I started to turn back toward Dauva, but he stopped me, gripping my arm. “I can’t let you go, my love.”
“Do not!” I snarled, whirling around and slapping his hand off me, fury causing my dragon fire to spill over and form a ring around him. “Do not use that word! You do not love me, Constantine! You cannot love someone whom you systematically destroy!”
He reeled back a step. Baltic tried to shove him, but there was nothing there for him to touch. Instead he fought his way through the snow to where I stood. “I always knew he was mad. Look at his eyes, mate. Look at his face.”
I had to admit, Constantine’s eyes glinted with a strange light, even in the middle of a snowstorm.
“He has turned you from me,” Constantine said sadly, bowing his head. “I must do what I must do, Ysolde. I have sworn to protect you, and I will do that the only way I know how.”
“Protect her?” Baltic yelled at the figure of Constantine. “It’s me you want to destroy—you always have, ever since I challenged you for the right to be heir.”
“I am tired of protesting against your folly,” I said, suddenly exhausted from the weight of all those dragons who had died, and would die, for no real purpose. Baltic’s words sank in and I glanced at him. “You challenged Constantine?”
“That is the true reason this war has continued. He was named by Alexei as his heir, but I knew he held only his own interests close to his heart, not those of the sept. I challenged him for the right to be heir, and won. He never forgave me for that, and soon after I was named wyvern, he rallied a handful of dragons, lying to them, bribing them, convincing them that they could never be happy under my rule.”
It made sense. It made all too much sense. Constantine was a man of great pride; all wyverns were. And for him to lose both the sept and me to Baltic . . . I wasn’t surprised it would generate a deep, seething hatred that would spread to everything Constantine perceived as belonging to Baltic.
“There is no hope if you remain with him,” Constantine told me, passing a hand over his face as if he, too, was weary.
“Only because you are too foolish to see it,” I answered. “I must return before Baltic notices I am gone.”
“At this moment I’m probably in the caves, fending off Kostya’s attempt to sneak into the castle through the lower passages,” Baltic said, then whirled around to face Constantine, swearing in Zilant as he did so. “This is when he killed you! Flee, mate! I will keep him from striking you down.”
I turned on my heel and started down the steep incline toward the exit of the bolt-hole I’d used to escape the keep unnoticed. I wanted to stop, to grab Baltic and make him leave with me, but my body had to follow its actions of the past. “You can’t,” I called to him as I slid down a small slope toward a clutch of trees that loomed up grey in the whipping snow. “You can’t touch him, remember?”
He swore long and profanely, starting after me.
A sudden blast of icy wind sent me sprawling forward. Behind me, Constantine called out my name. “Ysolde!”
I looked over my shoulder, but could see nothing, no sign of Constantine or Baltic.
“Mate! Where are you?” Baltic cried, his voice faint as most of it was whipped away on the wind. “I can’t see you. Run from him! Don’t let him find you!”
“I can’t,” I answered, getting to my feet. As I did so, the wind lifted my cloak and swirled it around me, blinding me as a sudden blow struck my back.
I screamed, struggling both with the snow I’d fallen into and with the cloak, heavy and wet, effectively capturing my legs. I fell back into the snow and the whiteness consumed me, leaching into my being until I was as pure as it was, suddenly adrift.
The white swirled around with a beauty that brought tears to my eyes . . . until I noticed the red in it.
“What . . .” I gasped as I rose higher, and I realized I was looking at myself, at the past Ysolde lying facedown, a fan of crimson staining the snow and the cloak. “Baltic! Oh my god, Baltic!”
“I’m here.” He stumbled into view, stopping when he saw the figure holding a long, curved sword.
“Noooo!” Baltic howled, falling to his knees, his head thrown back in agony.
Constantine stood at my feet, looking at my body with eyes that were flat and devoid of all expression.
A drop of blood sluggishly gathered at the tip of the sword he held, trembling with the force of the wind, finally releasing to fall with infinite slowness onto the field of white.
