Master of Dragons (6 page)

The eyes that had once been sapphire blue were now yellow and hard as she studied his face. “You failed.”

Arralt stiffened at the fury rising in her eyes. “Cachamwri knew. He sent one of his dragons. The bloody beast took her.” He drew the Sword of Semira from the scabbard he'd thrown across his shoulder and tossed it on the bed. “At least I kept her from escaping with the sword.”

Varza's yellow eyes narrowed in sudden interest. “This dragon—what did he look like?”

Arralt shrugged. “Blue, of course. Cachamwri knows of that idiot legend. Even my men were ready to hand over the blade to the creature.”

To his surprise, a slow, cold grin spread across Varza's face. “It's not an idiot legend, my love. But perhaps it is an opportunity we can use.”

Arralt turned to stare at her, appalled. “You don't mean there's any truth to it?” If there was…

She laughed, a seductive purr. “Fear not, my general. Even true prophecies can be twisted into a new shape, given enough skill and power.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, a great many things.” The light from the fireplace painted the curves of her lush breasts with gold. Her teeth looked very white against her red lips. “But I must think on that a bit longer. In the meantime, about the kidnapping…”

“It is not so easy getting enough men into place. Llyr has been foiling assassination plots for centuries, and he is particularly protective of his wolf bitch.”

Her smile was darkly seductive. “Why don't you let me take care of that?”

He grinned back. “Why, Varza—whatever do you have in mind?”

“What I do best.” A gesture of her hands sent magic spinning over him. In an instant, his armor was gone. His lingering anger and frustration vanished as she reached out a hand and began to stroke him, lust in her unholy yellow eyes.

 

Nineva gaped as
she turned in the center of the huge square, taking in the surrounding châteaus and castles that shone in the night like magical torches. The cobblestone streets were empty, though she thought she could hear laughter and music in the distance. “I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.”

“Not exactly, Dorothy.” Kel took her elbow in a surprisingly gentle grip. “Come on. I'll introduce you to the wizard.”

She eyed his profile as he steered her across the square. “For a forty-foot dragon, you seem to know American pop culture really well.”

He grinned, white teeth flashing. “It's part of the job description.”

“Of being a dragon?”

“Of being a Knight of the Round Table.”

She blinked at him. “Okay, I'm officially confused.”

“We affect a lot of people that way.” He laughed, the sound rich and masculine.

Something low in her belly tightened with sweet warmth. Seducing him definitely wouldn't be a hardship, though she had no idea how to go about it. What was she going to say?
I realize we're two different species, but my goddess says we need to play a brisk game of leaping lizards
.

But please don't fry me while we're at it.

Oh, yeah, that was going to be a fun conversation. She swallowed and groped for any topic of conversation. “Where are we? I thought you guys lived in caves.” As a child, she'd built a house for her “dragon” out of cardboard boxes.

“We do. This isn't the Dragon Lands—this is Avalon.”

Nineva frowned. “Where King Arthur went when he died?” She'd loved reading about the Knights of the Round Table as a child.

“Yeah, only he didn't die. Arthur's pretty tough to kill.” Kel smiled grimly. “God knows plenty have tried.”

“He's still alive?” That would make him an immortal. “What is he? Sidhe?” Her father hadn't mentioned that. Come to think of it, he'd told her the stories that had fascinated her were only human myths about some Celtic warlord. But then, he'd come to Mortal Earth sixteen centuries before. A lot could have happened since then.

Kel looked down at her, a hint of mischief in the curve of his mouth. “Nope, Arthur's human. Or he was.”

“So what is he now?”

Kel tilted his head skyward, as if mulling over what to say. “Complicated.”

Nineva snorted. “That's a big help.”

“Hey, it'll be a lot more believable after you meet him.” His hand shifted to the small of her back as he guided her up the stairs of a big, Romanesque building whose white stone columns reminded her of a temple. His palm felt deliciously hot through the fabric of her T-shirt, as if his skin was warmer than a human's.

So much for the idea of dragons being cold-blooded.

“So do you live here, or do you live in the Dragon Lands?”

His profile went grim. “I haven't lived in the Dragon Lands in fifteen hundred years.”

Nineva blinked. “Why not?”

Kel gave her a crooked smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Backstabbing. Betrayal. Friends looking the other way while my mother was murdered. The usual.”

Nineva winced. “I'm sorry.”

“It was several centuries ago.”

