The Unbearable Lightness of Dragons (17 page)

“Obey?” May asked, her eyes widening with mirth. “Oh, dear.”

Gabriel’s lips twitched in an otherwise somber expression.

I kept the pleasant smile on my face despite the desire to whomp a certain dragon upside his handsome, if annoyingly stubborn, head. “We’re having a little argument. Baltic feels he can go traipsing off who-knows-where without bothering to tell me, and I feel he can shove his head up his—”

“Ysolde!”

“You are welcome to our home despite the current situation between the weyr and you,” Gabriel said, clearly fighting a smile. He gestured toward the room from which he had just emerged. “Would you care to sit down?”

Baltic opened his mouth to say no, but I shot him a look that promised no little amount of retribution in the very near future, and he, no doubt sensing he’d pushed me about as far as he could without me exploding into a million bits of frustration, wisely opted to humor me.

“Where’s Jim?” May asked as she had a few words with the woman I remembered as her housekeeper.

“We dropped it off at Drake’s house,” I said, tightening my lips at Baltic.

“Oh?” She looked from me to Baltic, who was engaged in glaring at Gabriel. “Was there some sort of trouble?”

“Not if you call the fact that Baltic barely slowed down, let alone stopped, so I could say hello to Aisling and good-bye to Jim trouble. Which, incidentally, I do.”

“Demons can’t be hurt by merely bouncing off the pavement,” Baltic said with a sniff.

May’s eyes widened even more. Gabriel seemed to have some sort of a coughing attack.

“Look,” I said as I faced Baltic. “I admit that it might have been a mistake to release it from its inability to hear anything we said, especially since I was not speaking to you at that time, and it picked up on that immediately. I also admit that its innuendoes and incessant whipcrack impressions were extremely annoying, not to mention offensive, and no, it shouldn’t have told you that you could wear its kilt because clearly I wore the pants in the relationship—which is totally untrue, and I have no desire to emasculate you like it hinted—but you could have let me come to an actual complete stop rather than just pushing Jim out of the car as I slowed to park. For one thing, that was rude, and for another, Jim’s kilt flipped up, baring everything while it was sprawled all over the sidewalk, and if I could possibly go
just one day
without seeing its human-form genitalia, I’d really appreciate it.”

May gave up the fight and whooped with laughter, Gabriel joining her.

“I knew you would not be able to resist speaking to me,” was all Baltic said, smiling smugly.

“Gah!” I yelled, then marched out of the room, tossing over my shoulder, “May, can I have a few words with you?”

“About Ysolde’s agreement with May regarding her help with the release of your lieutenant . . . ,” Gabriel said as we exited.

“What agreement?” Baltic asked.

I closed the door on what was sure to be an eye-opening conversation for Baltic, turning to May to ask, “I’d like to check on Brom quickly, but after that . . . do you have somewhere that we can be private for a few minutes?”

“Certainly. No one goes into the study.” She opened a door. “I’ll wait here for you.”

“Thanks, May.” I hurried down the dark, narrow passage that led to the tiny back garden, pausing just outside the door to smile at Brom as he squatted on his heels, one hand gesturing as he chatted, the other stroking the head of what must have been the stunned bird. Maata was next to him, nodding her head as he expounded some point or other, looking up with a genuine smile as she noticed me.

“Sullivan! Maata found a bird that hit the window, but it’s not dead. She says it’s a wren, but it needs a few minutes before it can fly again. Are we going right away, or can I watch the bird?”

“We have a few minutes. Good afternoon, Maata. How’s your mother?”

She looked startled for a moment, then answered politely, “Well, thank you. Have you . . . er . . . met her?”

“In a manner of speaking. Five minutes, OK, Brom?”

“OK.” His head bent over the bird again, and a brief hope flared that he might shift his morbid interest in making mummies from deceased animals to the care of live ones. “You just never know with him,” I said aloud as I entered the study.

“Baltic?”

“Brom. Is it too much to hope he’d become a vet? I would think that was a nice, normal, beneficial profession. There’s not much of a call for the ability to mummify things these days.”

