Chapter Eight

Fafnir roared in pain as Jaythena’s kidnapper bit into his wing, damaging the tender membrane. In retaliation, he clawed a gash down the other dragon’s neck, blood dripping off scales to fall to the ground. Pain shot into his shoulder, each flap of his wings sending explosions of white agony across the limb.

He risked a glimpse at Aryana huddled upon the ground like a broken toy as the other dragon circled around for another pass. He needed to pay attention to the fight. Watching her collapse led to the bite on his wing. A distraction when he needed to remain focused.

But seeing his mate lying still as a corpse sent a stab of pain twisting through his chest, a sharp panic spreading outward. Nothing eliminated the knowledge she received her injuries from the dragon flapping around in front of him.

Flapping a little bit lopsided due to a torn wing membrane.

Breath sawing in and out of his lungs, Fafnir countered an attack of talons and leapt onto the other dragon’s back, teeth aiming for the thick muscles of the neck. Rage clouded his vision. This male hurt his mate. This male must die.

One shake of his head was all he needed to kill the bastard, to avenge his mate.

His mouth opened, jaws snapping closed...on empty air. What just happened? Fafnir stared at the space of air that used to contain the male’s body. A quick scan of the area proved he flapped alone in the sky.

How did Jaythena’s kidnapper disappear? And where for that matter?

Right as he started to fly toward Aryana, the air thundered with dragon wings, an explosion of sound as a dozen dragons appeared in the sky. Council warriors. He hated to tell them they arrived too late.

One minute he hovered in the air and the next, his body flew backward, hurtling toward the ground. Fafnir shot his wings out, trying to break his fall, screaming as the wind caught his injured wing. He felt a spell wrap around him, cushioning his body as it lowered him to the ground.

No! You targeted the wrong dragon. That’s Fafnir, not Fasolt. Thoren’s words slammed into his mind, followed by a rush of apologies from another voice.

Mistaken identity. What irony.

A downburst of air rushed past him as the dragon warriors hovered above the ground. One landed, shifting into Thoren. Fafnir’s lip twisted and he swallowed the snarl. No reason to snarl at the one who freed him from his titanium prison and stopped him from landing like a fallen boulder upon the ground. Really. No reason at all.

“Where’s Fasolt?”

He disappeared. He hurt Ar—the High Priestess so I attacked him.

“And my sister?”

She lives. They are up there. He gestured with his snout toward the cliff. When would Thoren leave so he could check on his mate?

Thoren’s jaw tensed, eyes closing as he drew in a deep breath. As he released it, he opened his eyes and locked gazes with Fafnir. “Thank you. We’ll take care of things.”

With a brief glance at one of the dragons, Thoren disappeared, the flock of warriors vanishing with him. Fafnir took a deep breath, preparing to transport to Aryana, when he saw the warriors appear on top of the cliff.

No! Bloody Council and their sense of propriety. He deserved to take Aryana to the Temple. Aryana was not their mate. She was his. His.

But a glance to the currently empty cliff told him he wouldn’t get the chance to comfort Aryana. The Council warriors transported themselves, Jaythena and the High Priestess away, presumably to the Temple.

He roared.

“It’s not your place to take them for healing.”

Fafnir started, the rest of his roar dying in his throat as he turned in the direction of the voice. A voice he’d recognize anywhere. His breath froze in his lungs as the inside of his mouth turned into what felt like a desert, dry and sandy. Good thing he didn’t need his mouth to talk. He doubted his lips could form words.

The moment he’d anticipated and longed for during his years of captivity and yet avoided once free, blindsided him. What should he do? Admit who he was? Run?

After fighting the battle to avenge his mate, he no longer felt like a coward. At least not a complete coward.

But faced with his father he stood like a fool on the battlefield, eyes wide and limbs shaking.

Of course he could always write off the shaking limbs as a result of the fight. Whatever made him feel better.

Alviss shuffled over to Fafnir, his cane thumping in the grass with each step.

“We would have caught him if you hadn’t engaged him in a fight.” Alviss rolled right over Fafnir’s beginnings of a snarl. “And yet I appreciate your defense of the females.”

