Portia (13 page)

My shoulders slump with relief. “That’s it. We’ll cast the spell of opening first. After that, I’ll touch the stone. No need for both of us to get stuck.”

“Right.” Tempest moves to stand behind me. His firm chest presses into my back. Bit by bit, he slides his hands down my outer arms, stopping when his fingers grip my wrists. “Have a preference for the incantation?”

I stare at our arms. The physical connection is comforting. “Dragon tongue. There’s one that starts with the words ‘karrah raz.’ Do you know it?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s begin in three, two, one.”

We start casting together, our voices chanting in unison. The power of Tempest’s magic surrounds me, strong as a mountain. My heart lightens.

Our magic has met before, but this time, it does something else. Combines. His firm Furor strength and my liquid Firmament power. Our casting builds off the abilities of the other. The spell takes on a new meaning and strength. It becomes its own entity, gains its own magical signature. Fluid yet strong. My stance firms with confidence. Our magic is entwined. Together, we can do this.

I set my hands onto the round stone. The words of our casting grow louder and more intense. The rock cracks beneath my fingers. Golden light shines through.

There’s no need to speak. Both of us know what to do next. Moving as one, we pull our joined arms away from the glowing sphere of power. The movement is easy and smooth. The yellow orb of power sinks into the earth, just like all the others.

An odd memory appears in my mind: the canopic jar spell on my penthouse floor. How will these golden spheres help the Sacred Trees? A happy thought occurs to me. Soon I might see the answer to that question first hand.

“We did it,” I say numbly. “The third seedpod.”

“We’re a good team.” Tempest releases my arms and steps away. “Question is, what do we do now?”

I rub my neck in an anxious rhythm. “About that. Do we still need to do that trip Verus asked for?”

“That we do, luv.”

I press my palms onto my eyes, like I can squeeze this reality out of my head. We were so connected while casting that spell. Now, we’re back to crazy stuff like oracle angels. “Why does Verus want us to do this again?”

“Verus saw the Firmament fall apart. She tells us only what we need to know in order to stop that from happening. And right now, we need to dress and go to this chamber. I can’t tell you why. I know it sounds daft.” He steps in front of me, taking my hands in his. The touch is firm, warm, and electric. “But it’s not crazy, luv. Trust me. The after-realms depend on it.” Every line of his face is marked with intensity. “And it would mean the world to me, too.”

Our gazes lock and a realization moves between us. We are a team. And in a team, you cover the other person’s back, even if it seems crazy at the time. “Can we be done in an hour or two?” I ask.

“Less than that.”

I give his hands an encouraging squeeze. “In that case, let’s get ready.”

Chapter Seventeen

Tempest and I stand before a blue stone castle topped with dozens of golden towers. The thing looks like it fell out of a fairy tale. Tempest swings open the fancy front gates and we step inside a large reception room. This space towers two stories high and is decorated with marble archways, blue murals, and golden accents.

“What do you think?” asks Tempest.

I turn around. My gown swishes across the marble floor with the movement. It feels strange to be out of my fighting suit. However, Verus said I needed to wear a gown, so a gown it is. For his part, Tempest wears his black combat pants with a Henley.

“This is lovely,” I say. “Did you evict Cinderella to get it?”

“Not quite.” Tempest chuckles and the sound warms my heart. “One of the Chieftains gifted it to me when I became Emperor. Now, I use it as a private retreat of sorts.” He scans me from head to toe. The attention makes me blush. “You look beautiful, luv.”

“Thanks.” I shift my weight nervously from foot to foot. “When does this get started exactly?” I don’t know what Verus has planned, but I’m ready for it to be over. Tempest and I already checked the wicker sphere. The last seedpod is at the Grove.

Tempest leans against the wall, his left biker boot hitched over his right. His eyes are glazed over.

“Tempest.”

He shakes his head. “What?”

“Did you hear my question?”

“Missed it.” He rakes his hand through his loose, black hair. “Apologies. I suppose I’m a bit distracted.” He eyes me from head to toe again and smiles.

I tilt my head and wonder.
What’s up with him, anyway?
“You act like you’ve never seen a girl in a ball gown before.”

He folds his arms over his chest and chuckles softly. “Funny you should say that, as a matter of fact.”