She smiled. “We’ve enjoyed having him visit, mummy fascination and all. What was it you wanted to talk to me about? Something to do with Baltic?”

“Tangentially, perhaps. I’d like to try to summon the First Dragon.”

She blinked at me in surprise.

“I tried doing it myself, but my magic . . . well, you know about that.”

“Yes, I know.” Her lips twitched.

“So I got to thinking about what was different when I summoned him before, and your suggestion about having dragons around, and discounting things like stress and unhappiness with the weyr being collective asses, I decided the difference must be you.”

“Why me?” she asked, looking startled at the idea.

“You have a tie to the First Dragon.”

“Yes, but so do you.”

“Exactly. We both have a relationship with the First Dragon, and perhaps your presence is needed in order to make a connection with him. Are you willing to give it a try?”

“Right now?”

“If you have the time, yes.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “All right, but we should probably be as fast as possible. Your wyvern isn’t the most . . . er . . . conversational of all the dragons I’ve met.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” I said, standing up and shaking out my hands while mentally clearing my mind.

“What should I do?”

“Just stand near me, as you were during the
sárkány
,” I said, my eyes closed as I concentrated. “Maybe have a mental image of the First Dragon.”

“Ready,” she said.

I took a deep breath, pulling hard on Baltic’s fire as I spoke the words. “Light exists within me, darkness I left behind, on my left hand sits that which was made, on my right sits that which has passed. Bring forth your grace that we might—by the rood! That was quick. Er . . . hello.”

Before the last of my invocation had been spoken, the air in front of us began to collect itself in a shimmery sort of swirl that quickly solidified into the form of a man who despite his human appearance was quite obviously not human.

“Daughter of light,” he said, a slightly puzzled look in his fathomless eyes. He glanced at May, who stared at him with delight beaming from her face. “Daughter of shadows,” he said, acknowledging her. “Why have you summoned me?”

May slid a look toward me.

“I’m the one who summoned you.” I squirmed a little under the regard of his eyes, his gaze seeming to strip me to the deepest parts of my soul. “I had some questions about what you said to me the last time we . . . er . . . met.”

He waited, saying nothing, just looking at me with those uncanny eyes. “You said I had let you down before, and to not do it again. I’m sorry if I’m unusually dense, but I don’t understand what it is you want me to do. If you could just tell me, I’d be really grateful.”

His eyes closed and he turned as if he was leaving, but the world seemed to slip away at that moment, the walls and furniture and the house itself seemingly melting into a white nothingness.

A cold white nothingness.

“May?” I asked, rubbing my arms as a blast of arctic wind knocked me back a few feet.

“Right here. It’s another vision, isn’t it? Like the one you had at the
sárkány
?”

“Yes. I think . . . yes, up there. That’s me.”

“Isn’t this when the First Dragon resurrected you?” May asked, shivering next to me as we watched the past version of myself trundling down a hill suddenly stop and turn to look upward.

“I think so. I certainly don’t look terribly with it, do I?”

“Well, I imagine being resurrected would take a lot out of you,” she pointed out.

“What is it you wish of me?” the past me asked, and May and I turned to look in the direction she was calling.

The whirl of wind and snow lessened for a few seconds, revealing the figures of two men.

“Death of the innocent has stripped honor from my youngest son,” one of the men said. “You must return it to him.”

The past Ysolde stared at him dully for a few seconds before simply turning and continuing on her way down the snowy slope. May and I gaped at the First Dragon and the man beside him until a blast of wind and icy snow had us reeling backward.

I covered my face against the sting of it, wiping away tears triggered by the cold. When I looked up, May and I were standing in her library. I was somewhat heartened to see she had an expression of incredulity on her face, since I knew I was beyond flabbergasted.

“That was . . . that was Constantine, wasn’t it?” she finally asked me.

I nodded. “I did hear the First Dragon right, didn’t I? He said his youngest son?”

“Yes.” She blinked a couple of times and shook her head as if to clear away mental fog. “Constantine Norka was the First Dragon’s youngest son? I didn’t know he had real children, since he calls other dragons by the names son and daughter.” She looked up at me with speculation. “He particularly seems to like calling you daughter. I wonder if you really are?”

