Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
The curious wisely kept their distance.
Viale della Zitella
Vatican City
As I refused to leave the little Sumerian girl unattended, not even to visit Vatican City with the Holy Grail, I transformed the journey into a circus.
For once in my life, my father accepted his role as a mule with grace and dignity, carrying the girl’s casket on his back.
I questioned where he’d acquired the specialty saddle, how it fit him so well, and what custom I remained unaware of for him to be prepared without fanfare.
There would be time to ask later.
As my mother refused to be left out of the festivities, she also traveled as a dragon, issuing warning growls when anyone came too close to my father and his precious cargo.
The curious wisely kept their distance.
I transported the Holy Grail in a plain wooden box lined with velvet, its papers stored in a drawer beneath its resting place. As I had more important things to worry about, I didn’t question where Pascal had acquired the box, although I’d offered to pay him back for it.
He’d declined, as he wished to hold it over my head for years to come.
Sneaky dragon.
Our escort, an archbishop of some sort who served somewhere in India but had come to Vatican City for the sale, guided us through their expansive museum, taking us along a quiet street running through the heart of the galleries.
As acquiring the Holy Grail had been more like smoke on the wind rather than a reality for the church, they did not yet have a place to display their treasure.
They would in future months, and the archbishop promised we would be invited to behold the glorious unveiling of the cup.
He had heard the cup’s joyful song before we had stepped foot into Vatican City.
I could only assume the chalice held power for those of the faith, of which I was not.
“It’s not a problem that we sampled the wine to make certain it’s the real thing, is it?” I asked for the third time.
The archbishop chuckled, and he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
“As I told you the time before and the time before that, my child, the cup has accepted your heart and intent. Only those who have a heart full of sin become ill upon drinking from its most holy of vintages. You have done no wrong wishing to uphold your honor and your integrity.”
My father growled at the archbishop’s usage of ‘my child,’ and I kicked his foreleg so he’d settle down. “Please forgive my father. He is a jealous dragon.”
The archbishop smiled, and I found strange comfort in the gentleness of his expression. “I have waited many a long season for that old snake to be brought low by his Scaretti dragoness.”
My mother purred her pleasure. “Try not to fret, Kinsley. Archbishop Kellan is a gold dragon of excellent reputation, and I might even, on a good day, call him a friend.”
One by one, the pieces of the puzzle that was my parents fell into place, including the ease of getting the permits, finding a plane willing to transport a body prone to producing water, and a holy relic capable of causing wars.
“You’ve been terrorizing Europe, too?” I complained, and because my father tolerated being kicked better than my mother, I took my temper out on his curved claw.
He sighed and regarded me with a dark and baleful eye.
“It’s your fault for terrorizing Europe. If you hadn’t wanted to be known as a blight among dragonkind, you wouldn’t have terrorized Europe. Couldn’t you have limited your terrorization to North America?”
“No,” my father replied in a rumble.
Typical dragon. I sighed. “I apologize for them, Archbishop Kellan. They are not nearly this poorly behaved at home, I promise you.”
Once again, the archbishop waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Please don’t fret over them. It’s an honor for them to pay us a visit. They show us a great deal of favor bringing you to us. What can you tell me about the Holy Grail?”
There it was, the moment of truth. I lifted the box I held to draw the archbishop’s attention to it.
“I only know what’s in the papers,” I confessed.
“After the unfortunate events involving the tragic death of the Merorie clan, it was determined I would inherit everything that wasn’t liquidated as part of the victim fund.
I’m opting to use most of the resources for charity, although Erik is a yellow dragon, and I’ve been warned yellow dragons try to beat records on the highest number of children in a single household.
Once we decide to add to our household, we’ll need that manor, I’m sure. ”
The carbunclo and my hummingbird slept in a basket attached to my father’s saddle, which I gestured to. “Currently, it’s us, our two carbunclo, and my familiar. The green carbunclo is my father’s baby.”
