1
Grimbold
“Father, I'm afraid there's a situation.”
Grimbold gazed at Geoffrey, his middle son, and inclined his head. “I'm at your disposal, child.”
He'd found, somewhat to his surprise, that he missed his son coming to seek his advice on matters. In days past, Geoffrey had infrequently sought his counsel regarding political issues, and far less often with personal ones as well, but with distance now dividing them, Geoffrey had either grown more self-sufficient, or he’d begun to turn to his mates when he knew not what to do. It wasn’t much of a surprise. There was very little of the law Geoffrey couldn't recite both backward and forward, and he seemed disinclined to ask for advice on parenting his brood of children. Not, Grimbold felt with a sliver of pride, that Geoffrey seemed to need it.
Today, Geoffrey looked harried, but nevertheless a good deal more grounded than he had before bonding with his omega, Matthieu, and Ian, who had been the Topaz legal counsel and now was their clan leader. In the time since Geoffrey had mated with both of them, he had put on some much-needed weight, making him seem far less frail than he had for centuries. It was ridiculous to think of a dragon in the prime of his life as frail, and Grimbold was relieved to see that while Geoffrey appeared worried at the moment, he did not, in fact, seem to be in any way ill.
“But before we get to that,” Grimbold interjected smoothly, “how are my grandwhelps?”
Geoffrey relaxed at the thought of his offspring, as Grimbold had calculated he would. “Oh, excellent, sir. They’ve all gained full mastery of the transformation, even the twins. I'm quite proud of them.”
Grimbold smiled. “Of course. Now, sit, boy, and tell me about your problem.”
Geoffrey sat obediently and went back to frowning. “As you know, Ian has shut down all the Topaz cloisters. He and Matthieu spent a good deal of time finding places for the displaced Pedigree omegas. Some of the placements, naturally, have been… er… trickier than others. One, in particular, has been giving us a great deal of… well, trouble isn't quite the right word. Concern, perhaps.”
“I see.” Although he didn't. Not entirely. The last Grimbold had heard, all the Topaz omegas had been satisfactorily placed. “Please elaborate.”
Geoffrey shifted in his chair. “Well, yes. One of the omegas hid in a closed cloister. We only learned of his presence a few days ago. He's half-starved, and half-mad as well. He was brought to Ian's attention when he was caught stealing from a nearby ranch and brought into police custody, where of course he quite baffled the authorities with his lack of… well… proof of existence, for lack of a better phrase.”
Grimbold's lips curled in a slight smile. “Beyond his actual existence, of course.”
“Naturally. Ian was alerted by a retired Attendant who boards a few horses at the ranch in question. Ian and Matthieu went to collect the boy. By all accounts, he was quite docile with the police, but when he saw Ian, he went wild with terror and attempted to flee. We placed him in an omega rehabilitation center while trying to find his family. His sire, we are guessing, is one of Ian's clutchmates. He's still trying to discover which one. We can't find any information on his omega parent. Ian would take the boy in, but when we tried, it was one panic attack after another. The whelps found it upsetting. They couldn't understand why anyone would be afraid of their sire.”
“How did the omega fare in the rehabilitation center?” Grimbold asked, already suspecting the answer.
Geoffrey shook his head gravely. “Not well. He eats little, sleeps fitfully, and what sleep he has seems plagued by nightmares. I'm wondering… hoping… that you might have a suggestion for me.”
“I assume the omega has been seen by doctors at this rehabilitation center.”
“Yes. Well, as to that… he won't talk to them. Most of the former Pedigree won't, because there's too much they can't say. We've gotten Ingrid Jormun to help some of them, thankfully.”
“And did she try with this boy? Who, presumably, has a name.”
Geoffrey colored slightly. “A bit, but California is far, and there’s only so much she says can be done over the phone. And yes, he has a name. Swallow Brand.”
Grimbold recoiled. “Surely not.”
“I'm afraid so. But he prefers—”
“Wally,” said a tremulous voice that was trying, unsuccessfully, not to quaver. “My name is Wally.”
Grimbold looked beyond Geoffrey to a slight presence by the door to his study. The omega stood with only the left half of his body showing, the rest of him hidden behind the doorjamb. Swallow, or Wally—Grimbold was unsure which name was worse—was very much like all the Brands, but on a smaller and diluted scale. He was rather short, with light sandy hair and skin that looked like it had never seen the Californian sun.
“Come here, boy.”
Swallow hesitated, clearly caught between the desire to obey authority and utter fear of the dragons in the room.
“Come. Here.” Grimbold didn't raise his voice or speak unkindly—doing so would only make things worse—but he did keep his tone firm.
The boy sidled into the room, obeying, but not particularly happy about it. He gave Geoffrey a somewhat wide berth, then came to a stop just out of arm's reach before Grimbold's desk. This close, Grimbold could see the boy's eyes were pale blue, as washed out as the rest of him, but with a shining copper ring around the iris.
“So, Swallow, do you have any idea what should be done with you?”
“Wally,” he croaked. “Boy, if you like, or omega, but please, not Swallow.”