What did he say to that? Apparently nothing, his head bob taking care of words.

He really needed to speak up. This hiding-his-identity game had continued for too long.

“Go find the healing priestesses in the Temple. They’ll fix you right up.”

And the High Priestess?

Alviss’s bushy brows slammed down, carving a vee between the white hairs. “She is safe. As is Jaythena. They are being cared for by the Temple Healer. Get along with you.”

Fafnir took a breath. He could do this. He could tell his father who he was. Right? But before he formed the words, Alviss waved his hand and Fafnir felt his body disintegrate, only to reappear in the dragon healing room of the Temple.

His breath released in a rush of air. Was it relief or regret flowing through him? Or maybe that lightheaded feeling had to do with his wing shooting bright-white agony into his shoulder.

At any other time, avoiding his reveal to Alviss would be relief. But he wanted it over with. Wanted to admit his true identity to his father, even if Alviss shunned him. Once he admitted it to Alviss, then he could admit it to Aryana.

Maybe she would claim him as mate.

Maybe the earth would open up and swallow him.

“Are you injured?”

Fafnir turned to the voice, only to suck in a breath of air. Keara, his Halfling daughter, stood in the doorway, dressed in a white gown, her long red hair pulled back into a braid.

She looked like a cross between her mother and Annaliese.

Yet another person to whom he needed to admit his true identity.

Greetings, Keara.

“Fafnir!” Her face broke into a smile. “I didn’t recognize you.”

I’m sure recognition is a little hard when you are covered in blood as I am.

She walked inside the room, closing the door behind her. “Let me get a look at your injuries.” A gentle touch against his wing, a probing touch against a gash across his scales. He flinched.

How is Aryana?

Keara raised an eyebrow. A pause and then she answered. “She hit her head pretty hard, but don’t worry, Annaliese is tending to her. They sent me to care for you.”

Fafnir let loose a sigh of relief. Praise the Goddess Aryana would be all right. I’m happy you came. Thank you for letting me know. When may I see her?

“I will have to check with Annaliese since the High Priestess is her patient.”

And Jaythena?

Steam snaked out of Keara’s ears as she snarled. “That bastard gave her the same drug he did me. But she’ll be all right once it wears off. Physically anyway.”

At least she was alive. When Aryana sent her to me, I could not get her to speak. She just stared into space. He knew the stare as the drug’s effect, but still, Jaythena’s whole affect gave him chills to see.

“That’s the effect of the drug. That herb should be banned!” Her fists clenched, and she sucked in a few breaths until the steam stopped its circling dance around her head. “Changing the topic. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. Where have you been hiding?” After clenching and releasing her fists and another deep inhale, she walked to a wall shelf containing bottles and jars of herbs. Running her finger along the label, she selected a half-full jar and put it on a long wooden table set against one wall of the room.

Here and there. How do you like working in the Temple?

“I hate these white gowns. They get dirty all the time, and the laundress is forever having to use spells to get them clean. Other than that I enjoy it.”

Is Thoren treating you well? Because if not, he’d be glad to char his hide off.

“Oh yes! I love being his mate. He’s a lot of fun. Except when he belches. Do you know he set the curtains on fire the other day? What’s wrong with him? Is that common male behavior?”

Fafnir choked. Maybe you shouldn’t feed him spicy food?

“Maybe he should learn not to belch fire. Now, let’s start with the tear in your wing. That looks like it hurts the worst.”

Her hand rested against the slash, and he couldn’t help the indrawn breath. Healing magic poured from her hand, cascading over the torn wing, suffusing him with warmth. It reminded him of his mother’s magic, of the way the older Draconi healed, the feel of her touch. A magic not experienced since before his capture, since his mother died.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the yellow and blue ball of healing magic surrounding his wing, knitting together the torn membrane. The white-hot agony ceased its relentless crawl, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank you. That feels much better.

She dropped her hand, pulling away the warmth of her touch. “You are welcome. I’m learning to heal without draining myself. I can almost do it without thinking now. So much easier than when I used to live in River’s Run.” A small frown creased her brow, unwanted memories taking a run across the smooth skin of her face.

I’m sorry you had to grow up there. I’m sorry you were not taken to Draconia when you were born.

