She flinched at the acidic spike to his tone. His bitterness oozed like a raw, open sore, tainting the air between them. “I am so sorry. Also, somewhat confused. How can you be—” She waved at him with an up and down motion. “Whatever you are and then your brother not be. Forgive me if I’m hurting your feelings. I don’t mean to, but Ineed to know more.” It seemed like the more she babbled, the more pain filled his eyes.
“Dear sweet Hannah.” He nodded at a pile of large boulders, motioning for her to sit. “Ye are the only soul I have met in over seven hundred years who has given a damn about my feelings.” He waved her toward the rocks again. “Please. Have a seat and I shall endeavor to explain my dysfunctional family, ye ken?”
She perched on the rock and hugged her knees, waiting for him to begin his tale. Poor man. He always paced whenever he fretted, as though it helped him work up the courage to speak. If he didn’t relax, he would soon have a trench pounded waist-deep in the damp loamy sand of the cave.
“Not only was my father the ruler of Cair Orlandis.” He paused, baring his teeth as he completed another lap of the cave. “He was a time-traveling, dark magic wielding, scheming bastard always on the lookout to manipulate the universe for his own selfish means.”
She bit her lip and remained silent. Tension made the air crackle.
As Taggart paced, he locked his hands behind his back, stared at the ground, and kicked a few stones from his path. Her heart filled with sympathy as he walked out his demons. She wished she could somehow make this easier, but his shape-shifting into a scaly, winged beast demanded a few explanations.
“Some would describe my father as a handsome man. And there have been several historical references of female Draecna who became enamored with humans. However, these feelings are not encouraged and the Draecna who find themselves so conflicted always strive to put such unrecommended associations aside.” Taggart paused again; a thunderous scowl darkening his face as he raked a hand through his black, windblown hair. “But my father was also a powerful sorcerer who lusted after the race’s abilities. So, he coerced a young female into giving him an entire clutch of eggs to fertilize with his DNA. The Draecna of this century refused. They feared insanity or other unsavory mutations would result in the mixing of Draecna DNA and my father’s. So, my father traveled backin time and found an unsuspecting female. He discovered my mother, Isla.”
Taggart’s words caught her off guard. As she shifted on her cold, hard perch, she couldn’t resist interrupting. “You said an entire clutch, but that your brother isn’t like you. Did he not come from your mother’s eggs too? Is he a half brother?” She massaged her temples, struggling to keep the details straight. He had sprung so many surprises on her lately. She wished she could write them all down.
With a heavy sigh, Taggart shook his head while turning another lap in his circle. “Sloan had a human mother. He is my half brother and is only thirty years old. Sloan is also from this century and has very little magic flowing through him. But dinna make the mistake of underestimating him; he is quite capable of basic elemental magic that can cause great harm.”
“Did you have any Draecna siblings?” She rose and rubbed the feeling back into her rear. Enough of that chilled, damp seat. A clutch meant more than one egg. Or had the other fertilizations failed? His demeanor suggested brothers or sisters other than Sloane.
He fixed her with a look that chilled her worse than the dampness of the cave. “They are dead. I am the only one left. My mother killed them.”
“What do you mean she killed them? Why?” Disgust and anger filled her.
The muscles in his cheek rippled as he clenched his teeth. His stormy eyes begged her to understand. “It was for the best. They were a danger to themselves and any world they entered. The strength of their powers required a great deal of responsibility, and none of them possessed a conscience. Mother tried to help them, but when they refused, she made the only choice she could. That is why Mother is now a goddess among the Draecna. They deem her unselfish sacrifice to the race and the worlds truly great.”
Hannah swallowed hard as the need to weep for the lost young ones and poor Isla burned her eyes. Draecna or not, the young mother had to kill her own babies to save the worlds from their cruelinsanity. “How many?” She almost choked on the question. “How many did she have to kill?” Her heart ached. She couldn’t imagine the pain Taggart’s mother had endured.
He stopped pacing. A barely discernable shrug rippled across his broad, muscular shoulders. “There were seven of us in the clutch. I am the only one left.”
“Where is your mother now?” She edged closer. The echo of the wind howled through the cavern, magnifying the loneliness of Taggart’s life.
With a hollow laugh, he stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ye never quite know where or when Mother is going to show up. She has a habit of popping up when ye least expect her.”
“So, surprising people runs in the family?” She headed toward the rear of the cavern, eying one of the darker tunnels. He didn’t want closeness right now. She felt it as surely as the chill in the air. He had shut down on her. If anyone understood the need for a bit of distance, she did. Perhaps a bit of distance would be better for them both. Besides, what would an emotional wreck like her know about helping an isolated soul like him?
“Not that way.” He caught her arm and steered her toward the tunnel to the left. “If ye wish to see the nursery, we need to follow this one.”
“Could you light some more torches? Something damp just slithered beside my foot and I’m really hoping it was just a clump of seaweed.” No vibes came from whatever it was on the ground, so hopefully, it wasn’t any type of creature.
He lifted a hand and several torches burst into flames.
The walls sweated, radiating the steady cool of the moist earth, but the farther they traveled down the torch-lit tunnel, the warmer the air grew. Her feet sank into the soft, white sand sparkling in the light of the flickering flames. The farther they walked, the finer the grain became, and her feet sank deeper.
“What is that?” She halted and cocked her head, straining to listen to the music floating down the passage. “Is that Mozart?”
He closed his eyes, angled an ear in the nursery's direction, thensmiled and shook his head. “No. Vivaldi. Ye missed it because the song neared the end, and they have it programmed to fade out when it’s time for the next selection.”
“Classical music for the nursery?” She turned to him as another aria began.
With a noncommittal shrug, he nodded toward the door up ahead. “It seems to lessen the frequency of frenetic lightning activity in the eggs. When there is less lightning activity, there is less distress among the hatchlings.”
“I see.” She really didn’t see at all, but she didn’t want him to think her an idiot. Maybe once inside this mysterious nursery, she would figure out exactly what he meant. She had read studies about classical music played for human babies in the womb. Why not a baby Draecna?
At the end of the passage, a heavy metal door blackened with centuries of age awaited them. He waved a hand across the archaic script and whorls carved on the disk in the center of the door and waited. In a few moments, the elaborate metalwork responded. The whorls came to life with a rich golden glow, then spun in a counter-clockwise circle. He shouldered it open, then stepped back and waited for her to pass through.
The first thing she noticed was the familiar aroma wafting through the cavern. It washed across her as soon as she stepped through the archway. The stale, dank air of the caves disappeared. This same scent lingered on the pillows and sheets in her room. It greeted her each morning when she opened her eyes and every evening when she retired. She sniffed the air to find the source. “What is that fragrance?”
“Dahliacieos.” At her stupefied stare, he directed her to several niches in the walls where clumps of deep purple orchid-type flowers tumbled from moss-covered clumps of earth in wire baskets.
