“I don’t know whose ring this is,” Hadrian admitted. “It was on a chain around Rania’s neck. I was holding it when she manifested elsewhere and the chain snapped.” He couldn’t seem to keep himself from confiding the whole story, which reminded him of Rania’s apparent need to talk when they’d first met. “It’s kind of stuck on my finger. I thought she might come back for it, and I’d feel it if she tried to take it.”
Her mother nodded, her gaze drawn to the ring again. She brushed it with her fingertips, reverently, then spoke before he could ask a question. “You know why the Dark Queen wanted to kill you, don’t you?”
“Because I extinguished the Fae sword? Or because I killed a Fae warrior with my steel talons?”
Rania’s mother smiled. “You’re forgetting your legacy.”
“What about it? I’m an ice dragon, but all that means is that snow and ice are attracted to me. Storms, too.”
She was shaking her head slowly. “That’s not all it means, not to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re your father’s son, but you’re also your mother’s son.” She gave him an intent look, willing him to work it out.
Hadrian frowned. “I never knew either of them. They died the day I was born.”
“You should have paid more attention to Alasdair’s tales.”
It was startling that this stranger knew so much about him, and even more strange that she was giving him similar advice to what he’d given Rania. “Argenta, my mother, could spin ice into silver.”
She nodded. “And your foster mother, Loreena, worked that silver into the most prized Fae weapons when they were both captive in Fae. When exposed to the light of the moon by Maeve, the moonlight filled those weapons with a fiery cold glow and fierce power.”
“And I extinguished one.”
“Two,” she corrected, holding up a finger. “And worse—you melted them.”
“Do you know how? Or why?”
“The fact that those blades were wrought in Fae by mortals meant they could slice portals between the realms. They had some of each realm in them.”
Hadrian nodded understanding.
“But they were forged of silver spun out of ice, which answers the summons of an ice dragon like you. You turned that sword back into ice, just by touching it, by beckoning to the ice without even knowing that you did as much. And then it melted.” Rania’s mother shook her head. “Imagine what would happen to the Fae’s armory if you paid it a visit.”
Hadrian nodded. “I thought of that. It might all melt.”
She nodded mildly. “She thought of it first.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m dead. There are no consequences any more for sharing a truth that others would prefer to keep secret or deny.” She reached out and touched his hand, her fingertips close to that ring. “And I think you have the ability to bring joy to my daughter, as I never did.”
Hadrian wished he could console her, but he didn’t know what she’d done or not done. He stood up, filled with purpose. “How do I get back to Fae?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s not in my power to give life to anyone.” She sounded a lot more philosophical about that than Hadrian felt. She gestured with a fingertip, making a little spinning motion in the air, and the fireflies zoomed toward her. They circled the tip of her finger so closely and flew so quickly that Hadrian could only see a globe of golden light. Was it an illusion that there seemed to be a sphere within the orb of light?
He looked closer and thought he saw a spider in the act of killing a wasp. “The gem of the hoard!” he whispered, recognizing it. As soon as he spoke, the fireflies dispersed and the illusion was gone. He looked at his companion in confusion but she smiled.
“Just think what else you could freeze, if you were free of this place,” she mused. Her eyes were filled with a challenge and that expression reminded Hadrian of his mate.
“I have to get back.”
“If you can.” She reached out for the ring again and her voice caught. “If you see him, ask him to dream of me. In that realm, we might meet again.”
Hadrian nodded agreement.
She stood up then, her expression serene. She brushed off her skirt, then tipped her head back to smile at the fireflies. They surrounded her more tightly, flying in close circles as she raised her hands. So many fireflies buzzed around her hands that Hadrian could only see a blur of golden light. Their glow became brighter, as if they became more numerous, then slowly, ever so slowly, the cloud of insects began to lower toward the ground.
