the portal between the worlds.
And the fire raged on.
Hadrian felt himself begin to rotate between forms involuntarily and he knew he was dying. It nearly broke his heart for his last view to be the wanton destruction of his life’s work. There were so many things he hadn’t done, including the satisfaction of his own firestorm. He left no legacy: no talons to aid his fellow Pyr, no son, thanks to this Fae attack. He ached for his mate’s lost chance to free her brothers and wondered how many more centuries she’d spend killing Others for Maeve.
He closed his eyes in his dragon form, knowing the next shift would be his last.
Eight
Rania felt an odd tick. For the merest second, it seemed as if everything had frozen, as if time had stopped, as if she was snared in the moment of watching Notus and Argenta embrace. Balthasar seemed to have stopped chewing popcorn. Alasdair was caught in the act of breathing fog and telling his story. There was no sound from the studio.
Then she blinked and all seemed to be normal again.
Hadrian hadn’t warned her that the firestorm would make her lose her mind. She grabbed some popcorn and concentrated on Alasdair’s story.
When the pair in the image broke their kiss, Argenta looked at Notus with awe and love. Rania knew the woman would agree to satisfy the firestorm. The firestorm and Notus were working their persuasive spell, but it was easier to wonder about the end result when she wasn’t snared by its power herself.
She understood how Argenta felt all too clearly.
A key turned audibly in a lock and for a moment Rania wasn’t certain whether it was in the vision or Hadrian’s lair. Balthasar munched popcorn, untroubled as he watched, so she realized it was the vision.
Notus fled as a man who must have been Argenta’s father opened the door to his daughter’s room. A second man loomed behind him, and Rania saw that it was Olaf dressed as a rich nobleman. The father was obviously charmed with Olaf and Rania guessed what he would do before he put Argenta’s hand in that of her new suitor.
“Olaf bought Argenta, paying her father a healthy price in exchange for her hand in marriage,” Alasdair said. “The coin later proved to be counterfeit and there was never a wedding. By that time the father knew he had been tricked, Olaf was gone, leaving no sign of Argenta behind.”
A malachite and silver dragon soared into the sky beyond the village, a maiden in his grasp, as the father discovered the coins were false. The father shouted in rage and ran from the house, even as Argenta called for help, so high above the clouds that no one in the village heard her cries. Rania next saw her secured in Olaf’s lair, deep in the earth, and watched her drop her head to hands and weep.
“Olaf didn’t claim the mate because he couldn’t, thanks to the wound Notus had given him,” Alasdair continued. “And their union wouldn’t have resulted in a son, anyway, since he had turned Slayer. He didn’t compel Argenta to spin because he didn’t care about her powers or about silver—he had more than sufficient riches in his hoard. His sole objective was to deny Notus, and as Notus traveled far and wide, seeking some sign of his lost mate, the tale spread to the other Pyr and Slayers.”
Notus looked for his mate? That surprised Rania. She’d expected him to move on, and to spark another firestorm with someone else.
That clearly wasn’t how it worked.
Rania witnessed a gathering of Pyr and wondered who the other dragons were, and whether any of them were still alive. A majestic ebony and pewter dragon seemed to be in charge, although the gathering was a noisy one. Rania felt their outrage grow and saw their passion rise. She saw more than one breathe a plume of fire into the sky in frustration. Meanwhile, another group of dragons gathered close by, led by an elegant dragon of ruby red and brass. He had similar glorious feathers as Notus and Boreus, but his trailed red behind him. He was obviously eloquent and forceful, too.
Rania watched the two groups convene on a lonely mountain peak. They really made a splendid sight and she had to think that the world would be a little less marvelous once they were eliminated.
“Words were exchanged between Boris Vassily, the leader of the Slayers, and Erik Sorensson, leader of the Pyr,