Ink Sworn
KINGS AND DRAGONS
Dragons have always lived in the Otherlands. When the dragons of Albion fled their homes through the standing stone dances and into Faerie, they found more of their kind living in the wilds and courts alike.
Some of the dragons that could take human forms sought sanctuary in the lands ruled by King Taranis.
Others that couldn't shift into humans headed for the mountains, where snow fell and wild dragons roamed and hunted. All were welcome because with dragons came power.
The great dragon stronghold of Mag Argatnél grew even stronger, and the magic of the dragons protected their home with a fierce love.
In the far north, a king saw the strength and magic that came with dragons.
King Midir had always hated the Tuatha Dé Dannan family and the power they held. He despised the peace they had tried to foster with the humans, who destroyed everything they touched.
To his mind, humans existed for one purpose only—to serve the Fair Folk.
When the curse cut the young princes and all of Faerie off from the human lands, Midir’s hatred deepened because his own secret pathways into Ireland were taken from him.
Now, the curse had finally been lifted, and the Tuatha Dé Dannan controlled the passageways in and out. The humans and time had destroyed Midir's openings, leaving him no choice but to grovel before King Taranis to gain access back to them.
It was beneath a king like him to ask the Tuatha Dé Dannan for anything.
So Midir sat in the crystal halls of his barrow stronghold, Brí Léith, and plotted. The answer finally came to him.
What he really needed was to find a dragon that was also a sorcerer, not born or raised in Mag Argatnél. He needed someone he could bend to his will.
In the smoke of his scrying fires, Midir saw that such a dragon had been born. Now, all he had to do was find him.
It was too bad for Midir that another was also fixated on the dragon sorcerer. And she would rather have her bones removed one at a time than let anyone know a damn thing about him.
1
Blood, ink, and magic stained the scarred arm of Valentine Greatdrakes. He sat at one of the work counters in the laboratory, his needles and inks set out like neat soldiers in front of him. There were sketches of sigils, and another circular dragon design that he had in his head, but he didn't know what for. Sketching designs usually helped him think, but the old tricks were no longer working.
After Apollo's recent kidnapping and mating to Lachlan Ironwood, Taranis had politely but forcefully demanded that the Greatdrakes spend some 'quality' time in England. Uncle Taran had his own worries, and having the Greatdrakes amongst the fae while their dragons were awakening would lessen one of them. He made sure at least one dragon was present in case any of them decided to spontaneously go scaly.
After Bas and Apollo transformed, they all knew it was a matter of time before Reeve, Cosimo, and Valentine followed. Or so they thought.
Valentine saw the whole thing as a kind of loving imprisonment—the kind only family could impose. He didn't mind it too much because Kian had a good library, an excellentteam of kitchen brownies, and lots of space. The biggest downside of the castle was having to share the lab, especially since all his brothers had different standards when it came to cleanliness.
That morning, Valentine had taken one look at the utter chaos Apollo and Reeve had left it in, and his eye had twitched. He hadn't bothered to use the magic that was still burning in his fingertips. Instead, he’d rolled up his sleeves, needing to use up the restless energy coursing through him.
Three hours later, the whole place was gleaming and arranged, every beaker and test tube polished and in its place.
Not so deep down, Valentine knew that his OCD tendencies flared when his anxiety did, and that his current obsessive cleaning had everything to do with the problem of Yelena Caelan Tuadach.
The sigil Valentine was working on his arm had been one that had locked down part of his magic. He had released it to help Apollo in France, and now, patches of skin cut through the design where the threads of power had risen out of him.
He was halfway through mending the sigil, and he already knew it wasn't going to work. He had let the magic out, and it wouldn't be tricked the same way into going back in.
A treacherous little voice inside him whispered, "Caelan would know what to do." It was like shoving a needle under his fingernails whenever he thought about it.
Yelena had pretended to be 'Caelan' just to make friends with him. He had found out, and it had hurt him in ways he didn't fully understand and didn't want to think about.
After Valentine had cooled down from the sudden stabbing feeling of betrayal, all that was left was a kind of horrible loneliness that had never been there before.
What does it say about you that she had to go to such a measure just to talk to you?