My mother sighed. “I sometimes receive affection from our furry child, but it’s true.
Peridot is definitely your father’s baby boy.
Your father has promised to try to find me a little girl who loves me best, but the same rules apply.
Peridot must love her unconditionally, she must love Peridot, and I’m likely doomed to be the third wheel in my own house forevermore. ”
Archbishop Kellan laughed. “While she is not a carbunclo, we have a litter of Yule cat kittens without partners. There is a little female who may fit better with you than with us. She has made our holiday season rather interesting, as she is confused regarding her nature and seems to believe that she must be the one providing new clothes while stealing food.”
I handed the box and its precious contents to Erik before grabbing my phone and searching for Yule cats, learning they were a piece of Icelandic folklore with close ties to Catholic and Christian religions.
The animal, which boasted shaded gray and black fur, reminded me of smoke. “Are Yule cats intelligent?”
“They are on par with the carbunclo, and this little girl is quite social. Allow me a moment to have her and the rest of her litter brought out so you might meet them.” Like me, the archbishop pulled out a phone, tapped at the screen, and sent a text.
“Learning that you will be spending the money earned from returning our relic to us plays a role, I do admit. Sixty million is a small price to pay for something so critical to our beliefs. For you to be taking that wealth and using it for good would unbalance things. And while I am biased, Yule cats are as priceless as carbunclo. Ideally, you’ll take two or three of the females off our hands, and we will help partner them with an excellent gentleman in a few years.
Fortunately, Yule cats do not have the breeding problems of carbunclo, although they also do not live as long.
On average, a Yule cat will live to be fifty to seventy years old, whereas there are carbunclo who are skirting being over a thousand years old, partnered with their equally long-lived dragon companions. ”
After my time with Garnet, while still short in the grand scheme of things, I’d learned a valuable lesson: all cats were priceless, as was my hummingbird. “I very much appreciate that, Archbishop Kellan.”
He led us into an art gallery, richly appointed with paintings, statues, stained glass, and tapestries depicting various scenes of the Catholic faith. My parents, after unloading my father’s saddle and taking care with the sleeping kittens, shapeshifted.
A cubby inside the gallery served as a place for the Sumerian girl to rest, and my father took the time to exchange vessels for catching the water from her wrist.
I wondered what it meant that the volume had increased since the last time we’d changed the jar.
Tourmaline clicked and took his rightful place on my shoulder while my mother wrangled the kittens, carrying them in a wicker basket lined with velvet.
Archbishop Kellan took the time to show us the most precious pieces of art on display, including a rendition of the scene of Adam and Eve living within the Garden of Eden.
The painting showed signs of its age, with yellowing on what should have been white paint.
“How old is this one?” I asked, tilting my head while taking in the careful details and realistic style.
“This was painted in 1828, and it is scheduled for restoration later this year. We do restorations on our paintings every ten to fifteen years depending on how time has treated the canvas and paints. This one requires restoration every twelve years, as it’s getting on in age.
We also do magical preservation on it, allowing it to be viewed in natural light.
The protections also prevent anyone from attempting to ‘improve’ the piece. ”
My eyes widened at the thought of someone even thinking about touching such a precious painting. “People try to modify the paintings?”
“With unfortunate regularity, I’m afraid.
There have been many a painting that has fallen to those with good intentions but lacking in sense.
” The archbishop pulled out his phone, tapped at the screen, and showed me the before and after of one such painting, which had transformed a Renaissance piece into something a child might paint after having indulged in a bowl of sugar washed down with soda.
I stared, my eyes wide. “Oh, that’s…”
My parents peered at the picture, and my mother sighed while my father bowed his head and groaned.
Erik peeked last, and he joined my father in bowing his head.
“If that were one of my paintings, I would be found in a corner sobbing, and nobody would ever be able to console me,” I stated, shaking my head over the destruction. “What happened to the painting?”