When they caught up to the end of the trail of them, Rania saw that each seed had changed: instead of a brown seed on each white tuft, it looked like there was a drop of ruby-red blood. No, not a drop. A tiny shard, like a sliver of red glass. She shivered at the sight, but her companion nodded approval, as if she had done particularly well.
The seeds swirled higher and she wondered where they would go, then what would happen when they arrived. The salamander was satisfied, though. He led her back toward the stone circle, purpose in his movement. Once they stood beside the dark abyss in the central cairn, he bowed his head to her, those scales glinting a little, then shimmered blue. The salamander vanished in a flash.
Rania didn’t know where he’d gone, but was in agreement with his choice. She’d dispensed with the poison behind the kiss of death, and she knew exactly where she wanted to be. She didn’t want to linger in this place, whether it was Fae or not.
She closed her eyes and willed herself to Hadrian’s side.
She had a second chance and she was going to make it count.
For the first time that she could remember, Rania felt a thrill of anticipation.
Rania didn’t see that the transformed seeds drifted until the mound of a hill rose in the distance. Merry music became discernible then grew louder as the seeds floated nearer. There was a party beneath the hill, a party at the Fae court, attended by hundreds of glittering Fae dressed in silver and red. Their wings arched high, their laughter echoed loudly, their mead flowed in quantity.
The seeds blew right through the open portal to the Fae court, almost as if they were dancing in time to the music. The seeds wafted high once they were through the portal, then they swooped low, caught in the currents of air in the court. The faceted red crystals of the transformed seeds caught the light and sparkled.
The first one fell on the exposed shoulder of a Fae dancer. Red light flared brightly from the point of impact for a fraction of a second, then a tiny port wine stain appeared on the skin of the Fae. It could have been a mole or a freckle, except for its color. The recipient barely noticed it, brushing one hand across the point of contact and continuing with the dance.
Thousands of seeds slowly descended upon the revelers. Most of the Fae didn’t seem to take notice of them. Others reached for them, as if they were toys to be gathered. A few opened their mouths to them, as children do with snowflakes. Each seed touched bare skin, each one giving a little pulse of light as it turned into a purple freckle and vanished.
All the while, the merry dance continued as if it would endure to the end of time.
Not fancy.
There was an understatement.
Maeve had a lot to answer for, to Sebastian’s thinking. Lynsay’s car was small and cramped. It was cold and less than comfortable.
Worse, his companion was a talker. Why did mortals insist on filling the air with their babble and their confidences? He’d never been chatty, even before he’d been turned, and he resented her conversation.
It interfered with his brooding.
He felt the thirst begin to gnaw within him as they drove away from the pub. Lynsay was the most convenient candidate to satisfy his need, but she was robustly healthy and she was doing him a favor. Choosing her as his victim felt wrong, and that made Sebastian irritable.
Was it Sylvia’s influence at root or Micah’s?
Either way, he needed to find better company.
Actually, he wouldn’t need company at all after this quest of Maeve’s was completed. He could lock himself into his beloved library and only emerge to feed as necessary. The solitude would be bliss.
“How do you know Hadrian MacEwan?” Lynsay asked.
“I don’t,” Sebastian acknowledged.
“But you’re looking for him.”
“I was entrusted with a package to deliver to him, by hand.”
“Oh! Something for his business?”
“You could say that.” Sebastian deliberately turned to look out the window, hoping that would end the conversation. He could smell her body lotion, a light feminine scent, but he was keenly aware of the aroma of her flesh beneath it, the pulse of blood, and the heat of her body. He could smell the warm rich blood that coursed through her veins, so close. He couldn’t even glance at the length of her throat, pale against her velvet scarf but just as smooth and soft. His teeth would sink in easily, without resistance, and she’d gasp. She might cry out but not for long, and no one would hear her. Not here. He could feast to his heart’s content and arrive at the dragon’s lair, sated, with his thoughts clear.
He clenched one fist and fixed his gaze on the passing scenery without really seeing it.
“Do you believe in true love?” Lynsay asked abruptly. “Or in there being one perfect partner out there for everyone?” She was concentrating on the road, so she missed Sebastian’s poisonous sidelong glance.
“No,” he said flatly. “It’s romantic drivel.”
She smiled. “That’s what I think, too. The idea that there’s one person out there who’s your perfect mate just seems a little far-fetched. It also makes dating into a kind of a treasure hunt.” She laughed under her breath. “And as the kid who never ever found the prize, that idea doesn’t appeal to me. Who wants to be a loser at love?”
Sebastian allowed himself a small grunt, which could have been interpreted as agreement or encouragement. Lynsay was turning onto a smaller lane so this ordeal couldn’t last much longer. The road became a bit bumpier and there was no other traffic. The thirst raged and he clenched the other fist in his bid for control.
Not much farther.
Lynsay nodded, clearly unaware of the threat beside her. “But when the person you love believes in all that stuff, things can get complicated.”
“How so?” Sebastian asked, for the sake of distraction as much as anything else.
“Well, I guess only if you fall short. It’s the worst thing in the world to be told that you’re not the One.”