“My parents were murdered, too.” She hadn't intended to say it. The words simply burst from her in her surprise at finding she had something in common with this creature of myth and nightmare.

His false smile disappeared as he opened one of the building's massive doors. “I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. What happened?”

“I saved a dog.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I hit the neighbor's Irish setter with my car, so I got out and healed him.” Nineva slipped past him into the building, not sure why she felt compelled to confess all this. “I knew I wasn't supposed to use my powers, but I did it anyway. King Ansgar had been hunting me since I was born. He sensed my magic and sent his killers. My father forced me to leave while he and my mother distracted the assassins. They…” The rest of the words wouldn't come, so she closed her dry mouth and shrugged.

“I'm sorry.” He stepped inside and closed the door, compassion clear in his eyes as he studied her. “You must have been very young.”

“Seventeen. Old enough to know better.”

“Aren't you being a bit hard on yourself? Seventeen
is
young—even by human standards. And you're Sidhe. You're not even a century old yet.”

“I'm half human. Besides, do I look like a kid to you?”

The look he gave her in return was thoroughly male—and thoroughly approving. “No, thank Cachamwri.”

Not sure how she felt about the warmth in his gaze, Nineva turned and pretended to study their surroundings. Her brows flew upward as it all sank in. “Wow.”

They were standing in a grand marble foyer with a ceiling that soared three stories overhead. More marble shone underfoot in alternating black and white tiles, and immense columns stood like gleaming white trees, their tops supporting the ceiling's gilded buttresses.

But what drew her attention was the bronze statue that occupied the center of the atrium. Nineva moved toward it and stopped to stare.

A bearded, long-haired man in crude leather armor knelt before a slender, robed youth and a delicate girl. The contrast between the warrior's massive strength and the couple's slender elegance was striking. So was the awe in the man's expression as he reached a big, scarred hand for the goblet the boy offered to him.

Nineva moved around for a better look at the couple—and gasped. Instead of the bronze eyes she'd expected, their eye sockets were filled with swirls of magic, vast and infinite and glowing. It was hypnotic, like looking into endless space.

“Who are they?” Her voice emerged as a strangled whisper.

“Arthur, Merlin, and Nimue.”

She turned to blink at him, astonished. In Arthurian legend, Nimue had been Merlin's witch lover who had imprisoned him in a crystal cave. “I thought Merlin was supposed to be an old guy with a beard.”

Kel snorted. “The legends got it wrong—along with about ninety-nine percent of everything else.”

She realized the cup they held was glowing. “What's that supposed to be—the Holy Grail?”

“I wouldn't exactly call it ‘holy.' It wasn't the Cup of Christ—that's another thing the legends got wrong.”

Nineva dragged her attention away from the cup to study his face. “So what was it?”

“Damned if I know.”

She found herself grinning at his cheerful tone. “You're a big help.”

“I try.” He flashed her a teasing male grin. “I can tell you what it did, though.”

He's flirting with me.
“And what was that?”

“It altered the genetic structure of everyone who earned the right to drink from it.”

Nineva's jaw dropped. “In 500
A.D.
?”

He shrugged. “Merlin wasn't exactly a sixth-century man.”

“What the hell was he, then? Sidhe?”

“Nope. You're close, though. He and Nimue were aliens from somewhere in the Mageverse.”

She recoiled. “They were Dark Ones?”

“Different aliens. He and Nimue were members of a race called the Fae…”

“Isn't that another word for Sidhe?”

“The Celts got confused.” He shrugged. “Two races of magical people. They got 'em mixed up.”

“I sympathize.” Nineva was more than a little confused herself. “So why did Merlin and Nimue come to Earth?”

Kel turned and studied the statue, hesitating as if searching for the right words. Finally he said, “The Fae had seen a lot of intelligent races commit mass suicide. Seems humanity doesn't have a patent on stupidity. War, self-inflicted environmental disasters, bioengineered disease—there are lots of ways for a species to render itself extinct.”

Nineva grimaced. “Gee, and I was hoping we were the only ones with that tendency.”

“'Fraid not. Anyway, the Fae want to prevent those kinds of extinctions. They travel from planet to planet creating champions among every intelligent race they encounter. The champions' job is to guide their people to adulthood.”

“Why don't the Fae just appear to people and say, ‘Don't do stupid stuff '?”

“Apparently they tried that. Didn't work. They decided the best thing to do is give other species the tools to survive and leave the rest up to them.”

