Dragon Heartstring (13 page)

She paused and scanned the audience. Her gaze landed on me. I smiled with a reassuring nod. Inhaling a deep breath, she turned back to the council, her back a little straighter than before. “I run a clinic in the Warwick district on ground level.”

Soft murmurings whispered through the room. Everyone knew that ground-level businesses and shops were meant for both Morgons and humans, especially in the Warwick district.

“While this may come as a surprise to many, I have both Morgon and human patients. I want to help people in need of medical care.
All
people. And in my time as a healer, I have seen firsthand the devastation of an injury from a Volt gun. As my aunt has explained, it is always fatal to a Morgon. There is no healing power that I or my clansmen have that can bring one back from the electric fire a Volt gun inflicts within the Morgon body. However—”

She paused and glanced toward Jessen sitting on the front row.

“While a Volt gun can inflict excruciating pain and harm to a human, humans can be healed. Let me clarify. The Volt gun in its very essence is a weapon of discrimination. The inventor’s sole purpose was to commit murder against a race. Other weapons are used by law enforcement for arresting criminals. Citizens use weapons for self-defense of their homes and for the sport of hunting. But the Volt gun is a weapon that could annihilate a race.”

She sucked in a quivering breath, lifting a piece of paper on the podium to read closely. My heart was in my throat for her.

“By the Dixon Desegregation Act, it is declared of the Gladium Province that ‘no citizen, human or Morgon, shall be excluded or barred from public buildings and private businesses, that no merchandise shall be produced to exact discrimination against either race, and that all peoples of Gladium shall be decreed the right to life and liberty.’”

She stopped reading and moved her gaze from the council to the audience of officials. Not a murmur or a whisper could be heard.

“All peoples shall be decreed the right to
life
and liberty. How can we uphold our own law, enacted by Governor Dixon through his determination to instill a society of equals, if we allow such a weapon that was specifically designed as a form of discrimination, one that targets the lives of Morgons?” She gathered her papers and directed her last words to the council. “That is all. Thank you, council members.”

I loosened the clenching hold I had on my knees. I inhaled a deep breath, the tension tightening my shoulders and back.

“We call a representative of Grayson Weaponry and Manufacturing for a rebuttal to the proposal.”

All eyes swiveled to the front bench where Aron Grayson and his attorneys sat. Expecting one of the latter to stand, another rumble disrupted the quiet when Aron himself stood and hobbled to the podium, clunking his cane against the marble floor with each heavy step.

He did not have notes of any kind, and he spoke facing the audience, not the council.

“I am Aron Grayson, son of Byron Grayson, the owner and inventor of the Hydra G-66. It is true, our former governor enacted the Desegregation Act to build a society where both Morgons and humans could live cordially amongst one another. But have you ever wondered why we, the citizens of Gladium, are the only province who is not segregated? Have you wondered why the rest of the world understands something that we do not? Because we weren’t meant to live together.” He leaned his cane behind the podium and began to unbutton his shirt. Not a soul moved. “Because of the very reasons the Icewings say they are different is the reason we should not coexist together. One of their gifts is the power to produce flame and to use it at will. I’ll show you what comes of a confrontation between a Morgon and a defenseless human.”

He opened his shirt to reveal the ghastly burn scars rippling the skin of his chest and torso and up the side of his neck. It had the effect he intended. Gasps erupted, and one woman stifled a scream. But, apparently, Aron thought my sister gutless.

Jessen stood and approached the council. “Permission to address the platform?”

Tennison waved a hand for her to move forward. Jessen stood away from Aron to the right of the bench.

“Aron Grayson is a liar. He was not defenseless when he suffered these wounds. As a matter of fact, he held a Volt gun pointed at my now husband and mate, Lucius Nightwing. I caught the voltage upon my shoulder that was intended to kill him.” Jessen slipped off her white cardigan sweater. Her sleeveless dress revealed the iridescent swirling pattern of her scar. “Shakara Icewing healed me that day, leaving behind this scar. She took away the pain of a wound created by the very weapon intended to kill my husband. Aron Grayson may say that we are not compatible, but he’s wrong. So very wrong. Take a look at my family.” She smiled at Lucius with Julian on his lap. Julian’s eyes grew round as everyone swiveled their heads in his direction. “Our son is a prime example of the love between a Morgon and a human.”

Jessen waved to Julian. He perked up and waved his hand excitedly. “Hey, Momma.”

The audience laughed. Julian slunk back against Lucius who patted his son on the head comfortingly.

Then Jessen faced the council. “If we are to be the civilized society we claim to be, the most enlightened province above them all, then we must uphold this proposal and ban the Volt gun.”

“And what about our investments?” Aron charged in a grating tone. “And our family holdings? This proposal will ruin the Grayson family. There will be a trickle-down effect in the economy as well. Don’t think there won’t be. Layoffs and job reductions. Families will sink into poverty over the passing of this one proposal. The people of Gladium will suffer because of it.”