New sounds fill the reception hall. There’s the lilt of a Viennese waltz, along with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses.

I frown in confusion. “Sounds like someone’s having a party.”

“It’s a formal ball.” Tempest nods toward an archway at the far end of the reception room. “That’s where you need to go.”

My brows lift with surprise. “And you’re not going with me?”

“Funny you should say that, too.” The look on his face is unreadable. “Knock on the doors at the far end of the hall. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Right.” I have a dozen questions I could ask, but I’m guessing Tempest can’t answer them anyway. Ah, Verus and her visions. Oh, well. The sooner I finish whatever this is, the faster we can open that last seedpod. “Be right back.”

I feel Tempest’s eyes on me as I follow the hallway to a set of golden doors. Here the music and chatter grow louder. An electric sense of anxiety charges my bloodstream. I don’t like formal balls, even when I know who’s going to be there.

Stop stalling Portia. There are bigger things at risk.

Screwing up my courage, I knock on the door. It swings open to reveal a servant in a crisp tuxedo. His black hair is gelled over neatly to one side. “Good evening, Miss.” His British accent is very proper.

I curtsey. “Good evening. I’m here for the ball.”

The man spots my markings and frowns. “You weren’t on the guest list, I’m afraid.”

“Emperor Tempest invited me.”

The servant steps backward and swings the door wide open. “Come in. You’ll find his Imperial Majesty at the bar.”

My brows lower with confusion. “That can’t be right. I just left Tempest in the outer Hall.”

The servant bows slightly at the waist. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.” I step inside the ballroom. Marble arches line the blue walls. A string orchestra plays in one corner. Furor nobility talk in small groups or waltz across the dance floor. The men all wear black tuxedos; the ladies are in gaudy gowns. I’m no fashionista, but those dresses went out of style twenty years ago.

What is this place?

I wander along the fringes of the crowd. I’ve never had a chance to watch the Furor, and their society is fascinating. So are their armscales. Many of the women wear sleeveless gowns to show them off. Men toss off their jackets and roll up one sleeve to display theirs. Couples have matching patterns, too. It’s sweet. Before I know it, I’ve meandered my way to the bar. What I see makes me freeze in place.

He’s here. Tempest.

Only it’s not him. This version of Tempest has slicked-back hair and a smug grin. He’s missing some of his scars, too. There’s a full glass of whiskey in his left hand and a woman under his right arm. She’s a dark-haired beauty with bright red lips. At least, she doesn’t have a pattern to her armscales. They aren’t a couple. My eyes widen with a realization.

They might not be from this time, either.

I scan the ballroom. All the make-up and hair looks decades out of style. And Tempest seems so different, too. Verus must have sent me back in time? Why?

Tempest downs his whiskey in one gulp before leaning over to nibble at the woman’s neck. She moans with pleasure.

A sense of betrayal sears my heart. Tempest is acting exactly like the ‘hit it and quit it’ guy that Maxon warned me about. It’s a younger version of Tempest, but still. A knot of sadness tightens in my throat.

A Furor man steps into my line of vision, blocking my view of Tempest. He’s tall and slim with neat blond hair and a square jawline. A nest of scars winds up his neck.

“Good evening, Miss.” The man’s accent is British, clipped, and formal. Funny how the English can say the same words and have such different meanings. The servant’s ‘good evening’ was deferential. This man thinks I’m pond scum.

“Good evening to you.” I skip the curtsey this time around.

“You’re thrax.” The way he says the word ‘thrax,’ I can tell he’s not a fan.

“Yes, I am.”

“Your kind isn’t welcome here.”

I blink hard with disbelief. “Not welcome? Maxon was in line for the throne.”

“You know that traitor? He just turned into an elemental and deserted us.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I say carefully. “When did that happen again?”

A dragon’s growl sounds in the man’s chest. “Last month.”

My mind races through what this means. Verus sent me twenty years into the past. But why? Without meaning to, I whisper under my breath. “Verus, what are you doing?”

“Are you a friend of Verus?” asks Mister Friendly.

“Not directly.”

“Don’t play word games here. That troublemaker came around last week, asking my Uncle questions.”

I look him over from head to toe. A realization hits me. “You must be Epsilon.” This man is Tempest’s nephew. Maxon told me all about how he was abducted by rogue thrax hunters as a child. If it hadn’t been for my father, Epsilon would have died. Even so, the guy never forgave the thrax.