My eyes blurred. I turned my face out of the stinging wind and noticed a trail of crimson spots that led away from my dead form, away from Constantine, but before I could say anything, the sound of Baltic’s cry echoed in my ears. The whiteness darkened, thickening and reforming itself into a dark, dank, confined space.
Baltic was on his knees, his head thrown back, in the same position of anguish, but now it was he who held a sword in his hands.
The last few notes of the echo faded away, and I realized I was in one of the caves beneath Dauva.
Baltic slowly turned his head and looked beyond me. “It is over.”
“It should have been over a century ago,” a voice said, the shadow behind me resolving into Kostya. “But you would not listen to me. No more black dragons will die for you, Baltic. You are the only one who will die, and with your death, the sept will be free.” Kostya raised his sword high. “You need not fear for the fate of Ysolde. I will see that she is taken care of.”
Baltic merely laughed, the sound of it horrible, filled with hopelessness and anguish that had no end and no beginning. He bowed his head, letting his sword fall to the stony ground with a dull clatter. “At least I will be with her again.”
I screamed and leaped forward to stop Kostya, tears streaming down my face, but I was just as unsubstantial as Baltic had been at the scene of my death. I heard the sword cut through the air, but could not watch the sight of Kostya killing my love. I spun around, a spray of blood hitting my cheek, mingling with my tears as I collapsed, sobbing as if my heart had been destroyed.
“My love, do not do this. It is over. I am here. You must return to me now. Ysolde, heed me!”
I opened my eyes, finding myself on the floor, cradled against Baltic’s chest, my face and his shirt wet.
“I’ll kill him,” I said, my throat aching and my voice hoarse.
“Is she all right?” May asked. “Did she hit her head when she fell? Gabriel, maybe you should look at her.”
“Now you know how I feel,” Baltic said, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
I pushed myself away from him, the memory stark in my mind as I got to my feet.
“You,” I said, my voice low and ugly as I started toward Kostya. “He was unarmed when you killed him!”
Kostya’s eyebrows rose, and he had the nerve to look shocked as I grabbed my chair leg and raised it over my head.
“No, mate.” Baltic caught me as I ran toward Kostya, intent on destroying him.
“You dropped your sword! You weren’t even holding it when he killed you!” I yelled, fighting Baltic to get to Kostya.
“Eh . . .” Kostya looked startled for a moment, then frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I was dead by then,” Baltic said, wrapping both his arms around me and pulling me tight against his body. “Ysolde, I was dead. Constantine had killed you. I could not exist without you. It didn’t matter that Kostya struck the blow—I could not have survived without you.”
“It seems I have arrived at a most interesting moment,” a light Italian voice said.
I spat out a word I would never have said in front of Brom, dropped the chair leg, and turned in Baltic’s arms to hold him tight.
“Apparently, Ysolde just had another . . . er . . . dream, for lack of a better word,” Aisling said slowly. “And I think Baltic went with her.”
“Ah,” Bastian said, obviously confused.
“Constantine did not kill Ysolde,” Gabriel said, looking angrier th
an I’d ever seen him.
“We saw him,” Baltic said as I sniffled one last sniffle into his shirt, turning to face the others who stood in a semicircle around us.
“You’ve taken Jim?” I asked Aisling, noticing that the demon wasn’t present, although my spirits were too dulled to care much.
“No.” She gave me an odd look. “We had an agreement, and we’re standing by it. Jim will remain with you until the sárkány is over. Right now it’s in the kitchen, no doubt trying to mooch food away from your son.”
“You saw him?” Drake asked us, frowning slightly. “You saw Constantine kill Ysolde?”
I hesitated for a moment, remembering the trail of blood that led away from my body.
“Yes,” Baltic said, his arms tight around me. “We saw him standing over her lifeless body, a sword in his hand that dripped with blood. There was no one else there, just him.”
I said nothing. The situation was too charged to discuss the trail of blood at that moment. The dragons were all on edge enough; I would have to speak later with Baltic, when we could discuss what it meant.
