Dragonmark (9 page)

The answer was obvious. He was all kinds of stupid. Max would be the first to beat him over this.

And he deserved it.

Sick to his stomach, he wished he could still roar. Anything to vent the fury inside him that craved blood.

Trying to calm himself, he focused on the one bright spot of the day. At least the kikimora hadn't stolen …

Shit!

Complete and utter horror went through him as he realized that for all he knew, Virag had taken
it.
The worst
it
imaginable.

Please be here. Please be here. Please be here.…
That frenzied litany raced through his head as his heart pounded and his breathing turned ragged with panic.

If that bastard had taken
that,
all manner of hell would be unleashed.

And his father would mount his worthless and stupid ass to the walls of Olympus.

Illarion teleported into his chambers and ran to the guarded wall where he kept the most sacred possession in his collection. It was so rare and dangerous, not even his brothers had been trusted with the knowledge that he kept it.

No one knew about this.

His hands shaking with trepidation, he slowly opened the ancient carved oaken chest and held his breath.

He didn't release it again until he saw the enormous white teeth that lay on a bed of red satin. If one didn't know what they were, they could appear to be insignificant pieces of smooth tusks or innocuous bits of ivory.

But they were not innocuous and definitely
not
insignificant.

With this handful of teeth, any creature could destroy or subjugate the world. Conquer any nation.

Unravel the fabric of the very universe.

Thank you, gods, they're safe.…

Sitting back on his heels, Illarion was giddy with relief. No one had disturbed the Spartoi. All twenty were here and accounted for. Grateful beyond description, he secured and locked the chest, then hid it again in his chambers. That was the one thing he could
never
allow anyone to find.

Originally, there had been three sets of teeth. One set had been used in ancient times by Kadmos to found the city of Thebes. The second, Jason and his Argonauts had sown in the fields of Colchis when he'd sought the Golden Fleece.

Both times, the invincible army that had risen up from the drakomas's planted teeth had almost destroyed the world. After Jason's experience with the second set of warriors, who'd only been defeated when they'd turned on each other, Ares had brought the remainders to Illarion and bid him keep them far from the world of man. Since he was the war god's son and unable to speak—and took antisocial to a radical level—Ares had thought Illarion would be the safest guardian for them.

So far, his father had been right.

Yet this had been too close a call.

Let no one close to you
. How many times had Falcyn told him that? He'd always agreed with his brother. Unlike Max, Illarion didn't believe in the good of others. Nor was he under the delusion that man or anyone else deserved to be protected or saved.

Honestly? He didn't give a shit. Let them all burn.

He was done with this world. Never again would he concern himself with the matters of other species. Today had taught him a vital lesson. Every time he left his home and dared mingle with them, it ended badly for him.

And as he settled himself down to rest, he tried not to notice the lingering scent of a woman in his cavern. Nor remember the gentle caress of a hand on his skin or scales.

He was drakomai. Solitary. Since the dawn of time, his kind had been bred to live alone. To die alone.

They needed nothing. They wanted nothing.

Ever fierce.

And ever protective of what fell under their protection …

Most of all, they were devoutly loyal and once their word was given, they would die before they broke their oaths.

 

5

“Are you ever going to speak to me again?”

Huffing and puffing as she carried her heavy water bucket, Edilyn ignored her brother. Just as she'd done for the last three days. She was still so mad at Virag she could stab him through his heart.

Or groin. Aye, definitely the groin.

After all, that was where he lived and breathed. And apparently it was also where he stored his brains. It was all he really valued. Because he apparently had no love of her whatsoever or he'd have never done what he did.

“Say
something
!”

“Sod off!” she snarled as she struggled to get her bucket from the well to the field where she was having to tend that damnable wheat she hated with every piece of her being. But thanks to Virag, this would be the rest of her miserable life. She would live and die in this wretched field, tending those disgusting vegetables and plants, and plowing and tilling the earth until she went mad from the boredom of it.

No man would have her now. They all knew she'd been rejected by Illarion and sent home in disgrace. As horrible as the mockery had been before, it was thrice as bad now.

Only since her return, every man thought her to be a whore atop it all.

Thanks to Virag.

“She speaks!” Virag shouted. “Granted, not what I was expecting. But finally, I got something out of you.”

Edilyn slammed the bucket down, spilling half its contents. That made her hate her brother even more since she'd have to go back all the sooner to collect another round. She glared at the insufferable beast. “Go to hell and rot!”

His eyes glowing with sincerity, he winced. “How many times do I have to apologize?”

She scoffed at his useless words. “There will never be enough. For what your actions did rend, mere words will
never
mend.”

A tic started in his jaw. “Do you want me to leave?”

Honestly? She wanted him to die. But having lost the rest of her family, she choked on those words, because she knew the true finality of them. Just as she knew the finality of losing Illarion.

What she couldn't understand was why this hurt so much. She'd only known Illarion a few hours. Virag, however, she'd known so much longer. He'd been with her, her faithful guardian, since her childhood. She didn't really want to lose her brother.

But her anger at him over what he'd done was an unreasoning beast. It wanted to lash out and cut him to the bone. To make him feel just a pittance of the pain he'd caused her.

Thoughtless bastard! How could he think only of himself? Unlike her, he had magic aplenty to get whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. To do whatever he wanted. He'd lived a long life, and he would continue to live on, centuries after she was dead and buried.

His actions in this against her made no sense. It was the epitome of selfish.

“Why did you do this to me? You knew how much I wanted to get away from this life. Yet you refuse to take me from here because you say that you can't, for stupid reasons, and the one time I found my own way out, you forced me back. Why would you damn me to this? What were you thinking?”

“I didn't think he'd notice, to be honest. Damn, Eddie. Did you see that cavern? How the hell did he miss one little stone?”

