She kept to the narrow stone walkway bordering the room, then tiptoed closer to one of the baskets and studied the strange-looking flowers. “How do they grow down here with no light? They’re beautiful. I’ve seen nothing like them before.”
“They are the moon orchid. This species abhors sunlight,” he said. “They are native to Erastaed.”
A gentle thump drew her attention to the center of the room. There were twenty-one indentations smoothed into a raised stone pedestal a little over twenty feet in diameter. Each indentation was padded, velvet-lined, and twenty of them held softly glowing Draecna eggs, the size of large melons.
“Oh, no.” She cast a sad look at the empty spot next to a freshly cemented-off tunnel on the other side of the room, hoping that embryo hadn’t died.
Taggart’s expression hardened into a stony mask as he fixed a thunderous glare on the sealed tunnel. “Sloan.” He spit his brother’s name as though it tasted foul. “The bastard stole the egg. He is as greedy as our father. He seeks the power of the Draecna race.”
She circled the room, mesmerized by the blush-colored eggs and the kinetic flashes of light erupting from within their thick, stony shells. Twenty frantic heartbeats flashed inside, filling the air with the energy from the little beasts. As she eased closer, she covered her ears. Their tiny voices filled her mind. How could she hear them? She thought she couldn’t connect her mind to the Draecna after the failed attempt with Gearlach. Yet the whispers floated together into a muddled chaos. A cacophony of singsongs chattered like magpies. “Not all at once. Take turns so I can understand you.”
“Ecnelis!” Taggart clapped his hands. The lightning activity within the eggs slowed to just one or two. He turned to her. “Any better?”
She opened her eyes and concentrated. Mercy sakes, all those tiny voices had been like a stereo blasting too loud. She braced herself for what she might hear and opened her mind again. Much better. Two very delicate voices nudged the back of her mind. They sounded so worried. She shifted her attention to Taggart. “We have to get the other egg back before it hatches. They said their hatching moon isn’t very far away. What are they talking about?”
He turned and blew out a heavy sigh as he circled the platform. “Tell them not to worry. Sloan’s hatchling is as good as dead. His egg will never hatch.”
Her heart wrenched at the thought of an innocent creature abandoned and left for dead. She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead. The warmth of the nursery had sweat trickling into her eyes. “That’s terrible. Why would you say that? Do you think he damaged it when he stole it from the nursery?”
He beckoned for her to follow around the pedestal to yet another tunnel leading out of the secluded room. “Sloan is missing one very important element for bringing a young Draecna into the world.”
“What?” She took a last glance back at the sparkling eggs as she followed him into the tunnel.
Pulling her close as he reached behind her to bolt the door, he fixed her with a meaningful look. “He doesn’t have you.”
14
The lights flashed with less of an erratic frenzy as long as he played the music. His precious little beast responded best to the sweetness of violins. The constant streaming of string music seemed to lessen the creature’s growing hysteria.
Sloan leaned forward and rested his fingertips on the warm, pebbled surface of the egg. He wished for the hundredth time that he had been born with the powers of a Guardian. Untold power and access to endless riches lay coiled right beneath his fingertips, and yet he could not get at it. Blast the rules of Draecna magic and their ridiculous, tenuous existence. He ground his teeth together as the hatchling shifted positions within the egg, its scales making a muffled shushing as they brushed against the shell. “If you were not so damned particular, I could call you forth rather than wait for some weak human from the other side.”
A grunt at the doorway interrupted his brooding conversation and triggered an immediate flash of fury. Who dared interrupt him in his private chambers? Mia was not due back from Taroc Na Mor, and all the other servants knew better than to bother him unless summoned.
“This better be good!” he bellowed. With his hands curled oneither side of the egg, he scowled at the doorway, waiting to see who was stupid enough to put their own neck in a noose.
As the figure hitched out of the shadowy hallway, he relaxed back into the depths of his sumptuous wingback chair. “Ah, it is you, my friend. I had not expected to see you this evening. I thought you returned to the caverns.” Sloan impatiently drummed his nails on the desk. In fact, he had not expected to see the dark one unless he summoned him for another assignment.
The lone soul remained silent, pointed at the egg resting in the center of Sloan’s oval desk, then pointed back at Sloan.
“Yes, I appreciate your getting me the egg and I paid you well for your troubles. You do recall, yes?” He pushed back from the desk. He studied his guest and controlled his voice. By the infernal fires, he wasn’t in the mood to be patient this evening.
His visitor reached over, tapped once on the egg, then tilted his head and looked up at Sloan with an expectant frown.
Sloan’s irritation flared. His well-paid thief had served his purpose. It was time for him to disappear into the mountains of Erastaed until summoned again. If not for the fact he might need him in the future, he would dispose of the oaf in a more permanent manner. He was a secret weapon that could still prove useful especially the way things were going on the other side. Resting his hands on the wide arms of his chair, he dug his nails into the rich leather as he attempted to rein in his anger. “The egg will not hatch without the touch of the Guardian. Our little Mia is there for a visit now. Then our little hatchling can be born and a new dawn of the Draecna race can begin. You must be patient, my friend.”
A growling laugh rumbled up from the belly of the guest and echoed off the mirrored walls until the crystals in the chandelier tinkled overhead. Then he turned, shuffled out of the room, and closed the door behind him.
“I believe that one is more insane than I am,” Sloan informed the egg.
“Ye hadher that close and ye nay did a thing about it? I am so disappointed in ye. Ye ken ye were once my hero, aye? Now who shall I look up to when it comes to bedding the lasses?” Gearlach released a long-suffering moan into his tankard, then drained it. Banging the vessel on the table, he threw back his head and sent a woeful howl up to the blackened beams of the high-ceilinged kitchen.
Septamus reached across the table, picked up the keg, and slid it out of Gearlach’s reach. “No more for you. Five hundred years old, and you still weep in your cups after only six kegs of ale. What in Hades is wrong with you? You shame us, Gearlach. A Draecna who cannot properly hold his grog until the sun rises above the horizon!”
Taggart slumped forward with his chin propped in one hand and his tankard clenched in the other. They were right. He had her so close. And then his self-destructive sense of gallantry had kicked in. Now here he sat in a steamy kitchen with two half-sotted Draecna and an aching cock sorely in need of relief.
“I had to show her the truth,” he said. “I couldna join with her before she knew me for what I truly am.” He drained his cup and threw it across the table. Merlin’s bones, he was so tired of diving into the frigid sea. He might as well be a feckin’ sea monster. He spent so much time swimming to cool his lusts.
Septamus nodded while drumming his claws on the table in time with his words. “You did what was right. There would have been Hades to pay if you had taken the lass andthenrevealed yourself. But tell me something. . . .” His eye slits flexed as he frowned at Taggart over the top of his cup. “Once she didn’t run screaming, why in Merlin’s name did you not take her once you reached the caves?”