Nineva thought through the implications as she studied the grail statue. “So Merlin's cup made Arthur and his people immortal. Probably enabled them to work magic, too, right?” Normal humans couldn't use mystical forces, because the physics wouldn't allow it. You couldn't work spells on Mortal Earth unless you drew on the Mageverse to do it.

“It's a little more complicated than that.”

She gave him a dry smile. “Why does that not surprise me? Okay, I'll bite. How?”

“The women can work spells, as you say. And they're pretty damned powerful. We call 'em Majae.”

“So what about the men?”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, they're vampires.”

“Vampires?” Nineva stared
at him in amazement. He seemed perfectly serious. “You mean, as in undead, blood-sucking demons?”

“What part of ‘ninety-nine percent of the legends is bullshit' didn't you get?”

“You didn't say anything about vampires, for God's sake. Why would Merlin make them vamps?”

“Because Merlin was a vampire. His species evolved that way. It's…”

“‘…A little complicated.' Yeah, I get that.” She shook her head. “If I didn't know you were the dragon knight, I'd think you were jerking my chain.”

Kel's cobalt brows rose. “‘
The
dragon knight'?”

“That story'll take longer than yours.”

He contemplated that, then shook his head reluctantly. “Then it'll have to wait. Arthur told me to report in when I got you here, and we've taken too much time as it is. Let's go.” His long leather coat swinging with every stride, he headed up the corridor.

Nineva admired the width of his shoulders a moment before hurrying in his wake. He had a fluid, catlike stride that made her silently curse his enveloping coat. She'd have really loved to see his ass.

Hello? Dragon.

Dragon I'm supposed to seduce
.

Well, there was that. Nineva contemplated the seduction issue a moment, doubtful. She'd never tried to seduce anyone; she'd generally been the seducee. None of her amorous experiences had been particularly memorable anyway, having been more a product of loneliness than real desire. There'd been times she'd have done anything to connect with someone, even if that someone had been a bouncer, biker, or horny businessman. Two affairs and one dubious one-night stand didn't make for much of a sexual track record. Or bedroom skill, either.

She sighed.

Kel looked back over his shoulder at her. “Problem?”

“Just contemplating my shortcomings.”

He gave her a teasing smile. “That shouldn't take long—it's got to be a brief list.”

Her spirits lifted at the warmth in his gaze, and she smiled back. “I guess gallantry is part of the whole Knight of the Round Table gig.”

“Yep.” His gaze warmed further. “But so's honesty.”

“Oh, you're
good
.”

Now his grin went downright suggestive. “So I'm told.”

Before she could come up with another conversational volley, he pushed open a massive wooden door and stood back to let her enter.

“I'm starting to miss the Soviets,” a male voice growled as they walked in. “The nice thing about atheists is they don't think they'll go to heaven if they blow up the fucking planet.”

A dozen men and women sat on a dais behind an enormous semicircular table. Its polished walnut front was carved with scenes of knights and ladies—fighting, working spells, drinking from the same grail portrayed in the entry-way statue. Overhead hung a huge chandelier, its crystals shaped like swords. A thick wine red carpet deadened their footsteps as Kel led Nineva to one of the few empty seats in the audience.

She tried not to gape as she stared at the group behind the table. In contrast to their rich surroundings, most of the twelve were dressed casually—in jeans, slacks, and knit or cotton shirts—though one woman wore a brilliant scarlet suit that set off her black hair and pale, flawless skin.

Yet Nineva's attention was drawn to the bearded, dark-haired man who'd been speaking when they entered. Though well built, he wasn't the tallest man in the room, nor was he the most handsome, yet something about him was arresting. Oddly, he wore a black T-shirt with an armless and legless knight on the front, along with the words “It's only a flesh wound!” He looked familiar…

Nineva blinked, finally recognizing him from the statue in the foyer. Leaning over to Kel, she whispered, “King Arthur is a Monty Python fan?”

“Yeah, but for Cachamwri's sake, don't get him started on the Parrot Sketch. He'll segue right into ‘I'm a Lumber-jack.' I've got enough emotional scars without the thought of Arthur in drag.”

Despite his supposed taste for seventies Brit-coms, Arthur's expression was grim as he turned his attention to a dark-haired man sitting in the front row next to a pretty blonde. “Reece, what kind of progress are you making?”