“Ugh!” She threw a muddy dirt clod at him. “You're such a horse's arse!”

Disgusted, she wiped at the perspiration on her forehead as more rolled down between her breasts where it itched to an unbearable level, and fought the urge to strangle him. If she gave in to that need, he'd just overpower her and make her angrier, anyway. And what really didn't help her foul mood was the fact he used his powers to clean off the mud and be impeccably dressed again. Meanwhile, she was covered in filth and sweat. Her arms coated to her elbows in mud, her dress, and in particular its hem, mired with muck from her chores. She smelled so bad, even she was offended by her stench. Every strand of her hair was caked and plastered with field dirt and sweat.

She didn't want to think about what was stuck on the bottom of her worn leather shoes. That pungent odor choked her every time it wafted up on the scarce, stifling breeze.

Damn oxen.

And damn her for not paying closer attention to where she put her feet.

“I can see that you're upset—”

She cut his words off with a murderous are-you-kidding-me glare.

“We'll discuss this later.”

“Aye, preferably while I'm armed with something sharper to throw at you!” she called after him. Grumbling, she returned to watering the shoots that were just beginning to jut up from the soil. But in all honesty, she wanted to stomp on them until her anger was spent.

Actually that wasn't true. She wanted to stomp her brother's head. They would just make a nice, non-sentient substitution.

Sighing, Edilyn blinked as her tears returned, and she hated those even more than her anger. Fury sustained her. She could work with that. It was this unrelenting pain, the desolation that came with the knowledge she'd lost her dream and future that hurt so much.

The hopelessness that there was nothing more for her. She'd had her one chance.

Now it was gone.

For such a needless reason. Such a selfish reason.

Heartbroken, she picked up her empty bucket and headed back to the well at the same time she saw a rider approaching.

Shouting and screaming, the other workers fearfully rushed to the village walls. Edilyn didn't bother. She knew from experience that they'd lock her out. They always had. There was no need in giving them the amusement of watching her run for it anymore.

So she walked casually toward the well while the rider approached her.

To her surprise, it was a woman on the horse. Normally women didn't travel alone. For that matter, men didn't normally travel alone, either. Too many wars had broken out over these last few years, leaving behind enemies who wanted the throats of their rivals, and displaced bandits who would prey on anyone they could find.

The woman slung one long, graceful leg over her mount and slid to the ground beside Edilyn. Dressed in black ring armor and clothes that said she was a hooded Saxon, she was a woman of exquisite beauty. Surely she had to be a princess or queen, if not a goddess. Her olive skin was flawless and contrasted sharply with vibrant green eyes that were sharp with her intelligence. As she approached Edilyn, she lowered her hood to expose a wealth of flame-red hair she'd intricately braided and coiled around her head. “Is the water fresh?”

“It is.”

“May I have some?”

Edilyn drew it up and offered her a cup, then she took her field bucket to the horse for his refreshment.

The woman quirked a brow at her actions. “That was kind of you.”

Disregarding the praise, Edilyn stroked the horse's black mane as he drank. “He's beautiful. What's his name?”

“Samson.”

She smiled as she admired the great warhorse. “A fitting name for one so handsome.” She gave him a gentle hug, then returned to pull up more water. “Would you like another drink?”

“I'm good, thank you.” When the lady warrior went for her small leather purse, Edilyn stopped her.

“There's no payment necessary.” She retrieved the bucket so that she could fill it and return to work.

The lady cocked her head to watch her while she labored. “You've been crying.”

It was a statement, not a question. Edilyn cleared her throat. “'Tis the sweat rolling into my eyes. Nothing more.”

“So I see.”

Edilyn scowled at the way she said that. There was a peculiar note in her voice. “See what?”

“Why Illarion chose you. You
were
innocent in the deed, weren't you?”

“Pardon?”

A gentle smile spread across the woman's face as she tucked her hair back behind her left ear to show that it was quite pointed. “I'm Xyn. Illarion's older sister.”

She sucked her breath in sharply. “He didn't tell me you were Arcadian.”

Xyn let out a sinister laugh. “Not Arcadian, love. Something far, far worse. And much older than their breed.”

Suddenly frightened, Edilyn stepped back from her. “What do you want from me?”

Before she could blink, thick storm clouds rolled over the sun, darkening the sky to pitch. The color faded from Xyn's eyes, turning the green to a ghostly white that shimmered and glowed. Her skin faded as strange markings appeared to bisect her cheeks from hairline to jaw. Spiny and jagged, they reminded Edilyn of bleeding thorns, or claws. Morbidly pretty and absolutely terrifying. A set of black wings sprang from her back as she closed the distance between them.

“Innocent or not, makes no never mind. For what you've done to my brother, little human … you will die.”

 

6

Unwilling to lie down and die without a fight, Edilyn ducked as Xyn flew toward her. She ran for the closest thing she had to use for a weapon—an old hoe someone had cast aside before they'd fled for shelter at Xyn's earlier approach.

Aye, it was only slightly better than throwing her dung-encrusted shoe at the demon, but it was better than nothing. She broke the end of it off over her knee to use the handle as a fighting staff, and stood her ground, prepared to battle to the end. Granted, she'd most likely only be able to soil her opponent's clothes with her own blood. But by the saints, she'd ruin Xyn's wardrobe if nothing else!

Yet as Xyn flew in for her, something snatched Edilyn off her feet and cradled her against a solid leathery wall. Her attacker jerked the staff from her hands and cast it to the ground.

Edilyn started to fight until she realized it was Illarion in his dragon's body, holding her. Stunned, she froze as he carefully landed a few feet away and set her down with a startling gentleness.

Transforming into his male personification, he turned to face his sister with a mask of fury that should have sent Xyn fleeing in terror.