“No,” Gabriel said, shaking his head as he looked at his mate. “I can’t believe that. It doesn’t make sense. Constantine wouldn’t do that.”
Baltic growled something very rude. “Did you know him?”
“No.” Gabriel’s fingers flexed. “But my father served as his guard. He would not have done so had Constantine been without honor.”
“Well, I did know him. There was no one else with Ysolde’s body. I myself witnessed him telling her that he would do what he had to do. Is that not so, mate?”
I nodded. “He was furious with Baltic, and wanted nothing more than to destroy him. He said he felt affection for me, but . . .”
I stopped speaking, unwilling to speculate in front of the other dragons.
“Do not distress yourself again, mate,” Baltic murmured in my ear, his arms tightening around me.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Gabriel said, shaking his head, his hand seeking May’s hand as if for comfort.
“Believe it, or don’t believe it—I don’t really care. In fact, at this moment, I’m inclined to go along with Baltic’s assertion that we don’t need anything to do with any of you, or with the weyr.” I clutched the love token I’d hung on a silver chain, sick of the constant struggle that seemed to fill my life now.
“Well, I have no idea what to say to that,” Aisling said, glancing at Drake. “I have to admit, though, that I’m starting to think that maybe talking with Baltic is a good thing.”
Bastian strolled over to us, and before either Baltic or I could react, punched Baltic smack-dab in the nose. “They tell me you’re Baltic even though you do not look like him. I am glad. You will suffer for a very long time before you die for the deaths of my dragons.”
I held Baltic back when he would have jumped on Bastian. “Please, don’t,” I begged him. “He’ll just hit you back, and then I’ll end up turning him into a banana, which means I’ll have to ask Dr. Kostich for help, and he’ll just call you fat again, and that’ll lead to me wanting to punch out his lights, and we’ll all end up brawling until there’s nothing left but you, me, and a bunch of bananas. And some melted lemon sorbet.”
Baltic looked like he was going to go ahead and deck Bastian anyway, but when I touched his cheek and said, “Please?” he refrained.
“Febales!” he grumbled, his expression as black as his eyes. “I hope you like the looks of be with a crooked dose, because he just broke it.”
“Oh!” I said, examining his face. His nose was swelling rapidly and had a decided list to the right. “Oh, dear. I don’t know how to set a nose. Gabriel, do you?”
Gabriel stood silent, his lips in a mutinous line.
“I’m sure he does,” May said, prodding her mate in the side. “Go on.”
“No,” Gabriel said, staring daggers at Baltic.
Bastian and Kostya nodded their agreement with Gabriel’s obstinate stand.
“Oh, for the love of all the saints!” I said, pushed almost past my point of patience. “It’s just a nose!”
“I’b fide,” Baltic said nasally.
“You’re not fine. You need that set properly. Gabriel, please do this. If you insist on being stubborn, you can do it for my benefit, not for Baltic’s.”
“Do you have any idea how many times he’s tried to kill me, kill my mate, or steal her in the last few months?” Gabriel said, pointing at Baltic. “I’m not going to set his damned nose.”
“I nebber tried to kill your bate,” Baltic said with as much dignity as one could have with a nose approaching the approximate size, shape, and color of a ripe apple. “Steal her, yes. But not kill her.”
“I won’t do it!” Gabriel said, but at a look from May, he marched forward, muttering things under his breath that I felt were better to pretend I didn’t hear, grabbed Baltic’s nose between his thumb and forefinger, and gave it a quick jerk. A horrible snapping sound made everyone present cringe. Everyone but Baltic, who swore profanely as he felt his poor, abused nose.
“There. It’s set. Can we get on to the part of the day where we sentence Baltic to death?”
A banana clipped him alongside his head. He shot a startled look at me.
I, wearing an innocent expression, tended to the tiny bit of blood that seeped out of Baltic’s nostril, and said, “Why don’t all of you go out to the north pasture, where a tent and tables and chairs have been set up for the sárkány. Baltic and I will check on the canapés, although at this point, I don’t really give a damn about them either, but my mother raised me to show guests common courtesy even if it killed me. Which it did, but that’s neither here nor there.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Did I see artichoke hearts? I love those.” Cyrene peered anxiously down the table. “With garlic and parmesan? Does anyone see them?”
