Lord's Fall Page 7

“Your father must have been a special man,” Beluviel said.

  “I think he was, although I never knew him,” she said. “He died when I was little.” She smiled at the other woman’s quick, questioning look. When Wyr mated they did so for life, and when mated Wyr lost their mates they invariably died. “My mother lived long enough to see me grown.”

  Sadness passed over Beluviel’s face. “She was very strong.”

  “I think so.”

  “Did you grow up in New York?”

  She nodded, and time winged away as Beluviel asked her questions about her childhood and they reminisced about her mother. “I was very drawn to her,” Beluviel said. “I adored her wildness. We are so often drawn to that in the Wyr.”

  Insight and opportunity dangled in front of Pia. She tried to decide how to take advantage of it without seeming to push too far, too fast. She liked Beluviel so much, and up until that moment she had been happy just to build a rapport in their first real conversation. And the last thing she wanted to do was to come across as being too manipulative or driven solely by an agenda.

  As she hesitated, a young Elf boy brought a tray of berry cakes to the table. While he served them, she sat back in her seat and looked around.

  Eva stood still and expressionless several feet away, her hands clasped behind her back. The others had remained at the front of the house. Probably they were being served berry cakes too, since apparently the Elves didn’t have any problem with Wyr. They just had a problem with Dragos.

  Pia had not been able to convince Eva to stay with them even though she was convinced the Elves meant her no harm. After a brief, intense telepathic argument when they had first arrived, Pia had given in rather than create an awkward moment in front of Beluviel.

  Pia glanced at Eva now, uneasy with how much the other woman was hearing of their conversation. The subject of her mother, along with her Wyr form, was like watching a long, slow train wreck.

  All she did was tell one secret to her ex-boyfriend Keith.

  That’s all. Just one.

  Now not only did Dragos know what her Wyr form was (and she was completely and totally okay with that), but all the gryphons did too, along with Beluviel—and that Elf Ferion, wherever he was—and God knew how many other Elves, and what was Eva piecing together in that quick mind of hers?

  Pia had known this trip was going to be a challenge, and she figured she was going to have to do some pretty fancy tap dancing, but now the reality of that was beginning to sink home. Now she was no longer sure if she was tap dancing, or if she was hopping about like a cat on a hot tin roof.

  “Calondir was looking forward to meeting you too,” Beluviel said. “Unfortunately it looks like he might not be able to do so.”

  Pia’s attention snapped back to the consort, and she struggled to hide her dismay. “Is he away?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Beluviel said. “We have received word that an emissary from Numenlaur will be arriving soon.”

  “Numenlaurian Elves?” Pia’s gaze widened. Numenlaur was the Other land connected to Europe and the seat of the oldest Elven demesne in the world. They had withdrawn from the outside world so long ago that the details of their existence were shrouded in myth. “I’ve heard it’s rare for them to make contact with the world outside of their borders.”

  “It is,” Beluviel said. “We once lived in Numenlaur but have not spoken with our brethren for a very long time. Whatever has compelled them to make this trip must be of overriding importance to them. They would not be comfortable staying in Charleston, and Calondir has gone into the Wood to prepare for their visit. After your stay, I will be joining him.”

  Pia savored the last of her delicious berry cake, using it as an excuse to take a moment to think. How much of a roadblock did this represent? While she didn’t exactly have Dragos’s enthusiasm behind this trip, she knew that she had finally gained his approval for trying to repair their relationship with the Elves.

  As the High Lord’s consort, did Beluviel have any independent authority to remove the trade embargos levied against the Wyr demesne? If she didn’t, Pia might very well just be having tea and cookies with her. As enjoyable as getting to know Beluviel was, Pia did not plan on enduring a separation from Dragos just for that.

  She said slowly, “I was hoping to talk with Calondir while I was down here.”

  Beluviel looked down as she adjusted the position of her fork on the table. She asked, “Might you possibly consider traveling into the Wood for a few days as our guest? I’m sure we would both be honored to have you visit our home.”