He thought he’d see her hands as the glowing cluster of fireflies descended, but he didn’t. It was as if the insects—or their golden light—consumed her. They flew more frantically when they obscured the view of her feet, then they suddenly spiraled upward, creating a blinking trail of light in the darkness.
Rania’s mother was gone.
Hadrian turned in place as the line of fireflies trailed into the distance. They weren’t bright enough to illuminate anything, but he was disappointed when their lights winked out, one at a time.
He was surrounded by darkness again and this time, it felt cold.
His situation was frustrating. It was unfair that he could have made the difference in the battle against Maeve, but that he hadn’t known it until it was too late to actually do anything. He hated not having influenced the outcome. He hated the possibility that his fellow Pyr would be eliminated because he’d failed them. The talons he’d made were destroyed. His firestorm wasn’t satisfied. Rania’s quest was incomplete and her brothers were still cursed. She would probably be in thrall to Maeve forever.
It was way too soon for him to die.
Hadrian started to walk, because that had to be better than just sitting and feeling sorry for himself. Regret weighed him down, but he kept walking. He couldn’t help but think of all the things he could have done differently and how he’d seize opportunity, if he could just have another chance.
He thought he was imagining the faint glow of white light when it appeared in the distance. He considered that it might be a lure or a trap, that Maeve might not have exhausted her store of tricks. But he walked toward it anyway, unable to deny the spark of hope that the sight gave him.
Then he felt the coldness in his cheek again, the chill that had haunted him since Rania had given him the kiss of death. The place where she had first touched her lips to his cheek burned a little, exactly the way frozen fingertips do when first exposed to warmth again. It stung as it hadn’t in a long while, sensation returning to the spot with a vengeance. And he could feel his cheek. Something was changing! The light brightened ahead of him even as the pain in his cheek sharpened.
Hadrian felt heat slide through his veins and desire coil deep inside himself. In that moment, he knew that he was seeing the light of his firestorm and that Rania was trying to save him.
The least he could do was meet her halfway.
He started to run toward the light.
He ignored the pain in his cheek as it throbbed with insistence. Even if she was just reviving him to assassinate him again, Hadrian didn’t care.
This was the chance he wanted and needed.
He would make it count.
Rania manifested on her knees beside Hadrian. He was in his bedroom on the bed, and she wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The blinds were closed and the room was in shadows. He was cold to the touch and so still that her heart clenched. His death was her fault—and for no point at all. The firestorm didn’t spark between them, even when she reached out to touch him, and she feared she’d been in Fae too long.
What if she was too late?
Balthasar was sitting on the other side of the bed. At her appearance, he jumped in shock. “I hate when you do that.”
“You’ll like it better this time,” she said, tracing the shadow of the kiss of death with her fingertip. Could she reverse it?
The younger Pyr eyed
her. “Tell me about that kiss of death. Is that what got him?”
“No.” Rania shook her head. “At least I don’t think so. Giving the kiss is a condemnation. The recipient will always die and it never takes long.”
Balthasar frowned and gestured to his fallen friend.
“It should have worked ages ago, if it was going to work at all.”
Interest brightened the other Pyr’s gaze. “But it didn’t. Why not?”
“I thought maybe because the selkie healed him, but maybe it was his own nature as an ice dragon.”
“I don’t understand.”
Rania was becoming excited: the more she thought about her idea, the more sense it made. It would help to talk it through with Balthasar. “When I grant the kiss of death, I have to prepare first. I have to gather up all the ill will that I can find. I have to distill it and focus it, until there’s enough. Then I pour all that evil into the kiss. It’s not just any kiss. I can only give it when I’ve done the preparations.”
“You inject the victim with malice, essentially.” Balthasar had his arms folded across his chest, his disapproval clear.
Rania nodded. “The kiss of death is like a ticking clock, counting down to oblivion. It’s only a matter of time before it finds a place to fester and multiply. It might take advantage of an existing injury or weakness. It might have to wait for one. But the kiss of death amplifies any injury, even a seemingly innocuous one, and makes it fatal.” She met his gaze. “I told Hadrian it could make someone die of a paper cut, because that’s the truth.”
