Chapter Eight #5
“Just what I need. More murderous family,” Constantine muttered.
“After discussing the situation with Bastian, we have agreed that it’s likely Xavier wants the shards belonging to the green dragons,” Drake continued.
“You have more than one shard?” Yrian asked, a little frown pulling down his eyebrows.
A sudden urge to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows was so overwhelming, I actually lifted my hand before I realized what I was doing. I tucked my fingers under my leg, determined to keep my misbehaving libido in check.
“Yes,” Drake said, looking away.
“He has our shard, the one given to the black dragons,” Ysolde told Yrian. “I gave it to him in exchange for retrieving Baltic’s mage sword.”
“Without bothering to ask me if I wanted you to do so,” Baltic said with a glower at her.
She just smiled in return. “Shortly after which, the sword was lost to the mages and handed over to Bael.”
A slight commotion emerged from the tablet, where a woman was now sitting next to Constantine, arguing with him.
“It’s not your fault, so stop martyring yourself.
Becket? Hello, I’m Bee, and I’m Constantine’s mate.
Just so you know, he feels absolutely horrible that he couldn’t get the light sword away from Bael, but since he only just managed to save me from almost certain destruction, he needs to cut himself some slack.
Besides, it’s not like Bael can use the sword. Not while he’s in the Duat.”
“The weyr must pull together to face Xavier,” another blond dragon on the tablet said. This one had an Italian accent. Next to me, Charity wrote something on her notepad, and then surprised me by sliding it toward me.
His name is Bastian. He used to be wyvern of the blue sept, but he left the sept to save his mate, Phyllida.
I mouthed a “thank you” to her.
“The tribes—those who are friendly—have been talking about setting up our own version of a weyr,” Archer said slowly, but his expression was troubled. “I don’t like the idea of having two entities overseeing dragonkin, but I suppose it can’t be helped.”
“Why?” I asked before I realized I’d spoken. Hastily, I added, “Sorry, I know I’m just a guest here. Ignore me.”
“You are more than a guest, and you will not be ignored,” Yrian said, taking my hand again.
“Why do we not want two groups?” Archer glanced around the table. “It defeats the purpose of the weyr, which is to make the dragonkin collectively stronger.”
“That is part of the reasoning behind the weyr,” Yrian said, now looking thoughtful. A little shiver of pleasure rippled down my back when his fingers absently stroked mine. “Keeping the weyr safe from any dragons who wanted to rule over all the kin was another reason.”
“So, fundamentally, your weyr is a collection of dragons who agreed to work together for the betterment of the dragonkin?” I asked, the problem solver in me wanting to work out a solution. “That doesn’t explain why some of you guys would make your own weyr.”
Tribes, Charity noted on her pad, are groups of what are sometimes lawless dragons, but some are sept-adjacent. Tribes aren’t all one type of dragon, like the septs. Archer and Hunter each lead a tribe.
“Tribes are only granted membership in the weyr if they hold a relic with suitable provenance to verify it had been in their possession for a reasonable amount of time,” Drake explained.
“We recently reformed the rules regarding admittance to the weyr in order to safeguard it from an influx of tribes who would wreak havoc.”
“We were going to approach the First Dragon about changing the articles founding the weyr to allow us to include those tribes who agree to our tenets, but evidently, we should be asking you, instead,” Gabriel said, looking at Yrian.
“It’s your weyr,” I said, confused as I looked amongst the dragons in the room. “Why can’t you guys make that a rule?”
“We can change only minor aspects, not those impacted by the magic woven into the creation of the weyr itself,” Drake answered. Now all the dragons were eyeing Yrian. “We—the dragonkin—are bound to the articles of creation. The most we can do is reform it within the bounds of the articles.”
“Did you do that on purpose?” I asked Yrian, intrigued by just how intricate were dragon politics.
“Bind the kin to the articles?” he asked, then answered before I nodded. “It was the only way to keep them from warring. They had to be bound to the articles, or they would not be a part of the weyr. In the end, all agreed.”
“Smart,” I said, admiring how he’d obviously worked so hard to get his family to pull together instead of going their own way.
Yrian looked surprised for a moment, then pleased.
“As the creator of the weyr, you could break the articles without repercussion. Would you break them so they can be reformed to reflect our current reality?” Archer asked him. I had a feeling he just asked a question that everyone had wanted to ask but hesitated to do so.
It drove home how much respect Yrian commanded ... that or they acknowledged just how powerful he was in his own right.
Yrian said nothing for a few minutes, frowning at the table as he evidently worked his way through the suggestion.
“I hesitate to do so,” he finally said, his voice almost as measured as that of his father.
“Not because I wish to deprive your tribes of the support provided by the weyr, but because the articles themselves carry immense power. To break them is to release that power, and I have no idea how it would affect both the mortal and immortal worlds. Even if breaking the articles did no harm, it would attract the notice of Kashi and this Xavier who is warring with you ... and both would use it to destroy kin.”