The burning in my belly lit a hot flame up through my chest. Right as I burst to my feet, my father did the same, calling out in a booming voice, “Then send them to Cade Enterprises. I’ll gladly give them a job.”

A chorus of laughter rippled through the room. It took Tennison a full minute pounding his gavel to simmer everyone down.

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” said Tennison, turning to the Parliamentary members on either side and whispering before saying into the microphone. “We will recess until tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. when we will report our decision on Proposal eight-one-nine-five. Adjourned.”

D
emetrius was
a head taller than the rest of the crowd that filtered out of Parliament’s White Chamber. He spoke down to his father, who was watching Lucius escort Jessen and Julian out of the chamber. His eyes appeared to be on his grandson, and I wondered what he was thinking when his gaze softened.

I corralled with the rest toward the exit.

“Well done, my dear,” said Aunt Asheera.

“Thank you, aunt. I just hope it was enough.”

The reporters jostled their way, pushing to get out, certainly eager to get back to their press and post their stories first. I finally found myself standing in front of Demetrius, his father still beside him.

He pulled me into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You were wonderful,” he whispered. “Now let’s get you out of here.”

“Please.” I wrapped one arm around his waist beneath his suit jacket.

“Father, we’ll talk more at the office tomorrow.”

He grumbled something, glancing at me. His scowl was so familiar. I’d seen Demetrius wear the same expression so often it hardly had an effect on me.

KORC was in full swing as we exited the glass doors onto the courthouse steps. The man who’d shouted in my face when I entered now yelled at a Greyclaw a foot taller than him. The man pushed the Greyclaw, who backhanded the man against his chest, flinging him into the crowd. A swell of raw emotion erupted, fists and arms flying. Demetrius pulled me tight against his side and pushed his father through the crowd, but the horde seemed to be falling inward on us.

Sirens wailed as cop cars rushed on scene and police officers lined the steps. Someone fell into the back of me, crushing a shoulder into my wings.

“Ow!” I jerked away and pressed myself against Demetrius.

He gripped my waist tight. “Look at me, Shakara.”

I did.

“I’m going to toss you high into the air. You take flight and get out of here.”

“No! What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Can you do it?”

I was good at short take-offs. “Yes. I can do it.”

His fingers tightened on my waist as he bent and threw me high, the force of his strength sending me several feet above the crowd. I opened my wings and beat them rapidly, breaking free of the turmoil. Rising higher above the mayhem of fighting, I could only stare straight down at Demetrius. He was perfectly still among the chaos, his father pulling on his arm to leave, but he kept his eyes skyward, a content smile and expression of peace fixed in place.

I loved him.

These were the words drifting through my mind when a man flew through the crowd, arm raised high, the glint of silver in his hand, aimed at a Morgon who swept out of the way. Instead, the sharpened knife thrust into Demetrius’s chest. The attacker toppled forward, Demetrius falling backward onto the concrete, the blade still protruding from his body.

“No!” I screamed, rocketing down to earth.

Another woman screamed. “He stabbed him! Help!”

Police were now pushing through the crowd, dispersing the riot. Max, Demetrius’s friend I met that horrible night at the clinic, fell to the ground on his knees next to Demetrius. Just as I did a second later. Pritchard Cade knelt as well, calling to him. “Demetrius! Can you hear me? Son?”

I put my hand to his cheek. His eyes were shut, but possibly from the blunt force of hitting his head against the pavement. I heard and felt his pulse beating rapidly. Too rapidly.

“Maxwell, help him,” said Mr. Cade, speaking to the out-of-uniform policeman.

“I will, Mr. Cade,” he said, checking his pulse and speaking into his wrist comm. “Pull the ambulance to the curb. We’re bringing him out.” He moved to Demetrius’s shoulders and lifted, calling out, “Jackson! Blake! Help me here.”

Two uniformed officers at his back knelt to help him carry Demetrius. “Excuse me, ma’am,” said one.

I followed with Mr. Cade to an ambulance and stepped inside next to Max.

“I can heal him,” I said.

“He needs a doctor,” said Mr. Cade, red-faced and desperate with worry and fear.

“Mr. Cade,” I said, placing a gentle hand on the man’s arm, the man who for whatever reason despised our kind. “I know you are afraid. I am as well. I care for your son more than you can possibly know. Let me heal him. I can save him. Right now.”

Mr. Cade, dark eyes wide and chest heaving, held my gaze a moment before he said with a trembling voice, “Okay. Heal him. Please.”

“Close the ambulance doors.”

Max stood and pulled them closed, blocking the din of the boisterous crowd. I knelt on Demetrius’s left side. The knife had missed his jacket, penetrating through his shirt.

“Please. Help me get this off.”

Mr. Cade lifted Demetrius’s head and shoulders as Max and I struggled to remove the jacket.