I shook my head. “My parents were first black dragons, then silver when they left the sept with Constantine. There’s something . . .” I bit my lip, trying hard to remember something that was said to me relatively recently. “Kaawa, I think, told me that the dragon septs were originally formed by the First Dragon. His children were the first wyverns.”

“I think I remember reading that in one of the weyr history books,” she said, looking thoughtful. “He had one daughter and three sons, and they formed the original four septs. But I never remember seeing Constantine’s name included, although it makes sense if all the other original wyverns were children of the First Dragon. I wonder why Gabriel never mentioned it?”

“That’s a very good question. Another good one is what the hell I’m going to do. ‘Death of the innocent stripped honor from my youngest son.’ That has to be Constantine killing me. So how on earth am I supposed to return honor to my own murderer? Does it even matter since he’s dead?”

She hesitated, then pointed out, “It’s the First Dragon’s son, Ysolde. I’m sure it matters to him.”

“Good point.” I thought for a moment. “How do you return honor to a dead man? I could formally forgive him for killing me, but beyond that, I’m totally at a loss.”

A slam of a door nearby had us both smiling wryly.

“That sounds like the end of patience on the part of one or both of them,” I said as we left the library. Baltic stood by the front door, his arms crossed and a fierce scowl on his face as Brom chatted enthusiastically with Gabriel.

“I hope he hasn’t talked you guys silly,” I said with a smile at my son.

“Not at all. We enjoyed having him, and I know Maata gets a kick out of taking him to the museum to see the mummies. I’m pleased Baltic let him come visit us despite all the stuff going on with the weyr. And speaking of that, I assume we’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Er . . .” I eyed my volatile mate with some misgiving. He really did look at the end of his not-very-substantial patience. “I haven’t told Baltic it was tomorrow, but he knows he’s going to have to attend, so, yes, we’ll be there. I look forward to seeing the house again, although I have to admit I’m a bit surprised that Kostya is allowing us there.”

She paused as we entered the foyer. “I think he wants some help with Cy,” she said slowly, an unhappy look in her clear blue eyes.

“It seemed to me the last time I saw them together that all was not well there.”

“No,” she said slowly, her expression brightening when she glanced at Gabriel. “I expect Cy has done what she always does and moved on to another love interest, although I really had thought this time she’d stick it out. . . .”

Baltic transferred his frown to me. “Mate, we have been here long enough. I have stood as many insults as I will tolerate. We will leave now. Brom, take your things to the car.”

“Thank you for having Brom stay with you,” I told Gabriel as I moved to Baltic’s side. “From the increased amount of his luggage, it looks like he was far too indulged, but I’m sure he couldn’t have had a better time.”

“It was our pleasure,” Gabriel said, wrapping an arm around May. “I hope you will allow him to visit us again.”

I looked at Baltic. His lips thinned. I elbowed him.

“No,” he said.

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Ysolde, one day you will go too far. Must I remind you again that I am the wyvern, and you—”

“I am only the lowly mate, yes, I know, but as a wyvern, you must have some inkling of common good manners, so let’s see them.”

He pinned me back with a glare for a few seconds before squaring his shoulders and making one of those elegant bows that all the dragon males seemed to know how to make. “My mate and I thank you for taking care of our son during his visit.”

Gabriel, obviously fighting a smile, inclined his head politely. “We were happy to do so.”

“We’ll see you both tomorrow,” May said, waving as Baltic escorted me from the house. “Bye, Brom!”

“Tomorrow?” Baltic’s eyes were glittering with speculation as he held the car door open for me.

“What’s tomorrow?” Brom asked from the backseat.

“A meeting Baltic and I have to go to.”

“Oh, the weyr thing.” Brom promptly lost interest and spent much of the trip back home telling us about the many wonderful mummies and mummy-related items he saw, purchased, and planned to do. I was aware the entire time of Baltic’s ire regarding the meeting with the wyverns, but we both knew there was nothing he could do to get out of it.