“Baltic said the articles couldn’t be broken just for that reason,” Ysolde said, her expression somber. “But surely, there must be a way that a codicil or something like that can be added to them? The articles, that is. Something that would let the tribes without relics join us.”
“Perhaps the answer is to locate the relics, rather than trying to change the weyr itself,” Gabriel suggested.
“There are none that aren’t already being held,” Bastian said. I noticed he’d been joined by a dark-haired woman with watchful eyes. “But Phyllida had a question I could not answer—would it be possible for the First Dragon to create relics for our tribes in order to join the weyr?”
Yrian was shaking his head even before Bastian finished. “That is not how it works.”
“The relics were formed in the act of creating the dragonkin,” Baltic added, his expression matching my suddenly glum spirits. “Once those were created, all others were lesser, not as potent or powerful, and having little to no importance.”
“My youngest brother speaks the truth,” Yrian said, leaning back in his chair. “Only the dragon heart, Firstborn talismans, and Iceni’s ringsels are true relics. All others are related, but not powerful enough to bind them to the weyr.”
“And Iceni was ... ?” I asked, the name familiar, but regardless, I wished I had a notepad of my own to take notes.
“The Life Mother,” Yrian answered. “She was the First Dragon’s mate.”
“She gave birth to three of the six Firstborn,” Constantine added. “After she perished, her ashes were bound to the ringsels. The First Dragon gave them into the protection of various lords of equally various underworlds.”
“But they’re precious to you guys, right?” I asked the table in general.
All the dragons nodded.
I turned to Yrian. “So, why didn’t your dad give them to you guys? If they are that valuable, it seems odd that he’d give them to someone who wasn’t a dragon.”
“That was the reason he did so,” Yrian answered.
“They are powerless to anyone but dragonkin, but since Iceni’s murderer would have moved the stars in the sky to get ahold of them, the First Dragon put them out of his reach by working with the Sovereign to create the thirteen Hours, and secured the ringsels with the Hours’ lords. ”
I mused over that while the dragons discussed finding the existing ringsels.
“If we can’t have new ones made, and we can’t break the articles of the weyr, then we’ll just have to find the relics being held in the Hours,” a dark-haired man said in a Slavic accent, his manner of speaking him leaving me feeling like he was almost biting off the ends of the words.
That’s Kostya, Charity wrote on her notepad. He’s very dramatic. He’s also Drake’s brother. The mates have a drinking game related to his drama-llama moods.
Drake looked suddenly much happier. “Naturally, the green dragons will make available our services in order to liberate the ringsels from their respective guardians.”
“We might try talking to the lords of the Hours first,” Bastian suggested with a little smile toward Drake. “They may be agreeable to return the relics, especially if Yrian is on hand to reassure them of the fittingness of our request.”
Drake made a face at that suggestion.
“Xavier and Deus tried that,” a man on the tablet said.
He sounded Greek, but was also blond. “They tried to get the ringsels, but the Hours’ lords couldn’t be forced to give them up.
That was part of the protections written into the creation of the Hours, themselves.
We heard that Xavier was in a rage once he realized they were beyond his reach.
Sadly, that means they are out of ours, as well. ”
Charity nudged the notebook toward me. That’s Feo. He used to be with Xavier’s tribe, but left due to not being a monster. He leads the Fire Tribe now.
“Sounds like we need to talk to Finch and Christian,” Ysolde said, and the other ladies nodded.
Finch = Christian’s nephew. He runs one of the Hours with his wife, Tatiana, Charity wrote.
“What if the First Dragon were to ask the Hour people to give the ringsels back?” May asked.
The room fell silent, all eyes now on Charity.
She pulled out her phone and tapped on it while saying, “I’ll ask him, but I doubt if it’s that easy. If it was, he’d likely have gotten them back. Oh. He’s already answered.” She smiled at Yrian and me. “He says that’s why he ensured that Yrian was freed—he is the help the dragonkin need.”
“I had a feeling he would say something along those lines,” Ysolde said, her hand on Baltic’s leg. “He’s forever doing that sort of thing. I hope he doesn’t drop mysterious quests on you the way he did me, Becket, because it’s enough to drive you insane.”
I slid a glance toward Yrian’s thigh sitting right there next to me.
I cherished the memory of him in the portal shop, standing in nothing but a pair of briefs and a shirt, his glorious legs right out there where I could best admire them.
Heat flashed through me, and before I realized I was doing it, I tamped out the fire that blossomed at my feet.
I allowed myself to indulge in a little introspection while the dragons discussed their options, wondering if the connection growing stronger with each passing minute meant I really was Yrian’s mate, or if I just hadn’t had a roll in the sack recently.
I counted back, realized it had been almost five years, and gave a mental sigh.
It was most likely libido and nothing more.
And what a depressing thought that was.