“Pass me those scissors.”

There was a suture set on the side table. Max reached over and passed me the scissors. I quickly cut through his shirt and pulled the fabric free from around the wound. Blood still streamed in small rivulets.

“I need you to grasp the hilt with both hands and remove the knife by pulling straight up,” I said to Max. “Not at an angle.”

Without question, he rose onto his knees, grabbed the hilt, and pulled it free. The wound immediately spurted blood.

“Oh, God!” shouted Mr. Cade.

I ignored him and placed both hands on the wound on the left side of his chest, the metallic scent of blood filling my nostrils, a tang on the back of my tongue. Warm and wet oozed beneath my fingers as I pressed my palms hard to the open gash. I sought the cold fire deep within me.

Whispering an old prayer my Aunt Asheera had taught me, I chanted over and over again, “The world holds the secrets, the sky whispers and breathes, the earth nurtures the old ones, giving life to all she sees.” The burning cold lanced from my core, circled within my breast, and twisted into an inferno. “See him, old ones,” I whispered. “Find him and see him. Heal him.”

When the fire had been stoked to its fullest, I snapped open my eyes, knowing they were full of the dragon. Still cradling Demetrius’s head in his hands, Mr. Cade flinched backward. Probably for the best.

I inhaled a deep breath and blew the cold fire, intense and bright, circling the wound repeatedly. Demetrius, even unconscious, arched his back with the pain. For cold fire did cause great pain as it sought the sinews of muscle and stitched them together. Then I did it again, the blue flame pouring like an arrow into the wound, sealing it faster than any I’d ever healed. Demetrius writhed.

“Hold him,” I urged.

Max gripped his uninjured shoulder and pressed him down. I sucked in a breath and blew out a third flame, making damn sure his wound was sealed well and good. He didn’t try to twist away this time as the intense suturing had already taken place.

I sat back, light-headed from expending so much energy.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Max.

We watched as a scar formed over the place where the wound had been. Through the smeared blood, we could see his skin altering beneath, shimmering supernaturally. Taking a cloth from the suture kit, I poured some water from a bottle and wiped the skin clean. There, left behind, was a silver, scaly pattern of interlocking threads. One overlapping the other, weaving into another, with the subtle shape of an anatomical heart, as if it had imprinted what lay beneath his chest.

The scars from an Icewing healing were different for each person, for each wound. My eyes welled with tears and slipped down my cheeks. For Demetrius bore a scar that mimicked what I felt, what I knew to be true, though we’d never said the words to one another. It was as if the universe cast our stones, and fate had marked him for me just so there was no doubt he held the heart of a dragon within his chest. One that matched my own.

“Thank you,” came the low, soft words of Demetrius’s father.

I glanced toward him as he brushed his son’s hair away from his forehead. He wouldn’t look me in the eye.

“You are quite welcome.”

The words almost caught in my throat, for this was no common exchange of gratitude. It was the crossing of a bridge that I was proud to have built.

“Mr. Cade?”

He lifted his head to me. Tears stood in his eyes. Dashing away my fears and my former prejudices against this man, I summoned what strength I had. Just as I had let go of my prejudices against Demetrius, the man who had won all of my heart, I had to say something to mend the wound still festering inside this man before me. My nature to heal would always win.

“I do not know what your history has been with Morgonkind. But please, you must know that we are no different than humans. Some of us are trustworthy, some of us are not. Some of us are kind, some of us are not. Some—”

He raised a shaking hand to stop me. “I know…I know.” His gaze fell to Demetrius again on a sigh, his shoulders slouched forward. “In my world, I’ve learned to act and react quickly to keep the tide of my opposition from rolling against my company and my interests. I’ve also let old memories guide me in all things with your kind.” He patted Demetrius’s head, reminding me very much of the way Lucius had lovingly done the same to Julian in the courtroom. “But I’m getting old. I’m slowing down to look at things more carefully. And there’s one thing I’ve come to understand in my many years.”

He fell silent, and I thought he wouldn’t say it. Then Max piped up.

“Mr. Cade, you can’t stop there. Tell us.”

He lifted his head with a half-smile that reminded me of Demetrius. “That in the grand scheme of things, I really know nothing at all.”

Max shook his head as if about to say something quite serious. “Well, hell. Don’t say that in public. The stock market of Gladium will crash, and I’ve got my entire retirement invested in Cade Enterprises.”

Mr. Cade chuckled. “Yes, Max. I’ll keep that bit of information to myself.”

I smiled and said, “Let’s get Demetrius home. He’ll sleep for a while now.”

“Get the driver, Max,” ordered Mr. Cade, the commanding inflection back in his voice. “Give him the lady’s address.”

That made me realize something. We’d never properly met. I reached over and held out my hand. “My name is Shakara Icewing.”

He stared at my hand for a second then took it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”

My heart leapt with joy for I could feel that he truly meant it.