“Verus sent you didn’t she?” A nervous twitch flickers by Epsilon’s mouth. “Tempest told me she came round last week, asking him to become a Gatherer on some foolhardy quest. He refused outright and now, she’s sending pretty thrax wenches in to plead her case.” Silver light glistens around Epsilon’s body as he changes into his dragon form. Compared to Tempest, he’s a small beast. But what he lacks in size he more than makes up for in barely contained rage. When he speaks, his voice is a menacing snarl. “Tell Verus her little scheme is a failure.”

I take a cautious step backward. “That’s not what this is about.”

Epsilon extends his wings and takes to the air. The crowd stills. Hundreds of eyes lock in our direction. My pulse skyrockets. “I said leave,” snarls Epsilon. “Now!”

There’s nothing like an angry dragon to send you off in a panic. And panic, I do. Turning on my heel, I run for my life in the opposite direction. I don’t get too far before I hit a wall. Only it isn’t a wall. I look up.

I ran straight into the younger Tempest. He’s all smarmy smile and charm. “You’ll have to forgive my nephew. He’s not fond of the thrax.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. It takes everything I have to keep looking in this stranger’s eyes, trying to find the Tempest I know. The man I love. There’s no caring in this Tempest. No sympathy to his soul. Every inch of this man is a player. Compared to the Tempest I know, his is a hollow game.

Tempest waves his hand dismissively. “Excuse us, Epsilon.”

“But Uncle, she’s a spy sent by Verus.”

Tempest keeps his gaze locked with mine as he speaks to Epsilon. “I’m more than capable of handling one thrax girl.”

“Yes, Uncle.” Epsilon returns to his human form and walks away.

“I’m sorry if he scared you,” says Tempest. “Perhaps I can make it up.” He starts working his crooked smile and something about it looks hollow. Instead of tempting me to grin back, it only makes feel lonelier. I miss my Tempest.

I stare out into the crowd. I can’t hold a gaze that is Tempest and isn’t, all at the same time. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He steps closer. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“There was a look in your eyes. It’s gone now.”

“Oh.” I twist my fingers together nervously. “You remind me of someone I care about.”

“That’s one lucky bloke.” Sadness weighs down his handsome features. My heart goes out to him. I know what it’s like to feel that alone.

I know what it’s like.

Suddenly, Verus’s plan becomes clear. Epsilon is right. Verus did send me here. I’m supposed to convince Tempest to become my Gatherer.

I lift my gaze to meet Tempest’s. “The man I care about is loyal and loving. He’s my friend and partner.” I run my fingertip by my eye. “We’ve both been Marked, too. Everyone thinks that we’re doomed to become a certain type of demon. But we fight that together.”

Tempest’s eyes widen with disbelief and something else, too. “You’re a team.”

“Yes. And having someone on your side? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

Tempest hisses with pain and grips his right arm with his left. Without thinking, I set my hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Tempest nods. When he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. “Who are you?”

“I’m the one Verus told you about. I’m Portia.”

His gaze turns intense. “But Verus said you hadn’t been born yet.”

“She’s right. She sent me here to see you.” I rest my free palm on Tempest’s cheek. The touch makes us both tremble. “I didn’t know why at first. Now, I do. I’m here to give you a message. There’s more for you in life than what you have now. There’s me. I love you so much, Tempest. Please come gather my heart. I’m waiting for you.”

A genuine and intense look washes over his face. I can’t stop smiling. “Now, there’s my Tempest.”

My trip through time abruptly ends. The party, the music, and Tempest all disappear. I’ve returned in the present day, standing in an empty ballroom. Footsteps sound behind me.

“I came to gather you, Portia. Just like you asked.”

My eyes sting with happy tears. I turn around to see Tempest—my Tempest—standing on the other side of the empty ballroom in his battle gear. I race over to him and wrap my arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“And I’ve loved you from the first time we met.” He steps away and rolls up the right sleeve of his Henley. There’s a pattern to his armscales. I gasp as I recognize the tribal marks that arch around my eyes. “I’m mated, Portia. My dragon chose you the first time we spoke. In that moment, I decided to become your Gatherer. I’ve spent the years since working hard to be ready for the love that I saw in your eyes.”