She shrugged. “It’s not your fault.” Ah, but it was. “Anyway, if I had been raised here, then I wouldn’t have known my grandmother. We had our differences, but I loved her.” Keara walked over to the table and picked up the jar of ointment. “She fostered in me a love for healing.”

That is a family trait. You were born that way.

“Well, there is that. So it wasn’t all bad.” Dipping her fingers in the ointment, she began spreading the cool substance across the former tear in his wing.

Do you blame your father for leaving you there?

“Did he leave me there? According to Alviss he disappeared. I’m assuming before I was born. So if I wasn’t born, and he didn’t know I existed, then how can I blame him?”

It’s a male’s duty to ensure his Halfling offspring are returned to Draconia.

“Truly? Because before he mated me, that was Thoren’s job, to find abandoned Halflings and return them to Draconia. The Council spends a lot of time on that activity. Apparently there are a lot of males who don’t realize they have children.”

So much has changed since I’ve been gone.

“I guess so. But at any rate, I don’t blame my father. I really wish he hadn’t died so I could know him. I never knew my mother.”

I have many stories about your mother. The words slipped out before he could stop them and Keara’s hand stilled against his wing.

“How did you know my mother?”

What did he say? Keara, you are my daughter? No, too overly dramatic. Your mother was my lover? Then she would have to deduce things herself. The loss of blood is causing me to hallucinate? No, he was done with hiding and lying. Telling her while she healed his wounds was not how he imagined it happening. While in his cell, as a captive, he assumed his lover, Mabbina, had taken their child to Draconia as he instructed her to do. Then his captors told him she and the babe died in childbirth. So when he saw a drugged Keara after Thoren rescued her, looked at her features and realized she was his daughter, his joy turned to horror.

He’d failed his child.

And yet, he wanted her to know him, wanted to know her. Wanted a friendship with his daughter, his only offspring.

The stillness in Keara expanded until the very room itself seemed to be waiting on his answer.

I used to know your mother very well. I came to River’s Run often and we became friends.

“You knew her well?”

I did.

“I hear you have not presented yourself to the Council for questioning.”

What did that have to do with Mabbina? True.

“Why?”

I believe that gash under the scales is bleeding. On my flank.

“Sorry.” Shaky hands probed, lifted a scale. He failed to stop the involuntary flinch and foot stomp. A faint chink indicated Keara placed the ointment jar on the stone floor. Another round of healing magic poured into his injury, and he leaned into it, allowing the energy to penetrate into the gash.

Ah. You are very good at what you do.

“Thank you. Why haven’t you shown up to talk to the Council? They want to know who imprisoned you so they can stop it from happening again.”

They know who imprisoned me. Simon’s father. They know I cast a spell to render my captors insane. What more do they want? Would they go after his Watcher? Or was the male protected by the Watchers on the Council?

“What Watcher?”

Maybe he transmitted those last two sentences. My Watcher and I did not get along. A bit of an understatement. He was there when they captured me and told them about titanium’s effects on Draconi. I’m not sure if my spell touched him as I never saw him again.

“That’s horrible! Thoren and Enar are best friends so I guess I thought all Draconi-Watcher relationships were the same.”

They are unique in their friendship.

“Well, I still think you should go to the Council. It makes you look like you are hiding something.”

Pride laced his heart, followed by a good dose of fear-of-discovery. His intuitive daughter saw past his barriers into his soul, peeling away the layers of shame to stare at the root of the issue.

He still needed to tell her their relationship.

Perhaps I am.

“Really?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why?”

He was a grown male, a defender of his mate, a dragon in his prime. He could tell her who he was. Really. He could.

If I tell you, will you tell?

“I swear on the bones of my ancestors that I will not tell anyone.”

Well, then. You are correct. I am hiding. I do not want the Council, or others, to know who I am.

“But why?”

He swallowed. It’s embarrassing. At her puzzled stare, he stumbled along, gaining confidence as he spoke. I come from a powerful family, I carry great magic. And yet humans locked me away in a cell for twenty-four years, three months and two days? How can I tell my family who I am?