  The wild creature that lived inside of Pia yelled hell yeah and strained to gallop headlong into the underbrush right then and there. She whacked at it mentally and fought to get in control. “I would be delighted to visit with you in Lirithriel Wood,” she said. “If you think Calondir would be able to take time from his preparations to meet with me.”

  Beluviel’s smile was positively conspiratorial. “I believe that he might value greatly the effort you would make to speak with him.”

  “If we did this, we would need to do it right away,” Pia said. “I promised Dragos I would stay in the Charleston area for just the week.”

  Beluviel’s smile widened. “The Wood does not like machinery, so we must travel in on horseback. Would you be comfortable with that?”

  “Certainly,” said Pia, her mind racing. Of all the contingencies she had packed for, she didn’t think to pack for anything like this. Damn. She really would have to go shopping.

  “Then we can leave in the morning. Would seven o’clock be too early?”

  “That would be fine,” she told Beluviel. Eep, that meant shopping tonight.

  Pia could tell Eva didn’t like the direction things had taken, but she ignored the other woman’s wooden expression and stiff posture as Beluviel walked with her through the exquisitely decorated showcase mansion.

  When she turned to Beluviel just outside the front doors, the Elven woman hugged her. Touched and warmed by one of the few physical gestures of outright affection she had received from anyone outside of Dragos in months, Pia hugged Beluviel in return.

  “I am so glad that you came,” Beluviel said.

  “I am too,” she told the other woman. “Not only is it wonderful to meet you, but it’s been especially wonderful to talk with someone who knew and loved my mom. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed her.”

  As she turned to walk to the SUVs where the others were waiting, Eva fell into step beside her.

  Pia managed to bite back saying anything until they were almost to the vehicles. Then she said telepathically, If you say anything to anyone about what you overheard, I will break every bone in your body.

  Eva’s jaw angled out. Princess getting cranky again?

  I mean it. She glared at the other woman. That was a private conversation.

  Shew, don’t get your fancy knickers in a twist. Captain Psycho opened her dark eyes wide. I know who I work for, and it ain’t you but he be bad. I figure he would want me to keep my mouth shut about your momma. I also figure he won’t like your plans to go on an impromptu camping trip.

  They climbed into their SUV. As soon as the doors were shut, Pia said aloud, “What Dragos does or doesn’t like is none of your business either, Eva.”

  “It’s my business when it comes to me doing my job,” Eva said, her expression grim.

  “What’s going on?” James said.

  “Princess going to party in the Wood with the Elves tomorrow morning,” Eva said, her voice turning crisp. “So we get to party with the Elves too.”

  “Sa-weet,” said Johnny.

  Eva glanced at Johnny sourly as she continued, “Beluviel say that Wood don’t like machinery, and to me that sounds an awful lot like an Other land. That means we pack the guns and pull out
the swords tonight. Starting tomorrow, we go on rotation and stay with princess twenty-four/seven, no matter where she go, who she see or what she do. It’s the only way she going to get to talk to the High Lord and since that’s why we came, that’s what we’re going to help her do.”

  Angry, Pia had opened her mouth to verbally smack down on Eva, but she held back as she listened.

  “She bitch-goddess sexy when she throw down orders like that,” Johnny said to James.

  “You can call me bitch for short,” Eva said.

  FIVE

  Blood sprayed crimson over the sand of the arena.

  It was the pegasus’s blood. What was his name again? “Alexander somebody,” murmured Dragos.

  “Alexander Elysias,” said Kristoff from behind him.

  Dragos stood at the window of the supersuite, arms crossed, as he watched the latest contest. He could see his assistant’s reflection in the glass. Kris had never looked away from his computer screen. Kris probably knew by heart the names of all the four hundred and forty-eight original contestants.