“Surely not the very worst thing,” Sebastian muttered. “You could be attacked and left for dead at the side of a quiet country road, for example.”
To his surprise, she laughed at what could have been taken as a warning. Why were mortals so foolish with their trust? “Okay, you’re right. Not the worst thing, but it’s bad. You’re in love and he’s apparently not, even though you thought everything was going so well.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Sebastian turned to watch her, hearing the yearning in her voice. He felt a strange commonality with this mortal, one that wasn’t entirely welcome.
“Because he dumped me. He said I wasn’t the one. He said he preferred to wait.” She geared down and her voice dropped low. “As if I wasn’t good enough.”
Sebastian frowned. He looked out the window at nothing and reminded himself that her business wasn’t his business. Her broken heart certainly wasn’t his problem. But he knew the Pyr and their code of honor and he could connect the dots.
“You love Hadrian MacEwan,” he guessed.
“Oh, God, yes,” she said with such feeling that even Sebastian’s weary heart clenched.
It really wasn’t his problem.
He was the last individual in the world to become an agony aunt or give advice on matters of the heart. He had no empathy and didn’t care.
But he felt her ache and oddly enough, it found a resonance within him.
Sebastian meant to sigh, but instead, he found himself talking. “Maybe he thought he wasn’t good enough,” he said, then wondered where that suggestion had come from. It had nothing to do with his relationship with Sylvia, certainly. Sebastian had no illusions that he was less than magnificent himself. He kept his gaze fixed on what passed for a road ahead of the car, well aware that Lynsay was studying him.
“You think so?”
“It’s always possible. Some men are idealists. Some think that love should bring more than sexual satisfaction and contentment, that it should be a pairing of opposites, or a p
artnership of complementary strengths. Some think that a union should be more than the sum of the parts, that it should exult each partner, making each better and stronger than before.”
He sounded like a propagandist for the Pyr and their wretched firestorm, which annoyed him. On the other hand, he understood why Hadrian had acted as he had. He’d heard the argument before. The irony was that Hadrian might actually have loved Lynsay, but the spark of the firestorm and appearance of his destined mate would have compelled him to turn away from her anyway. Had he anticipated it? Or had he simply thought it easier to break up sooner rather than later?
Sebastian was glad he didn’t believe in destined love or, really, in love at all. It had to be worse than magick for making trouble where none was wanted.
The car was silent, the atmosphere charged. Sebastian glanced over to find Lynsay frowning in thought. “I can respect that,” she said finally. She turned to face him so suddenly that Sebastian was surprised and their gazes caught. “Buy why wouldn’t he try to change?”
“Change?” Sebastian was incredulous. “Do you truly imagine that anyone is capable of real change?”
“Yes,” she said with heat. “Yes, I do. Anyone can ditch a habit or be more noble in their goals or try harder. They just have to want to do it badly enough.” Her lips set as she parked in front of what looked like an old mill. “And you know, if he thought he wasn’t good enough, but he didn’t have the stones to try to do better, then he’s right. We’re better off apart.” She turned off the engine with a decisive flick of her wrist.
There were two Land Rovers parked there already. One side of the building had burned and had done so recently: Sebastian could still smell the smoke. On the remaining side, there were lights behind the windows, indicating that the fire had been contained. Lynsay peered into the darkness. “They said he was back, and also that there had been a fire in his studio. I didn’t realize it was completely gone. That’s a shame. But Hadrian will rebuild. Nothing stops him when he pursues a goal.” Her gaze lingered on the shadowed ruins as she apparently realized the implication of what she’d just said. She looked at Sebastian, new understanding in her eyes. “Which pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?”
Sebastian knew he should get out of the car. He knew he shouldn’t involve himself or offer a suggestion. But her disappointment was palpable and he felt like he should encourage her somehow.
There had been a time when Sebastian would have surrendered to his need and put Lynsay out of her misery in the simplest way possible. That was one solution.
Instead, he actually smiled at her.
“All good things come to he—or she—who waits,” he said.
“But is it true?”
“I hope so.”
She laughed and her eyes lit. “How long have you waited?”
“Much longer than you.” She surveyed him, obviously trying to guess his age. “Trust me on that.”
“All right, I will. Because you’re right. I just have to let it go and move on.” Her eyes widened. “I’ll keep waiting for the good stuff.”
“Keep your eyes open,” Sebastian found himself advising. “It might be in the most unlikely of places.”
“My father used to say that, but then, he was a poet.” She looked at the door to Hadrian’s lair again, then restarted the car. “I’m not going to go in,” she said with admirable resolve. “Are you going to need a ride back? You could call me.”
“You’ve already done more than enough,” Sebastian said, shaking her proffered hand. He ignored the surge of the thirst at the glimpse of that pale wrist. “I’ll solve it.”
“Stop in for a pint before you leave town.”
“Perhaps I will. Thank you, Lynsay, and good luck.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“You don’t need to. Goodnight.” Sebastian got out of the car, raising a hand as Lynsay turned the car around and drove away. He stood in the shadows, watching the tail lights of her car fade from view, fingering Maeve’s box in his pocket.