“But we don’t hold that against you. Even Alviss and the High Priestess would be stopped by titanium. No one would blame you for it. You need to talk to the Council. It will be all right.” She bent to pick up the jar, coating her fingers in the chalky white substance before applying it to his wound.

And I harmed a female.

Her hands stopped smoothing the herbal ointment over the former gash in his flank. “What did you do?”

My captivity meant my daughter was harmed. It was not intentional, but it was the result. They will not forgive me.

Her hands started moving, rubbing a bit more forcefully this time. “Well, I think you’ve been moping around wherever you’ve been hiding for too long. Do you really think someone is going to blame you for whatever happened to your daughter when you were captured? Did you plan to be captured? No? Then how can you think that?”

You have not lived in Draconia long enough if you think my indirect harm of a female will not be punished.

“You have been away too long if you think it will.”

Hmph. He snorted and stamped his foot.

“Where’s your daughter now?”

Beside me. Not the smoothest reveal, but from the quick intake of breath and loss of blood to her face, it seemed to accomplish its goal.

Crash! The jar of ointment fell from Keara’s fingers, shattering against the stone floor. Fafnir twitched a talon at the mess, reforming the jar, never taking his gaze from Keara’s face.

“Me?” she squeaked. “I’m your daughter?”

Does that...offend you?

“Offend me? Why would you think...oh. No. I’m just surprised is all. Are you sure?”

He raised an eye-ridge. Did she think he wouldn’t recognize his own daughter?

“Dumb question. Sorry. I’m just, well, just surprised. And happy. Oh, does this mean no one else knows?”

Yes. And I would appreciate it if you’d keep it that way.

“Even from Thoren?”

He sits on the Council.

“For how long? You can’t go around not telling people and expecting me to keep the secret forever.”

He sighed. I know. I haven’t figured out how to tell them yet.

“You know, I’ve been working on a spell with the High Priestess to turn you back into a human. If you’d like, I can turn you and then you can tell them. In your human form.”

What spell? There was hope for him?

“It’s buried in one of the old Temple scrolls. The writing is different than what we use now, but we’ve been able to decipher it. It seems to say that when a Draconi goes through his Change with no female and is stuck in dragon form, it’s because he has too much power, like a switch stuck in the open position. A person who absorbs energy, like me, can absorb the excess energy and cause the Draconi to resume human form.”

What are the consequences?

“It seems you might never be able to change back into dragon form. You’d be stuck a human. We think.”

Not a problem. He’d had enough of being stuck as a dragon. Nothing wrong with being in human form, provided he kept his magic.

So the Draconi’s magic is not damaged?

“It doesn’t appear to be.”

Pop! Aryana transported into the room, stumbling forward. Pop! Annaliese appeared behind her, grabbing Aryana’s good arm, holding her steady.

Aryana! What are you doing here?

“I told you to stay in bed!” Annaliese spoke simultaneously, giving Aryana’s arm a little shake.

“I told you I had to see him.”

The two females played a game of stare-and-glare, before Aryana shook her arm free of Annaliese’s grasp and took a step in Fafnir’s direction. Fafnir stepped away from Keara and met her halfway.

What are you doing out of bed?

Checking on you.

“All right, you saw him. Now let’s put you back to bed.” Three strides later, Annaliese stood by them, hand reaching for Aryana’s arm.

Everything in him protested at his mate being removed from his side. There is a bed in this room. She can stay here.

“Again?”

“Again?” Keara parroted.

“Great idea.” Aryana took a step toward the bed. After a glare and a huff, Annaliese helped her get situated under the covers and then disappeared, a trace of steam circling where she stood.

Where did Annaliese go?

“To get the correct herbs. This room isn’t as well stocked.”

Perhaps she should be in different room, but he rather liked having her here with him. Where she belonged.

How do you feel? He took a step closer, drawing in a deep breath, trying to smell the extent of her injuries. Nothing but the pungent scent of herbs.

“My head hurts. But my arm feels better.”

Pop! Annaliese appeared by Aryana’s bedside, holding a basket that she set on the table by the bed. One by one, she picked bottles and jars out of the basket, setting them on the table until they filled the small space.