  Dragos glanced over the VIP boxes. Virtually every demesne in the United States had some representative in attendance. He noted that Jaggar, the kraken who represented the Wyr on the Elder tribunal, sat with the human witch Councillor, Archer Harrow. Jaggar was a dominant personality. One of the reasons why he and Dragos got along was that the kraken attended to his tribunal duties for the Wyr but otherwise spent most of his time offshore.

  The Elven Councillor, Sidhiel, was also present, her pale blonde hair pulled into a classic chignon. Sidhiel was one of the ancient Elves, at least as old as Beluviel and Calondir and perhaps older. She watched the arena, her expression perfectly controlled and composed. She and Dragos loathed each other with the passion of those who remembered old grudges well. No doubt Sidhiel was staying at the Plaza, where the Elven demesne kept a suite. He wondered what she thought of Pia’s trip to Charleston.

  He switched his attention back to the combatants. Elysias was limping badly as he turned to face his opponent of the day, one of the harpies. The pegasus was one of the most popular of the contestants, especially with the females. He had a kind of imperious beauty that somehow missed being feminine, and a ready, gleaming smile. His human form was lean and graceful, and his mahogany skin gleamed with sweat under the strong lights.

  The gash in his thigh was long and deep, and it bled freely. His footing had slipped in the sand, which was an unfortunate mishap. The harpy had been all too quick to take advantage, and she struck at him hard and fast. The wound heralded the end to their battle. The harpy wouldn’t allow him any time to bind it, nor should she. Either Elysias would have to put the harpy down fast, or the bleeding would do him in.

  The harpy wore a sharp, predatory grin. Since the contestants went into the arena without weapons, all they had to use in battle was what nature had given them, and nature had favored the predator Wyr prodigiously. She had shifted into her Wyr form, and her long sharp talons dripped with the pegasus’s blood. Her hair, wings and the short feathers on her powerful legs were a fiery red.

  A harpy with a redhead’s temper. Dragos exhaled in a silent snort. Talk about overkill.

  Legend said the skies tore when the harpies screamed into existence. He remembered that day well. The legends were correct.

  The heavy, rich scent of blood tinged the air. Elysias wasn’t the first to have bled in the arena today. Many had sustained wounds of some sort, although thus far his five sentinels and Pia’s friend Quentin had remained unscathed.

  Dragos breathed evenly. The dragon was close to the surface, angered that Pia was gone and constantly roused by the spectators from other demesnes or countries who were neither allies nor friends. It liked the blood and the violence, and it wanted to enter the arena, but it had no true opponent in this place. There would be no satisfactory battle for him to find here; he could only turn the arena into a slaughterhouse.

  Once, the dragon would have enjoyed such a slaughter. Ancient memories moved deep in his thoughts like a subterranean tide. He was a more primitive creature without Pia. She had a clean decency that brought out the finer things in him. With her, he almost understood what it meant to be kind, and he had just barely begun to understand tenderness. As he had told her once, she was his best teacher.

  In the arena, the harpy moved to make another strike, hands splayed wide with all ten talons extended like knives. They would be sharp enough to slice through metal. They could definitely cut through the pegasus’s bones if she struck him hard enough.

  Elysias feinted, and when the harpy fell for the maneuver he surged forward on a burst of speed and power. With an immense leap he twisted and kicked out with his good leg. He threw the full weight of his body behind it, and as his heel connected, the crack of the harpy’s spine was sharply audible over the sound system. She shrieked in rage and pain. They both dropped to the ground.

  Silence washed over the audience. When Elysias rolled to his knees and pushed to his feet, his struggle to get upright was evident. He must have torn his wound open even further with his last leap, for he couldn’t put any of his weight on that leg.

  The harpy didn’t rise. Her back was broken, and she wouldn’t be able to stand upright for weeks. The fight was over. Elysias had pulled it out at the end and won.

  The crowd roared, and medics ran out.

  The door to the suite opened. Dragos turned away from the window as Graydon poked his head into the room. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

  “Yes, come in.” He said to Kris, “Take a break.”

