what she was about to say.
“Well, I’m the cover story. It seems the general consensus is that I had a nervous breakdown and can no longer perform. People are taking bets whether I cancel my O2 concert. They think I’m going to go full Britney and shave my head.”
“The tabloids exaggerate the truth and invent lies regularly.” He waved a hand dismissively. “You can’t take it personally. We will break this curse, and you will be on that stage as planned.”
She folded her hands on the table and rested her head. “Isn’t this when you tell me I told you so?”
He frowned and sipped his tea. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“Last night you said my fans didn’t really love me, only what I do for them. There was no concern in the comments of the article, Nate. I’m tabloid fodder, and the only thing my fans care about is if I’m going to fulfill my obligation
to them as ticket holders. If I were sick, no one would be sending me flowers except maybe Tom, and he’d make his secretary do it.”
Nathaniel lowered his cup to the table. “It gives me no pleasure to be right about that. I wish I were wrong. But you see, as we established last night, I do love you, and it’s easy to tell the difference from this side of the fence.” There was no point in denying it. He was done hiding his feelings for her comfort.
“Nate…”
“Aww, Clarissa, are you suddenly unwilling to pay the price of fame? Should I break out the world’s smallest violin to play you a melancholy song to go with your melancholy circumstances?”
“I think my mood is completely valid given what’s happening,” she snapped. “I’m witnessing the death of a career I’ve worked hard for, all because someone had it out for me for reasons beyond my control. I am nothing without my voice.”
Fury had him out of his chair, his dragon rolling through his body like a freight train. He bound around the table and lifted her to her feet, grabbing her by the chin like a child. “You are everything. Everything. You lost your magic, not your voice. You can still speak, you can still sing, you still participated in that spell last night. You have arms that move and legs that make me weak. And when you smile, I see the woman who found a way to do what she wanted to do when she had far less than you have now. You are everything to me, just as you are and for always. But if you can’t see your own worth, no else will either.”
He placed a rough kiss on her mouth, then let her go. She dropped back into the chair.
He strode toward the door.
“Wh-where are you going?” she asked after him.
“I have to check on the store. Get some sleep, but be ready by noon. We’re going to try something else, and you’ll need to be rested when we do.”
Well, shit. The kiss had left Clarissa completely boneless in the dining room chair. Meanwhile, Nathaniel strode toward the door unaffected, his suit a physical love letter to the corded muscle beneath it. How was he still walking after that? All she could think about was all that coiled power wrapped around her last night in the woods. He’d feel so good in her bed, like the world’s best electric blanket.
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