“Are you comfortable?” Anger laced her words as she glared at Aryana.

A growl crossed Fafnir’s lips before he could stop it. Annaliese whirled to face him, eyes narrowed. He tried to stop the steam building in his throat and draw in a breath. Annaliese worried about his mate, nothing more. No need to throw a growling fit. Really. No need at all. He swallowed the remaining burst of steam and attempted to turn his lips into a grin.

Sorry.

“I don’t want to hear from you right now. I need to complete this healing.” She turned back to Aryana, pointing a finger at his mate. “You keep interrupting me.”

“I—”

“Hush. Talk later.”

Holding her hands over Aryana’s head, Annaliese began muttering words of a healing spell. Keara touched Fafnir’s flank, drawing his attention to her.

“Step back and let her work. We don’t want to interfere with her spell.”

While his body raged for him to get as close as possible to his mate, his mind knew Keara spoke the truth. Getting between a Healer and her patient never ended well.

Especially for the interferer.

As Keara smoothed more of the soothing salve over the gash in his flank, Fafnir watched as Annaliese placed Aryana into a deep sleep. The words of her spell coupled with Keara’s healing magic, wrapped him in a wave of relaxation.

Which ended the moment Annaliese stopped casting her spell and turned to him. She pointed a finger in his direction.

“I’m getting tired of casting that spell.”

Do you think I have control over her?

Never taking her narrowed gaze from him, she spoke to his daughter in what Fafnir called the big-sister voice. “Keara, thank you for your help. You may go tend to your duties now.”

Keara ventured a glance at him before speaking. “I’m not finished.”

“Yes. You are. I need to talk to...Fafnir. Alone.”

“But—”

It will be all right, Keara. Let me speak to her alone. We have things to discuss. Starting with his hiding-and-lying state and moving on to his potential banishment. No problem. Nothing to worry about.

“I’ll return later.”

I’d like that.

She nodded and disappeared, leaving the jar of salve sitting on the floor next to his foot.

Annaliese continued to glare at him, her gaze moving across his face, down his chest, over his talons, her anger encircling him like a blanket. Nothing he didn’t deserve. “You did not wait like you said.”

Things came up.

“Things more important than talking to your family after years of being thought dead?”

Good thing dragon hide hid heated cheeks. Do you still claim to be my sister?

“Ragnor! How can you think that? You are my brother! My kin. How can you think I’d no longer call myself your sister?”

I’ve changed. If she only knew how much.

One hand gestured at him. “Yes, of course. You’re stuck in dragon form. That doesn’t explain why you didn’t say anything to us when you returned.”

Words boiled out, a stream of self-directed vitriol, releasing emotions trapped inside. If I said something to you, you’d banish me. I’m a failure! I failed my daughter! I caused a female to be harmed. How can you allow me to live in Draconia, knowing who I am?

“How can I not?”

His mouth opened, closed. Did she mean what he thought? Was it possible she accepted him, despite his failures?

Is it no longer customary to banish a male who harms a female?

She crossed her arms, head tilted off-center. “Did you mean to harm her? Did you physically abuse her?”

Of course not! But I did not ensure Keara returned to Draconia. She suffered. Because of me.

“And Keara is the reason you have not come to see me since you’ve been home?” One eyebrow rose and despite the ire in her tone, he knew her anger, born of grief and disappointment, began to subside.

Her words resonated inside, making what he thought of as clear-minded reasoning sound...illogical. Father would not be pleased I caused her harm.

“Father would not be pleased if you returned home with a fortune’s worth of jewels. Do not base your beliefs on him.”

Interesting. Wonder what happened between the two? What is your issue with Father?

“Besides the way he treats Aryana?”

Fafnir failed to stop his growl. What do you mean?

“He doesn’t like to share things with the priestesses. Which is why we don’t know what is going on with the village attacks. But that is another story. I can’t believe you didn’t come to see me when you returned home.”

I didn’t think you’d accept me. I thought you’d banish me.

“You said that. I can’t speak for Father, but I do not consider you to be at fault for anything Keara went through. Yes, she was left in Cautasia, but you did not mean for her to be, and you cannot help that you were captured and held as a prisoner. If you deserved punishment, you have already received it.”

