“Such wasted loyalty.” Sloan pulled a lacy handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed his nostrils. The people had always loved his brother. Sloan never understood it. The man was half beast. Were they complete fools? He could turn on them at any moment. “Has anyone sighted the goddess lately? My instincts tell me that with the Guardian traipsing about, Isla and her royal guard will not be too far away.”
Corter shrugged a hairy shoulder, then swiped a grubby hand across his face as he limped closer to the table. “I be telling you, Sloan. Ain’t nobody talking. And now that slinking Mia is dead. We ain’t got no good spies left.”
Sloan tapped the table with his longest black fingernail, while scowling at him. The repugnant fool best be glad he had changed his mind and let him live. “Order the Waerins to gather information.Have them use their shape-shifting abilities to source out Taggart and the Guardian, but they are not to leave a trail of bodies in their wake. There will be no more killing unless I approve it. Is that understood?”
“Why not?” Corter asked. “It just saves time later.”
With a roll of his eyes, Sloan pressed the handkerchief to his lips. Corter reeked worse than usual, accentuating the fact that he was such a bloodthirsty minion. “If we allow things to calm down a bit, perhaps Taggart and Hannah will relax and show themselves.”
The oaf’s eyes went wide with understanding. “Ahh. I gotcha now. I shall talk to Metador and have him take it from there.”
Sloan inhaled the perfume scenting the lacy bit of silk he held to his nose. If only they still had Mia. Pity the little chit had chosen poorly and splattered herself all over his private chambers. He scowled at the table map while pulling the cool cloth through his fingers, relishing the memory. A snorting laugh escaped him. Her lifeless eyes were the same as when she lived.
No matter. He would easily find a replacement once this sordid business with Taggart and the bothersome Guardian was resolved. Crumpling the handkerchief into a ball, he focused on the collapsed pedestal that had once held his precious egg. A female Draecna. If only he had known. He could have better prepared. Teeth clenched, he remembered his father. By all the fires of Hades, he could’ve sired his own generation of Draecna hybrids.
The chaos of rebuilding echoed all around him. Constant hammering and shouting battered his sensibilities throughout each day and late into the night. A curse upon his brother and his army of Draecna! He leaned on the table, glaring at the map, willing it to give up the hiding place of his brother.
“I will find you,” he hissed at the colored topographical vista. “And when I do, I will dine on your heart whilst ye watch.”
“Is she speaking to ye yet?”Thaetus settled into a chair beside Taggart, wincing as he lowered himself to the seat.
His loyal friend’s pained movements made Taggart cringe in sympathy. But at least Thaetus lived. After a slow shake of his head, he sampled his steaming mead, then slid the tankard back to the stone table. “Not yet. But I am certain she will come around. My dear one is a sensible lass.” He tilted his head, popping the bones in his neck. “Just takes her a bit of time. She has taught me patience.”
“And your mother?” Thaetus wheezed out a rattling cough then tried easing it with a gulp of morning grog.
“Mother neverstopsspeaking.” Taggart closed his eyes while pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing the gritty inner corners of his eyes. Gads, her voice still pounded in his head. He wondered if she had spelled him with a nagging hex to keep her words constantly drumming through his brain.
“I heard that,” Isla said as golden particles rained down from the jewel encrusted rafters.
“Eavesdropping is rude, Mother.” Taggart locked a murderous glare on the sparkling ceiling of the kitchen.
The golden particles swirled, then clustered into the shining form of the goddess. “I was already here before the two of you came in for your morning grog.”
“Aye, and the fact that ye were invisible is nay a factor?” He wished his cup held something stronger than the fermented grog preferred by the Draecna. Scotland’s best whisky came to mind. With a certainty, he would need it.
Isla glided around the table and poured herself a cup. “I am merely keeping out of the way until I am called upon to complete the mating vows.”
After draining his cup, Taggart fixed his mother with a baleful glare. “Well, since one participant in the ceremony refuses to speak to the other, there is a slight problem with theI dos.”
“Then I suggest you attend to it.”
He bit back a surly retort. Nay. Mother deserved respect no matter how nettling she behaved. He rose from the table and meandered around the room, suddenly finding himself wishing for a window. Blue skies and fresh air always helped him think. “And what exactlydo ye suggest I do to make it so? I have never found ye short on advice before.”
“Mind your tone, youngling.” She settled into her seat at the head of the table. The stern wrinkling around her great golden eyes softened as her gaze shifted to Thaetus. “You seem stronger every day. Do not forget the herbs I prescribed. You must use them daily.”
Thaetus slid farther down in his seat while bobbing his head. “No, m’lady. I shan’t forget. Thank ye ever so much.”
Isla sipped her steaming drink. Her long, graceful snout fit perfectly into the oversized tankard and she curled a dainty claw up from the handle. After she set her mug aside, she turned back to her son. Her stern wrinkles returned and her nostrils flared. “Surely, you havesomeof your father’s seductive genes. Woo her, boy! Convince her she cannot live without you. I did not rear a coward or a quitter. Do you mean to give up on her so easily? You would be daft or silly to do so.”
Thaetus choked on his drink and showered the table with the amber-colored liquid.
Taggart thumped the poor Scot while glaring at his mother. “Have pity on the poor man, will ye? He still suffers from the aftereffects of Mia’s poison.”
Isla rose and pulled a long braided cord hanging down beside the hearth. “Rub his back, Taggart. Do not beat the man, and Iam not the one who caused him to choke.”
A half-grown Draecna scurried into the room in answer to the silent summons. Head bowed, his narrow chest heaving, he darted a hesitant gaze all around.
“Dasim, please help Thaetus back to his room and let Gilda know it is time to prepare the meals,” Isla said.