“Nasty,” Balthasar said.
“Effective,” Rania corrected, then pointed at Hadrian. “But it didn’t work. That’s the first time ever.”
“So? He’s dead now all the same.”
“I wonder.”
“How many times have you done this, anyway?”
“This was the thirteenth time. Maeve gave me the ability to bestow the kiss of death thirteen times.”
“So, you’re done.”
Rania nodded. “But I wonder whether it’s done.” Balthasar shook his head, obviously not understanding, but she leaned toward Hadrian. She gathered her thoughts and made space within herself for the malice she’d poured into Hadrian.
“What are you doing?” Balthasar demanded.
“I’m going to try to take it back.” She touched her lips to Hadrian’s cheek, fitting her kiss exactly to the mark she’d left there weeks before. Instead of exuding malice into him, she drew it back into herself. She sucked it into herself, pulling it from every sinew of his body, willing it to abandon him as a victim.
She felt Balthasar watching, his eyes wide. His gaze danced over her and she wondered how much of the transaction he could see.
What should she do with the toxin once she had it? Should she give the kiss to Alasdair, fulfilling his promise? She’d been so intent on saving Hadrian that she hadn’t thought of the subsequent details. And she didn’t particularly want to kill Alasdair, either.
The important thing was to save Hadrian.
For long precious moments, Rania thought her efforts might be futile—but then, the firestorm lit again. Her heart leaped at the white glow of light and the little flurry of sparks between her lips and Hadrian’s cheek. She heard Balthasar’s hoot of triumph, but continued to concentrate on her task. Frost formed around her mouth and she felt a chill move into her mouth, but she kept drawing the power of the kiss of death from him. There were icicles on her tongue and her mouth was numb, but Rania kept gathering that malice.
The firestorm burned brighter with every passing moment. She stole a peek to find color returning to Hadrian’s skin and continued to draw the toxin from him. She found herself running her hand over Hadrian’s chest, caressing him as she undid the damage, and his heart pounded beneath her fingertips. She kept drawing out more, feeling his skin warm, her sense of victory growing when his hand closed over hers in a reassuring grip.
She felt Hadrian take a breath. She heard his groan. He shivered and stirred to life again, his skin warming beneath her lips. When there was no more toxin to withdraw from him, Rania straightened, holding her breath. She saw Hadrian open his eyes. He ran a hand over his hair, scanned his surroundings, then his gaze locked with hers. He smiled and she felt warm to her toes. His green eyes were glowing with affection that Rania knew she didn’t deserve. He held her gaze as he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her palm.
“You really want to use that bichuwa,” he teased and Rania almost laughed.
She held her breath, though, wondering what to do with the toxin of the kiss of death. She didn’t want to give it to Alasdair or Balthasar. She didn’t want to disperse it, to spread its poison everywhere.
A flicker of movement caught her gaze and she saw a salamander dart across the floor. It wasn’t a normal salamander, because its skin like jewels. It could have been made of opals edged with gold, which made her wonder whether some of the Pyr could take other forms.
The salamander darted over Hadrian and leapt toward Rania. She caught it instinctively and it looked her right in the eye. It seemed to wink, then coiled its tail around her wrist.
“Stay with me!”
Rania heard the words in her own thoughts, spoken in a man’s commanding voice. She chose to trust her instincts and follow his suggestion. She nodded and the salamander shimmered blue. He then vanished right before her eyes and Rania did her best to keep up.
“What was that?” Alasdair demanded as he charged back to Balthasar’s side. After the emergency crews had put out the fire and left, he and Balthasar had taken Hadrian into his own room. Alasdair had driven into town for pizza because neither of the Pyr felt like cooking.
He’d felt the spark of the firestorm suddenly and had come as quickly as possible. He found Balthasar staring down at Hadrian, who was drifting off to sleep.