If he thought he wasn’t good enough, but he didn’t have the stones to try to do better, then he’s right. We’re better off apart.
Sebastian heard the echo of Lynsay’s ferocity in his thoughts. Was she right about the ability to change? He’d never even tried to change, not for anyone or anything.
What if that was the secret?
Eleven
The pizza, even cool, tasted better than anything Hadrian had eaten in a long time. Balthasar and Alasdair brought him up to date on the story so far, then Alasdair continued to read.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that there were swans in this story and that his mate was a swan shifter. He’d wanted to know everything about her even before she’d saved him from death so he listened closely.
If the brigand king thought to leave his wife and youngest son in misery, he erred in his judgment. Relieved of the prospect of her husband’s presence, the lady blossomed anew. She began to smile and the sparkle returned to her eyes. She indulged her youngest son, who she named Trymman in her father’s memory. She taught him to read and to write, and told him the tales of her family and her people, sharing with him all the lore she had ever known.
The brigand turned all his energies to training his eleven sons in warfare, and in bedding his new mistress, the village witch, with enthusiasm. That woman dared him to get her with child, hinting that his vigor was insufficient—in truth, she took a potion to prevent any conception and wished only to have the brigand’s attention and favor. She suspected that if he turned her out of his bed for any reason, she would lose her influence over him. Power, once tasted, is impossible for some to relinquish: in that, the witch and the mercenary were similar.
Seven years had passed when Trymman noticed his mother weeping on the first day of spring. The castle should have been filled with spring sunlight, the calls of birds and the first blooms on the trees. People should have been singing and thinking of new loves, but there was a pall upon the land. The winter had been hard. The crops the previous year had been taken by pestilence. The brigand king’s temper was foul and blood had flowed on the floor of the hall more than once. There was a sense of pending doom, as if a tide turned against them all, and the son thought his mother wept for fear.
“No, my love,” she said, wiping her tears. “I weep because I never bore a daughter and that was always my fondest wish. It was once said to me that if I should have a daughter, she would be blessed beyond all others.” Trymman protested that she still might bear another child, but his mother shook her head. “My womb shrivels, my son. By winter, I will not be able to conceive again.” She sighed and smiled for him, framing his face in her hands and kissing his brow. “But I am foolish and greedy in this yearning, for I have the gift of you to light my days.”
Trymman was troubled to see his mother unhappy, for he loved her dearly. Indeed, he had no other soul to love. He wanted his mother to have her desire and be happy, though there was little enough he could do. Unbeknownst to the queen, the swan-prince still admired her. He had often visited the palace and village in his human form but disguised his royal status, simply to look upon her. He was troubled that the brigand king was creating eleven more villains like himself. He was more troubled that the lady he loved and admired was a captive in her own chamber. When he heard the queen weep one night, the swan-prince vowed to see her happy, if it was the last thing he did. He bribed a maid and learned the truth of the queen’s desire. Once he knew he could give her joy, he couldn’t stay away any longer.
Trymman thought he dreamed when he saw the beautiful swan fly through the window of the chamber at sunset one night and land gracefully in the middle of his mother’s chamber. The bird was massive and its feathers shone with a radiance that made Trymman want to touch them. The bird turned to look at him, as if it would talk, then there was a shimmer of blue. When the light faded, a man stood before him and the swan was nowhere to be seen.
The man was tall and hands
ome, with blond hair that hung past his shoulders and eyes of vivid blue. He was dressed simply but in garments of good quality, and there was a silver ring on his finger with a large clear stone set in it. That stone shone with an inner fire that fascinated the boy. The stranger’s smile was kindly and Trymman wasn’t afraid of him at all. The man touched his finger to his lips, requesting the boy’s silence and complicity. At the boy’s nod of agreement—for he had learned the merit of secrecy from the cradle—the man crouched down and beckoned. Trymman leaned close as the man whispered that he should run to the kitchens and eat his fill, that there were stairs to the right that no one used any longer.
Before Trymman could argue that the door was secured, the man glanced toward it and the boy heard the tumblers in the lock. He crossed the room to discover that he was free to leave the chamber. He looked back in astonishment at the man, still crouched down where he had stood. The man smiled and gestured to him to go. Trymman gladly followed his bidding, for he had always yearned for the adventure of exploring the palace. He glanced back from the threshold to see the man approaching his mother’s bed. The stranger’s expression was tender as he looked down at the sleeping queen, and Trymman knew all would be well. Then the door closed, seeming with a will of its own, and Trymman heard the lock turn again.
By the time he had avoided the cook, raided the larder, eaten his spoils, explored the palace, fetched more from the kitchen for his mother and returned to the chamber, the moon was high in the sky. To his disappointment the stranger was gone and the chamber door was standing ajar again. When Trymman entered the room, the door swung closed behind him, then audibly locked.
But he had been on an adventure and he had brought back as much food as he had been able to carry. His mother slept with a smile upon her lips, a smile of such tranquility and beauty that Trymman could only wonder what had happened in his absence.
Dragon's Mate: A DragonFate Novel (The DragonFate Novels Book 4) Page 23