The man stood and squared his impressive shoulders as if he had bad news he wasn't looking forward to relating. “Remember that al-Qaeda operative I'd recruited?”

Arthur winced. “They caught him spying for us.”

“No, the Americans captured him.”

“Hell. Tell your CIA buddies to turn him loose.”

“Too late. The terrorists know he was taken. Even if I get him sprung, they'll assume he's been turned. He'd be dead in a week.”

“Fuck.” Arthur aimed a glower around the table. “We've got to get some traction on this mess, people. We have to infiltrate that crowd.”

The elegant blonde at his elbow spoke up. “But even if we break up al-Qaeda, there are dozens of other nutball groups ready to take its place. Until we can get the extremist mullahs to stop preaching murder as a route to paradise, we're never going to make any headway.”

Nineva frowned and leaned over to whisper to Kel. “I don't understand—why don't they just cast a spell on the mullahs and tell them to cut it out?”

Arthur lifted a dark brow. “Because Merlin told us not to. Is this your fairy princess, Kel?”

Kel rose to his feet. Nineva, after a heartbeat, did the same as he gestured in her direction. “Nineva Morrow, Princess of the Morven Sidhe.”

“Also part-time bartender and magician,” she muttered under her breath, trying not to fidget under the interested gazes leveled her way.

“Did you say you're a bartender?” Arthur asked, amusement quirking his lips.

“Vampires have very acute hearing,” Kel told her.

Oh, great. “Yes, Your Majesty. I'm sort of—in exile.”

Arthur's faint smile became an outright grin. “Drop the ‘Your Majesty,' kid. I haven't been king in centuries.”

“Don't you believe it,” one of the other men murmured. “Arthur'll be king until he cocks up his toes.”

Arthur pointedly ignored the smiles that flashed in agreement. “Glad to see your mission was a success, Kel.”

“Not…entirely.” Tersely, he related his rescue of Nineva and the loss of the sword.

His listeners were frowning by the time he finished. “I'd like to know what Grim thinks of this mess. Hey, Grim…”

Magic flared at his elbow, a swirl of sparks that coalesced into a massive leather-bound tome. Without anyone touching it, it opened itself with a thump. “You called for me, Liege of the Magekind?” Its voice was deep, edged in a whispering sound like flipping pages.

“Yeah.” He made a beckoning gesture toward Nineva. “Come over here, kid. Let's see what Grim can tell us.”

Nineva rose reluctantly and followed Kel toward the dais. “Grim?” she whispered.

“Merlin's Grimoire. Merlin left him for us as a kind of magical database.”

“Okaaay.” She swallowed as she reached the dais and looked down at the book's open pages. It was like looking up into a cloudless night sky—utter blackness swirled with stars. The unexpected glimpse of infinity made her head swim, and she blinked.

Then the pages were simply pages, marked with words in a language she could almost read. Yet the sense of magic about them seemed a physical presence, a kind of psychic weight. “Put your hand on me,” the book said in its whispering voice.

Nineva licked her lips and obeyed, then jerked her hand back. Instead of the smooth cool of paper, the page felt like living flesh, warm and yielding. “It's alive!”

“This one's quick,” Grim said, amusement edging his voice.

Arthur reached out, caught her wrist, and pressed her palm against the page. “Quit teasing her, Grim.”

“As you will.” With that, magic poured through her, foaming, tingling, tasting metallic. Like copper and blood. “Power,” the book whispered. “She has power. Her goddess bred true in her. She'll burn so bright…”

Nineva shuddered.

“But is she good or evil?” Arthur's voice was suddenly cold and unyielding.

“Good, of course. Her father knew his business. She'll give herself to the fire to save us all.”

“No,” she breathed, as her stomach dropped like a stone. “Please, no.”

“Don't fear, child. It won't be so bad as all that.”

“What fire?” Kel sounded alarmed.

“Yours.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Necessity.”

“You're usually not this cryptic, Grim. What's she going to save us from?” Arthur demanded, studying her with narrow-eyed attention.

“The Dark Ones.”

“What?” It was a chorus from everyone in the room, some of the voices outraged, others bewildered.

“What about Merlin's wards?” the red-suited woman snapped, her dark brows pulling down into a scowl. “They're supposed to keep those alien bastards out.”

“So they are. Our enemies mean to find a way to shatter them.”

“When are they going to make their move?” one of the men demanded. “How can we stop them?”