A small flame ignited in his chest, spread through his limbs. Hope. Truly?

“Truly. Besides, the female has to press the charges, and Keara doesn’t believe you were responsible for her injuries.”

Lowering his head, he tapped her shoulder with his snout. I apologize, Leesie. I should have come to see you.

She rubbed his snout, pulling his head down to rest her forehead against his. “Ah, brother mine. You always worried overmuch. I am glad to see you again.”

And I you.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Both Fafnir and Annaliese jumped as knocking vibrated the door. “Annaliese!” Bang! Bang! Bang!

“That doesn’t sound good.” Annaliese gave Fafnir a pat on the side, dashed fingers under her eyes and walked to the door.

“Enter!” The door flew open with a wave of her hand and a young priestess stumbled through the opening.

“My apologies, Healer, but we have a situation.”

“What is wrong?”

The priestess glanced at Fafnir and back to Annaliese. One black eyebrow raised.

“It’s all right. You can speak freely in front of...” Annaliese’s voice trailed off as she looked over her shoulder at him.

I’m Fafnir. He gave a nod to the priestess, whose eyes widened upon hearing his name.

“Fafnir? You are the one who rescued our High Priestess and fought Fasolt?”

That would be me.

“Oh!” Her hands clapped together, fingers pointing to the ceiling. “It’s an honor to meet you!”

Honor? She thought meeting him an honor?

“He is not why you came. What—”

“Oh, apologies, Healer. One of the refugees has gone into labor, the baby is not coming quickly, and the mate is fighting off all attempts to assist. We hoped you could calm him.”

“Of course.” Annaliese turned to Fafnir, mouth open as if caught in the middle of a sentence, an apology written across her face.

She had nothing to apologize for. Go. We can catch up later.

I’m sorry. This might take awhile. Would you watch Aryana?

Of course.

Her arm will be healed when she wakes. I’m not sure about the head injury, so don’t let her leave until I see her.

All right.

The priestess darted glances between the two of them, clearly in a hurry and wishing Annaliese would join the urgency party.

Words are not enough to tell you how good it is to see you. Even from across the room he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes. He blinked in understanding.

Same here, Leesie.

She looked as if she wanted to say something and regret tinged the smile shot his direction. Waving the priestess in front of her, Annaliese walked out the door, shutting it behind her.

Fafnir blinked at the door until it no longer wavered before his blinking eyes. Then he continued to stare at it, part of him unable to believe Annaliese refused to banish him. Another part wanted to run after her, to crawl in her lap, to let her touch on his head bring him comfort.

Right. As if a full grown dragon could fit in a female’s lap.

When the shock of acceptance wore off, about the same time he grew tired of staring at the still-closed door, his attention snapped to Aryana. His mate. Would she accept him like Keara and Annaliese did? Or would she reject him?

Now that he finally admitted she belonged to him, the thought of her rejection stung. And it was only a thought. If in reality she rejected him...he refused to go there.

For the first time since his return to Draconia, the sense of failure plaguing him lessened. He felt...light, weightless, like he flew without spreading his wings. No, he could not tell Aryana who he was. Not while he remained a dragon.

Perhaps Keara did find a spell in the Temple archives that would turn him human. Perhaps. But he refused to put too much hope in the spell’s accuracy. Too much hope and he would be disappointed when nothing changed. As far as he knew, no dragon had ever returned to human form once stuck in dragon form. Not a one. The chances of him being the first were rather slim.

He had a better chance of finding a cliff to jump from.

A thought left untouched since a certain female dragon fell from the sky.

Soft snoring focused his gaze on Aryana. The reason for the lack of cliff-jumping thoughts. His mate.

He’d love to fight Fasolt again. This time to the end.

Aryana made a snuffling noise, a little huff like a small dragon. He wondered what she dreamed. Maybe flying? Maybe her dreams were about him.

The idea, when it struck, came like a spark of sunlight on a diamond, bright and brilliant. Simple. Yet daring. And probably against several laws.

But it would tell him what she dreamed. Whether or not she held affections for him. If he stood a chance. The only variable being could he pull it off without her knowing.