We were in the north pasture, a large open field mottled with wild grass and bare earth. I would have preferred a more civilized setting, but the only way I could get Baltic to agree to have the sárkány at his house was allowing it to be held in an open field, where no one could hide in ambush. I didn’t think the wyverns would do something like that, but agreed with him that it would be best not to take foolish chances.
The ladies were seated around a couple of tables pushed together. The wyverns were together in a small clutch, obviously discussing something about the sárkány. Baltic stood alone, watching everyone with a glower that would have leveled a T. rex.
Pavel and I had spent the day in the kitchen, making a few snacks that I intended on serving after the sárkány itself, but it appeared that all the discussion about the lemon sorbet had set appetites on edge.
“Here’s a plate for you and Jim,” I told Brom as I handed him a tray with two plates piled high with hors d’oeuvres and canapés. “You may eat it in the kitchen, and afterward, Pavel said you could play with his video game machine.”
“I don’t see why we can’t stay out here and watch Kostya have a couple of hissy fits,” Jim complained, nosing the tray to see what was on it. “Hey, we don’t get any of the famous sorbet? My mouth is all set for it!”
“I left some for you in the freezer, and I prefer that you and Brom stay out from underfoot during the meeting. Speaking of which, don’t pester the dragons, either. All the guards are remaining in the house, and none of them looked very happy.”
“Yeah, yeah, I can handle a couple of bodyguards.”
“Don’t handle them—leave them alone. We had enough of an argument to get them to leave the wyverns out here alone.”
“She just wants us out of the way in case Kostya comes unglued on Baltic again,” Jim told Brom as they started toward the house. Brom stopped and turned back, a suddenly worried look on his face.
I muttered something rude under my breath about Jim’s big mouth, hurrying over to Brom. “Sweetheart, nothing is going to happen. It’s just a meeting.”
“Oops,
” Jim said, looking contrite. “Uh . . . yeah, B-man. I didn’t mean that Kostya was going to hurt Baltic or anything. Besides, if he tried, your mom would turn him into fruit.”
“That’s right,” I said, giving Brom a quick hug. “No one is going to get hurt.”
He continued to look worried. “Can I talk to Baltic for a minute? I mean Dad?”
“All right,” I said slowly, wondering if Jim had been saying anything to him about the fact that the weyr wanted Baltic executed. I glanced over at the man in question, who was standing with his arms crossed, watching everyone with grim suspicion. At my nod toward Brom, he strode over. “Brom wishes to speak with you.”
He raised his eyebrows and looked expectantly at Brom, who squirmed slightly and said apologetically, “Can I talk to him alone, Sullivan?”
“Er . . . certainly.” I moved off to check that the sorbet was still packed tightly in ice and not melting under the warm summer sun, before standing behind my chair.
“Oooh! Is that pesto?” Cyrene made happy little noises. “This is so good, Ysolde. You have to cater all the sárkánies!”
“Thank you, but I think I’ll pass on that offer.”
After a few minutes, Baltic returned, his expression unchanged. I watched Jim and Brom return to the house before turning to him. “What was that all about?”
“He was worried about you.”
“About me? Hell! Jim must have told him about the execution order.”
“No. He was worried that if the weyr did something to me, you would be left helpless. I told him that he had nothing to worry about.”
“Because I’m not weak or feeble or without the ability to take care of myself,” I said, nodding my approval of the way he dealt with Brom’s concern.
“Because the weyr has no control over me,” he corrected.
A horrible feeling came to life in my gut. Before I could warn him of it, the wyverns marched over to the table, Kostya taking up a spot at the head. “The wyverns are all present. The sárkány can commence.”
“Would you pass the crème fraiche cherry apricot scones?” Aisling asked May, who sat diagonally across the table from her.