“That is not clear. There are many paths forward. But all of them involve this girl and the Sword of Semira.”

“Great,” Arthur growled. “Just great.” He turned to the red-clad woman. “Pass the word. Find out if anyone has had any visions about this…”

“I did,” Nineva said quietly.

Kel's head whipped toward her. “What did you see?”

She shrugged. “Demonic-looking horned creatures, stepping through a dimensional gate into Times Square.”

“Any indication when?” Arthur demanded.

Nineva frowned, then reluctantly shook her head. “I don't think so.”

Arthur rubbed his forehead as if it ached. “We'd better meet with Llyr about this. He might have some ideas. Anyway, he'll want to talk to you about this sword.”

Nineva stiffened in panic. At the last moment, she censored her instinctive
Hell, no!
to “I'd…rather not.”

Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously. “That was not a request.”

“Sir, the king of the Morven Sidhe murdered my parents. I've spent my entire life running from his assassins. I have no intention of delivering myself into another king's hands now.” Athur's handsome face went regal with cold rage, but Nineva refused to let her own gaze drop. He wasn't the only one with royal blood. “If you insist, I'll have to leave.”

Arthur bared teeth that had lengthened into fangs. “You're assuming I'll let you. And under the circumstances, there's no way in hell.”

 

Kel wanted to
bury his face in his hands and groan as Nineva faced off with Arthur with the same stubborn lack of fear she'd shown him.

“Are you saying I'm your prisoner?” she demanded, her voice as chilly as Arthur's expression.

From the corner of one eye, Kel saw a force globe form around her hand. He snatched her wrist and used his own magic to snuff it. That was all this needed—for her to throw a fireball at Arthur in front of the most powerful witches in the Mageverse. They'd fry her like a mosquito in a bug zapper. “Forgive her, my lieges. She's had a difficult day.” He managed a stiff smile and squeezed her hand in warning. “And so have I, since Cachamwri himself instructed me to protect her.”
So please don't force me to protect her from you.

Apparently Arthur recognized the pleading he was trying to convey, because the former high king settled back in his seat with a grunt. For a long moment, he said nothing. “Ansgar was a psychopath, and I hated his ever-loving guts. I cheered when I heard he was dead. Llyr Galatyn, however, is a good king, and he's proven himself an ally of the Magekind. He's not his brother, Nineva, and he's not going to hurt you.”

“With all due respect, I'm a rival for his throne. He can't afford to do anything else.” A muscle flexed in her delicate jaw.

Arthur went dangerously still. “You planning to lead a coup, Nineva?”

Oh, hell. Kel's gaze flashed to Nineva's face as every muscle tensed. He gave her another warning squeeze.
Don't say anything stupid.

“Sir, I mean to stay as far away from the Morven rebels as possible. Anyone who'd help the Dark Ones invade is nobody I want anything to do with.”

“Sorry, kid, I'm not letting you sidestep the question. Do you mean to take Llyr's throne?”

Nineva raised her chin. “I have no intention of taking it. But if it was offered, I would not refuse.”

Arthur laughed. Kel was relieved to hear genuine amusement in it. “An honest answer. And given that you're a princess, I wouldn't have expected anything else.”

Morgana Le Fay spoke up, leaning one scarlet-clad elbow on the table. “Unfortunately, this still doesn't resolve the problem at hand. Llyr must be informed of the situation. We owe it to him. And in any case, if we're going to have to fend off a Dark One invasion, we need all the help we can get.”

“Informed, yes,” Kel pointed out. “But that doesn't mean we have to hand Nineva over—assuming he even asks us to.”

“He will,” Nineva said shortly.

Morgana cocked her dark head. “And what makes you say that?”

Nineva shrugged and drew down the neckline of her T-shirt to reveal the glowing Mark on her breast. “I'm the Last Avatar of the Goddess, the first woman born with Semira's Mark in fifteen centuries. Many of the Morven Sidhe will see me as their rightful queen. Llyr can't allow me to go free.”

“And Cachamwri wants you safe,” Kel said impatiently. “Llyr isn't going to do a damn thing to you, especially if you and this sword of yours are so important in stopping the Dark Ones.”

“One way or the other, I'm going to arrange a meeting with Llyr as soon as possible,” Arthur told her. “I won't insist you be present, though I would strongly suggest it. Once you meet Llyr, you'll realize your fears are groundless. In any case, we won't allow you to be taken prisoner.”