interrupting her. “Let me tell you a story,” he offered. “Let me tell you about the commitment of the firestorm, then maybe you’ll understand why Hadrian should survive to enjoy his.”
“Maybe you’ll understand why the Pyr should survive,” Balthasar added.
Rania understood what Hadrian had meant when he’d said that Alasdair was a good storyteller. She was already tempted to listen to him. She was curious again, even though she recognized that as dangerous. Would it hurt to learn more about the Pyr and their firestorm? She might end up the only person who knew or remembered.
She’d already given Hadrian permission to examine the Fae sword. A story would fill the time. He’d told her that she didn’t listen to enough of them.
And he’d told her to seize any chance to hear Alasdair tell a story, too.
Maybe she’d been missing something.
Rania nodded agreement and Alasdair grinned.
“But I can’t give you the kiss of death,” she said, wanting to ensure he understood.
“I’ve no doubt you could still kill me.” When she would have argued, he raised a hand and began to shimmer blue around his perimeter. He looked more vital and his eyes brightened, reflecting the light that indicated he was on the cusp of change.
“Is it a long story? Should I bring snacks?” Balthasar asked with enthusiasm.
“Why not?” Alasdair said as he moved into the middle of the great room.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Rania protested.
“Just about the right time to go to a movie in New York,” Alasdair replied. “I’m still on Eastern time.”
“This is a fog dragon thing,” Balthasar assured Rania. “It rocks.”
Then Alasdair shifted shape, becoming a dragon of hematite and silver. He wrapped his length around the perimeter of the main living space of Hadrian’s lair, his tail tucking beneath his chin. His eyes glittered like mica as he narrowed them and breathed a cloud of fog. It hovered in the air in the middle of the room, becoming steadily whiter and larger as he continued to exhale.
Balthasar lowered the blinds on the big windows facing the river, as if they were going to watch a movie, then gestured for her to take a seat on the big leather sofa. Rania did, uncertain what would happen. It was meditative to watch Alasdair breathe his cloud of fog, but not exactly fascinating.
She certainly didn’t understand why Balthasar made a big bowl of popcorn before joining her on the couch to watch. His anticipation was palpable and inexplicable.
‘A fog dragon thing.’ What did that mean?
She heard Hadrian hammering in the studio and found the steady rhythm of the sound reassuring. Of course, he was working on the gloves. With his keen hearing, he probably knew what Alasdair was doing and was making the most of every moment. She did admire that.
Maybe he’d even be able to hear the story.
A bit too late, she wished Hadrian hadn’t taken the Fae sword with him. She wanted to see how it changed, too. She started to get up, but Balthasar put a hand on her arm. He pointed at the cloud, which had to be twenty feet across.
“Watch,” he advised in an undertone.
Alasdair began to chant something, although Rania couldn’t distinguish or understand the words. The rhythm of his voice was as soothing as a slow-running stream. She found herself relaxing despite her concerns and wondered whether this was a kind of beguiling. She leaned forward to see whether there were flames in Alasdair’s eyes or not. There weren’t, but to her amazement, images began to form in the cloud of steam.
That made her sit up and pay attention. It was like a movie.
“I remember Hadrian’s father Notus well,” Alasdair said softly. A dragon profile formed in the mist, then shifted into focus. Rania clearly saw a dragon of amber and gold turn a glittering gaze upon her. She knew it was an illusion of some kind, but the dragon looked solid and real. He had long red feathers and his eyes were a thousand shades of orange and red, as if his very being was aflame. He was stunningly beautiful and exactly how she’d always imagined dragons would look. There was something in his expression that reminded her of Hadrian, a certain audacity and confidence, a trait that maybe ran in families.
Alasdair continued. “He and my father, Boreus, were cousins and they were close in their youth. They mastered their Pyr skills together and fought together. They celebrated together and they challenged each other. It was said that they were