Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
In the end, the twins, who had served as figureheads for Bansys’s cruel rule over the Ninth Realm, chose to give their father’s people a chance to accept them.
They understood that if that course of action failed, they could always return to Shadowmist. It was the least Mathison could do for Aluwyn, even though she had knowingly deceived him.
Deep down, he knew she’d only done it to survive and protect her young as any good mother would.
He’d left Kannis and Giddrie in charge at the keep and planned to offer their parents, Noirgarth and Bresag, the opportunity to take up residence above ground, within the keep itself, as guardians and war chieftains of the Ninth Realm.
They could be trusted, and trust was a rare and precious thing at the moment.
He felt sure Legion would choose to help them keep watch over the southern regions.
He and Calia would return to Wraith Tower in the north.
Shadowmist Keep reeked with the stench of too many terrible memories, and he doubted Calia would wish to live in a place that had nearly killed her.
And that was another thing: once he discovered and dealt with whoever at the Tower had betrayed him by revealing the identity of Calia’s inner wolf, that fortress would be much safer than Shadowmist Keep ever would be.
Traveling back through the tunnels to the section that Noirgarth and Bresag had long ago chosen as their own, Mathison lengthened his stride, almost breaking into a run to get back to Calia.
An urgency to see her smile, feel her warmth, and to know she was well and truly healing goaded him to toss caution aside and hurry.
And even with his dear one in the safety of the dragons’ lair, he still feared Carman would return from the Under and attack.
Because the witch would eventually return seeking her revenge.
Of that, he had no doubt. Thankfully, the wolfstone resting at the base of his throat was cool to the touch—not burning with righteous fire as it had done when he’d come upon Carman’s evil sons.
The coolness of the wolfstone told him Carman was nowhere near.
When he reached a wall of stone blocking the passage, he sheathed his sword, placed his hand on its center, and bowed his head. “Grand Chieftain Mathison Shadowmist requests admittance into the lair of Noirgarth, Protector of the Weak, and Bresag, Gentleheart.”
The wall warmed beneath his touch, then glowed brighter and brighter, as if burning from within. He didn’t move his hand, keeping it flattened on the stone even though it became searing hot. Then the barrier faded away as if it had never existed.
“Welcome, mighty Shadowmist,” Bresag said.
Mathison noted she spoke much more quietly than usual, and her somber tone worried him. “My Calia?”
The mighty dragon lifted a foreclaw and barely shook her great, horned head.
“She sleeps, mighty one. The poison within her is strong. Her wolf even tried to take it into herself to shield her. They are both still very weak.” She motioned for him to follow her through a series of passages that led deeper into the cave system, which overflowed with gold, jewels, and all manner of riches.
When they came to a doorway encrusted with gold coins, she turned and smiled, then stepped back to allow him to enter the room first. “Welcome to the nursery. We wanted to keep her warm, and the eggs seemed to bring her comfort. I believe they like her presence as well.”
He eased into the sacred room that few, if any, humans had ever seen and lived to tell the tale. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart swelled at the sight that met him.
Calia lay curled around one of the eggs in the great nest that was built upon a low pedestal.
Braziers filled with hot coals that glowed red and orange surrounded it.
Thick coverings and rolls of rich velvet lined the ancient nest of stones and sticks, creating a pillowy softness for his beloved and the three eggs.
Each of the precious dragon orbs gleamed as deeply purple as the finest amethyst gemstones.
Climbing the pedestal’s steps, he knelt beside the nest and held his breath as he reached out and touched Calia’s cheek.
Even though he didn’t wish to wake her, he had to touch her, had to feel the life still within her flesh.
Her pallor concerned him, along with the purplish-gray shadows under her eyes.
“My love,” he whispered. “Ye must live, mo chridhe. I canna bear it if ye leave me.”
“She has sipped our healing tears three times,” Noirgarth said from the shadows. “Neither Bresag nor I have ever encountered a toxin of such strength. It had to be of Carman’s making rather than Bansys’s.”
“The Weavers wait to heal her in Grandsire’s lair up in the cliffs.” Mathison ran his fingers through Calia’s silky hair, gently combing it back from her face. “I must get her there.”
“I dinna advise that ye move her, Shadowmist.” Bresag slowly circled the nest, tenderly caressing each of her eggs as she smiled down at Calia.