  “You got it,” said Kris, who shut his laptop, tucked it under his arm and left, no doubt to ignore what Dragos said and work elsewhere. His obsession for work was another reason Dragos paid him so well.

  Graydon strolled in. He was the brawniest of the four gryphons, a good thirty pounds heavier than the others. In his human form he stood nearly six foot five, and all of it was hard, packed muscle. He took the ugly road to handsome, with a strong face that most often wore a good-natured expression, and rugged, slightly irregular features, sun-darkened skin and gray eyes. He kept his tawny hair no-nonsense short and his clothes plain, and somehow whenever drama plagued the occupants of Cuelebre Tower, he was nowhere to be found. That was a useful talent to have.

  A couple of months ago, curious, Dragos had asked Pia, “Why do you have such a soft spot for Gray?”

  She smiled, and the part of him that would always be selfish and acquisitive took jealous note of how her face softened whenever Graydon’s name was mentioned. “Because he’s got this bluff, gruff exterior, but underneath that he’s true, right down to the bottom of his soul.”

  True, faithful. Loyal.

  Unlike many other predator Wyr, including several of the other sentinels, Graydon often pulled his punches when he struck at someone else. He was well aware of his outsized strength. So far, Dragos had noticed, the gryphon was pulling his punches in the arena as well. With the intimacy of long acquaintance, he knew that Graydon would only hammer down when the occasion called for it.

  Dragos frowned and turned toward the window again. Graydon joined him and looked out the window too. “I have every expectation that you will be one of the final seven again,” Dragos said. Graydon nodded without speaking, plain even in this. Dragos told him, “When Friday comes, I want to announce you as my First.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Graydon give him a quick look. After a few moments, Graydon said, “I suppose you know that Rune has been in the audience.”

  He nodded.

  “So you’ve talked?”

  “No,” he said.

  Graydon said, “I wish you both would get over this shit.”

  That one sentence was the most any of the sentinels had said to him on the subject. He said, “Will you consider the position and let me know?”
<
br />   The other male sighed. “When do you want me to get back to you?”

  “Thursday evening would be fine.” Then, driven by an impulse he chose not to dissect, he said, “You keep in touch with Rune, don’t you? You all do.”

  “Yep,” Graydon said. “Some of us are mad at him. Some are mad at you. Some of us are mad at both of you.”

  Dragos rubbed his face. “Has he ever talked about what happened?”

  “Nope. Far as I know, he hasn’t told anybody about it. Well, maybe he’s talked to his mate, Carling, but he hasn’t talked to any of us.”

  There were different ways to manifest loyalty, Dragos thought. Maintaining silence was one of them.

  As he considered the events of last summer, he thought he could see the cracks in Rune’s own behavior that had indicated the volatility of a Wyr in the early stages of mating. While Rune was known for his even temper, he had snarled at everyone when he had returned from Adriyel, even Dragos. Dragos remembered his own volatility when he was mating with Pia, and how he had nearly choked Rune to death over something that had been entirely innocuous.

  How readily Rune had seen what was happening and forgiven him then. Fuck.

  He gritted his teeth. Talking to Pia was so much easier.

  He growled, “If you are inclined to take the position, you should consider. I was not easy on Rune. He bore the brunt of my temper often, and when he started to show strain, I did not take notice or change any part of what I did. When he asked for me to pause and listen to him, I did not. I issued orders.”

  He had specifically ordered Rune to return to New York and abandon Carling, who had at that time been an ally to the Wyr. The Elder tribunal had put Carling under a kill order. While normally Dragos might have involved himself in the issue, last summer the Wyr demesne had been facing border tensions with the Elves, and had been too deeply entrenched in the Dark Fae problems for too long. Overextended, understaffed and short on political tolerance, he had decided, to use a fisherman’s term, to cut bait.

  It had been the right decision, goddammit, and one Rune might have agreed with, if he hadn’t become so deeply invested in Carling. Hell, probably even Carling would have agreed with it. She knew the necessity of doing what was politically expedient in order to survive.