But he was alive. Alasdair nearly wept with relief when he reached the side of the bed. Hadrian’s hand was warm and Alasdair shook it, even as Hadrian smiled.
“Rania saved me,” Hadrian murmured, his eyes drifting closed. “She really is my destined mate.” He smiled a little. “It really is love.” Then he fell asleep, his breathing slow and steady.
Alasdair looked at Balthasar, knowing his question was obvious.
“She came back,” that Pyr said, his tone thoughtful. “She thought she could reverse the kiss of death and she did it.”
“But why? I thought she had to kill Hadrian to save her brothers?”
“I’m going to guess that Maeve broke her word.”
Alasdair nodded agreement. “Rania?”
Balthasar shrugged. “That’s what he’s calling her now. Maybe she finally told him her name.” He shrugged.
“Then where did she go?”
“With the salamander.”
Alasdair turned to Balthasar in confusion. “The what?”
“Didn’t you hear the old-speak? It said ‘stay with me’ in old-speak.”
“Then it was Pyr.”
Balthasar nodded. “Sloane said that some of the Slayers who had drunk the Elixir had the ability to take a third form, that of a salamander. Rafferty is the only Pyr who can do it.”
“Was the salamander opal and gold?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Then it had to have been him. I wonder how he knew to come here,” Alasdair mused.
“I wonder where they went,” Balthasar said. “I’d like to know where all that nasty malice ended up.”
“If it was Rafferty who guided her away, then we don’t have to worry about it anymore,” Alasdair said with conviction. “Is Hadrian really okay?”
“Sleeping normally. It’s incredible.” Balthasar smiled as he tucked Hadrian under a duvet and left him to sleep. “I’m going to guess that he’ll be hungry when he wakes up. Do I smell pizza?”
“You do.” Alasdair waved a parcel that Balthasar hadn’t noticed. “Plus there’s a package for Hadrian from Sara. Do you think
we should open it?”
“Absolutely. Hadrian said she was going to send a book. Where’s that prophecy? Didn’t he write it down? Maybe we can figure some of this out for him.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Ten
Sebastian wasn’t a fan of airline travel. While it had the advantage of speed, it had so many other drawbacks that he avoided it as much as possible. The schedule was inflexible, for starters, which created challenges in ensuring that he wasn’t exposed to sunlight. Going to Europe was about as easy as that could be, since many flights left in the evening and arrived early in the morning. He booked business class, to minimize his check-in time, and disliked that he had to hope for the best.
After that, there was the crush of the airline terminal to survive, the inconvenience of security checks to tolerate, and interminable delays to endure. He hated the crowds and the lines and the scent of mortal flesh on all sides. He hated being trapped in a metal tube with several hundred mortal strangers even more.
He pulled up the hood on his sweatshirt, put on his eyeshades and tugged a blanket over himself, as sure a combination of signals that he didn’t want to be disturbed as he could provide. Of course, the businessman next to him wanted to drink and chat. Sebastian seethed all the way across the Atlantic, fantasizing about the days of the big ocean liners. That had been traveling in style, with all the amenities and the option of retreating to a stateroom at any time. Staff on all sides. Every request fulfilled. He’d even been able to feast on sorry specimens in third class, if he’d been careful.
The contrast was striking.
Of course, he became thirsty. It was inescapable with humanity pressed upon him on all sides. He’d feasted after Maeve’s visit, knowing it would only stave off his hunger for a few hours. In Manhattan, he could go days without feasting, but airline travel undermined his resolve. It was as if he stood before a buffet of temptation.
Except the morsel he truly desired wasn’t there.
It was probably good for him—or at least for Sylvia—for him to accept Maeve’s commission. He amused himself by trying to remember all the titles in his locked library, the order of them on the shelves, the times and places of acquisition. He teased himself with the thrill of regaining his greatest treasure and told himself that the prospect seemed flat because he was grumpy.
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