“Constantine approaches Warsaw. I can’t let him cross the Vistula.” I bowed my head for a moment while he slid his sword into its scabbard. “If you will not stop this war, then I will,” I warned as he strode across the room to the door.
He paused and looked back at me, a question in his eyes.
“I will bring together the five shards of the dragon heart, and I will use them to end this battle between you and Constantine.” “The rumors about the dragon heart are grossly exaggerated,” he said simply, and left. Pavel gave me a thoughtful look before turning to follow him.
“Stay safe, my heart,” I whispered even as my own was shattering.
It took me two weeks to travel to Paris from Riga. The city was still in a shambles; the plague that had been triggered by the dragon war a century before continued killing mortals without prejudice. Rotting corpses of nobility and serfs alike festered in the streets, the stench almost unbearable. Outside of the city proper, the air was a bit cleaner, although carts laden with the dead rumbled by with a frequency that was unnerving.
From the safety of a clump of birch trees in Montfaucon, I watched the small group of people gathered, three men and a woman. One man I recognized. The other two — one blond, one dark-haired — were strangers, as was the woman, who was clinging to the dark-haired man in a manner that bespoke of intimacy. The dragons spoke together for a moment. I stepped out, wary lest the plea Kostya had made was some sort of a trap.
“We were not sure you would come,” he called to me as I made my way through the boggy ground to where they stood on a small hillock. The woman squawked when one of the men disengaged her from his person and tried to shoo her away.
I accepted the hand Kostya held out to help me over the remains of an uprooted tree. “You knew I was in Paris. Why wouldn’t I meet with you?” “Come back to the inn with me,” the woman cooed to the tall, dark-haired man. She was all but falling out of her bodice, and the look she gave him would be clear to a blind man.
“Go away, woman. I told you that I have business to attend to,” the man answered, trying once again to shoo her away.
“With her?” the woman asked, glaring at me.
“Yes, but not the sort you understand. Leave me now or you will make me angry.” “What will you do if I don’t?” she asked coyly, trailing her fingers up his arm. “Will you paddle my bottom?” “No.”
“Then what?” Her hand moved around to the front of his breeches.
He turned and breathed fire on her.
She ran screaming from the field, the hem of her skirts smoking.
“Mortals,” the dark-haired man said in a disgusted tone, and proceeded to turn his attention to me. Both he and the second man eyed me with frank curiosity. I returned the compliment.
“This is Allesander de Crovani,” Kostya said. “He is the younger brother of Mercadante Blu, the wyvern of the blue dragons.” Allesander made a bow, his light blue eyes watching me with amusement. He was slightly taller than me, had hair almost as pale as my own, and was slight of figure, but I sensed strength in him that I would not underestimate.
I murmured the polite responses and was introduced to the third man, the fire-breather. “This is my brother, Drake Fekete. He is heir to Fodor Vireo.” I looked at the man in surprise. “You are not a black dragon?” “No.” He had a different sort of accent, one that reminded me of Eastern Europe. He shared Kostya’s height and general coloring, but his eyes were a pure, brilliant green. “Our grandmother was a reeve. She mated twice.” “I see. And Kostya is Baltic’s heir… how unique it will be to someday have wyverns of two different septs in the same family. Does it cause competition between you and Kostya?” “Only with women,” Kostya said, shooting his brother an irritated look.
“There is no competition,” the latter said with blithe indifference.
“True words.” Allesander laughed, giving Kostya a little nudge. “The women all go for Drake and give your scowls a wide berth, eh?” I had no doubt of that. Drake seemed like the ultimate lady’s man, if the tavern wench was anything to go by. “Do your wyverns know you are here?” Both men nodded. “Merca wishes for an end to this battle between septs,” Allesander said stiffly. “If you can bring it about, you will have the gratitude of the blue dragons.” “And green,” Drake said quickly. “We, too, are tired of fighting our brother septs. We wish for peace in the weyr once again.” “I’m surprised the war continues if everyone is so desirous of its end. Certainly the mortals must be praying peace will return to the dragons,” I said softly.
“It would end but for your mate and Constantine,” Allesander said with an edge to his voice. “If they would settle their differences, we could band together and force Chuan Ren into an accord. But divided as we are…” He shrugged and looked away.
“Then we shall have to pray that the dragon heart can do what the dragons themselves cannot,” I said, glancing at Kostya. “Baltic does not know I am here, but he is suspicious of your absence. I fear that he may discover I have come to Paris.” His eyes held mine with a fervor that made me uncomfortable. “We will have to risk that. Do you have the Modana Phylactery?” “Yes.” I touched a spot on my cloak. Beneath it, the phylactery hung between my breasts. “I have it with me. Were you successful with Chuan Ren?” “I was.” He reached into his doublet and removed a small box. “This is the Song Phylactery.” “I shudder to ask what it cost you to borrow it.” He grimaced. “It’s better if you don’t know.” I turned my attention to the other two men. “I take it that you have your respective septs’ shards, as well?” Both men nodded.
I raised my eyebrows as I glanced at Kostya. “Then all we are missing is the shard belonging to the First Dragon. Do you know where the Choate Phylactery is?” “Yes. I have it, as well.”
“How did you get that?” I asked, amazed. From what Baltic had mentioned over the last two centuries, the Choate Phylactery’s whereabouts had been unknown since the weyr had formed.
He looked away. “That is another thing you don’t want to know.” On the contrary, I very much wanted to know, but now was not the time to pursue such an intriguing subject. “Then nothing is stopping us from doing it now,” I said, my palms suddenly damp at the thought.
“No.” Kostya turned to a small satchel on the ground. He pulled out a wool cloth and spread it out, gesturing toward it. I knelt on one corner and removed my cloak, shivering a little in the cool morning air as I pulled the gold-chased vial housing the dragon shard from beneath my chemise.
One by one, the other dragons knelt at the remaining three corners of the blanket, each removing from their safekeeping the phylacteries that bore the precious shards.
“Baltic never told me much about the shards,” I said nervously, rubbing my palms on my skirt before placing the shards in a line before me. “All he said is that there are five of them, and that together, they make up the dragon heart, the most powerful relic known to dragonkin. What exactly is the dragon heart? And why does it have so much power? It can’t really be the actual heart of the First Dragon, can it?” Kostya shrugged.
“I know less than you do about it,” Allesander said. “All I have been told is that it is too powerful to remain whole, and thus it was broken into shards and placed with each sept for safekeeping. Except the silver dragons, but that is only because your sept was not formed when the heart was first sharded.” “So I gathered. Drake, do you know anything about it?” Drake glared over my head to a point in the distance. I turned to look. Three women were clustered together at the edge of the bog. All three waved and giggled when they noticed he looked their way.