“The blindness still plagues her whenever she awakens, but it should pass as the poison weakens. If ye move her now, taking her through the tunnels and then onto yer horse to ride up the cliff, I fear it would be too much for her.” She tugged the velvet covers higher over Calia, tucking them around her shoulders.
“Her fever also returns frequently, making her tremble with what she describes as such a horrendous cold that it feels as though ice fills her veins.”
“And ye say the dragon tears are not working their magic?” That knowledge struck terror into his heart. The rare tears of dragons healed everything.
“They have kept her on this side of the crossing.” Noirgarth joined Bresag beside the nest and handed her a gemstone-encrusted goblet of gold.
“For when she awakens again. The longer we keep her with us, the more time her soul has to battle the evil that attacks her.” Noirgarth leaned across the nest and stared at Mathison.
The dark pupils centered within the golden irises of his eyes flexed larger, then he slowly shook his head.
“That wolfstone. Ye should not have it. Cerridwen created that long ago, to always be worn by the female shifter and the pale alpha. Did Mairwen not tell ye so?”
“Aye, but the witches had already taken Calia by the time the old Weaver returned it to us.”
“Returned it?” Bresag repeated, cocking her head and leaning closer to study the amulet.
“When Calia was torn from her world and plunged into the Ninth Realm, the wolfstone was accidentally left behind in her time.”
Noirgarth shook his head harder this time and snorted two rings of smoke out both nostrils.
“How the Weavers consistently complicate matters is most frustrating.” He hooked a claw under the long black cord holding the medallion around Mathison’s neck and tugged.
“Remove it at once and place it on your mate. She needs its power to focus her energies and heal. She should have already had it.”
Mathison didn’t mention his fears about placing it on her after giving her Danu’s healing herbs at the wrong time.
Instead, he hurried to clasp it around Calia’s neck, noting with no small sense of relief that her coloring immediately improved.
The next time Mairwen told him something that would protect Calia, he would honor it more seriously.
“The old one said it would help her strip away Carman’s immortality, something that only she would be able to do. ”
“We have not yet picked up Carman’s scent,” Bresag said.
“Giddrie said Carman has gone to the Under to mourn her sons.” Mathison leaned over and brushed the softest of kisses across Calia’s forehead.
For a moment, he lingered, judging the coolness of her skin.
Thank the goddesses, the fever had not yet returned.
“The wolfstone destroyed them when I spoke the mortality spell written by old Cain and his sorcerer, Larofess.”
“The wolfstone belongs to yer mate now,” Noirgarth said.
“Never let her remove it. Even after Carman is destroyed. The amulet will help the two of ye separate the seed from the chaff when it comes to the loyalty of those around ye, ye ken? Ye must never forget this nor cast it aside as idle advice.” He gently touched a claw to Calia’s forehead.
“She is not of this realm and canna sense all its dangers. She must trust the stone.” He pointed at him. “Ye are not the one to wear it, aye?”
Before Mathison could assure Noirgarth he would never forget the dragon’s warning, Calia shifted and stretched like the loveliest of flowers opening its petals to the sun.
“Calia,” he whispered, then took her hand and kissed it.
She turned her head his way, and her eyes fluttered open, but a severe cloudiness afflicted them, making them appear almost a solid white. “Mathison? Is it really you?”
“Aye, love. ’Tis really me.” He hugged her hand to his cheek, concerned about her eyes but refusing to reveal his worries to keep from causing her more pain. “Bansys is no more, and Legion and Noirgarth and Bresag’s sons are sorting out the clan.”
She frowned. “I wish I could see you. Bresag says I’ll heal and be able to see again. I’m so afraid she’s wrong.”
“I am never wrong, Mistress Shadowmist,” Bresag said as she handed the jewel-encrusted goblet of dragon tears to Mathison.
“Help her drink. All of it, if possible.” Then she nodded at the doorway after a pointed look at her husband.
“Noirgarth and I shall give ye the privacy I am certain ye crave.” The pair left, closing the door behind them.
Mathison slid his arm beneath Calia’s shoulders and helped her sit higher. It felt so good to hold her. “Drink, mo chridhe. For me.”
She managed a few sips, then pushed the cup away. “Sorry. That’s all I can do for now. I’ll try again in a little while.”