Finally, Gregor met his eyes, and instead of the frustration Fergal had expected to see there, or maybe even irritation, there was something else. Something focused and intense that had Fergal swallowing thickly.
“You know,” Gregor said, his voice low and growly, “you don’t often use that snotty, regal tone with me, but when you do, I find it strangely hot.”
Fergal’s mouth dropped open. That was literally the last thing he’d expected Gregor to say. “You do?”
It came out as an embarrassing squeal, and Gregor’s mouth pulled up at the corners. “Yes. Can we get back on topic now?”
Fergal was so flabbergasted he could only nod.
“As I was saying, Duff Bás is real. He’s a living, breathing dragon slayer descended from the original Duff Bás, whose name has terrified us for centuries. Originally from Ireland, he’s now traveling all over, though currently operating from a safe house in Scotland.” Gregor leaned forward. “But the bigger news is that he seems to be the last of the dragon slayers.”
“The last?” Fergal frowned, all thoughts of Gregor’s lover forgotten. “I thought it was a whole organization.”
“It was. But someone seems to have been systematically taking them out over the last few decades, and now Duff is the only one left.”
“That doesn’t sound like he could be much of a threat.”
“No, but here’s where it gets really interesting: up until very recently, Duff didn’t seem to realize he was the only one left. And even more interestingly, there was a large-scale attack on a group of dragons no one knew about, and that attack was claimed by the dragon slayers.”
If Fergal’s eyebrows rose any higher, they’d be at the top of his skull. “A group of unknown dragons?”
“Yes, close to the last known location of the Doyle clan. And in rumors that are likely related to this, it’s been reported that the Doyles will be attending the Dragon Council.”
“Get the fuck out of here. For real?”
Gregor clicked his tongue. “Your familiarity with modern vernacular isn’t always pleasing.”
Fergal was tempted to flip him the bird, but he refrained. “The Doyles have been in hiding since the 1820s. No one has heard so much as a peep from them, and now you’re telling me they’re planning on showing up at the Dragon Council?”
“Yes, but that’s not all. According to my source, there’s a reason the Doyles went into hiding.”
Fergal was tempted to make an impatient hand signal for Gregor to get on with it, but held back, knowing it wouldn’t lead to anything good. “And what was that?”
“Erwan Doyle, the crown prince of the Doyles, is a white dragon.”
Fergal couldn’t help it. The gasp flew from his lips before he’d even consciously registered it. “He’s…? He’s a white dragon?”
“Apparently, yes, and his father and uncle have been trying to reverse that since they found out.”
Fergal did the math and felt the blood drain from his face. “Erwan Doyle was born in 1806, and as a white dragon, he would’ve shown his colors at sixteen, which would’ve been in 1822…which is when the Doyles attended their last Dragon Council, then went into hiding.”
“King Cladhaire told the others at the Council, according to my source, demanding they keep it confidential. Apparently, he and Baoth were confident they could reverse it somehow.”
Fergal let that sink in. “Hold on, they thought they could reverse Prince Erwan being a white dragon? How on earth would that even be possible?”
He knew the answer even before Gregor said it aloud, and so they spoke the words at the same time. “Black magic.”
Unease trickled down Fergal’s spine, so visceral it made him shiver. “I assume we don’t have proof.”
“No, but there have been rumors about Cladhaire and Baoth for a long time, even back when I was still with the Murphys. They’re not honorable men. Regardless of whether any of this is true, they cannot be trusted. Ever.”
That much, Fergal had already decided for himself. Then again, he’d stopped trusting anyone other than Gregor a long time ago, even before his father and uncle had been murdered. “What have you heard?”
Gregor hesitated, then lowered his voice even more. “My friend said that when Erwan was born, Queen Grian’s maid had a vision. She said, ‘One day, he’ll stand up against his father and make right what was wrong. When the True Alpha rises, so will your son, and he will bring justice and honor and peace, but it will come at a price.’ The queen placed a spell on her maid’s lips, but in her haste to prevent the king from finding out, she made a mistake and only made it valid until he was sixteen. So when he turned sixteen, his father found out.”
Oh god. Fergal had no trouble connecting the dots. Cladhaire had found out his son was not only a white dragon but a prophesied direct threat to him. “Why didn’t King Cladhaire kill Erwan?”
“Oh, he tried, but the queen’s magic is much more powerful than he ever realized, and she protected her son. Other than killing him openly and directly, which would’ve created an immediate legitimacy problem for his rule, all Cladhaire could make were indirect attempts, and they never worked. But he was convinced he could reverse everything with black magic.”
