The Dragon of Cecil Court (The Treasure of Paragon Book 5) Page 13

  “Holy fuck! Where did you put it all?”

  “Dragons are masters of illusion. I can look any way I desire. Although, I must say going any smaller than this would be astoundingly tight.” He rolled his shoulders as if his current shape and size wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.

  “So what’s the plan? We ask the questions and then you get into the water with her and pull the old switcheroo back into the dragon?”

  Emory opened her door, and she got out in the middle of nowhere at the edge of a misty body of water. Nathaniel crawled across the seat after her. It was so strange for him to only come up to her shoulder. He looked exactly like a skinny grade-schooler.

  “That’s not how this works,” he said. “Grindylow will want her payment first before she gives you any information.”

  “But… how will that work?” Suddenly her stomach felt sick. Muscles in her chest tightened.

  “You will feed me to the demon. You will ask your questions. When you are done, you’ll call my name and I will shift and rise from the water.” His voice was painfully low.

  A lump formed in her throat. “No, you can’t do that. It… that thing could chew you up and hold you underwater.”

  “I can’t die from drowning.”

  “But you won’t be able to breathe. You’ll feel it. You’ll suffer. What if it rips you apart? I’ve read this thing wants blood.”

  He said nothing. So then there was a chance. There was risk. Even an immortal dragon wasn’t invincible. “You can’t do this.”

  “It’s already done.” He started walking toward the water.

  “Nathaniel, please!” She didn’t even know what to say, only that every cell in her body knew that this was the wrong thing to do. It wasn’t worth it. “It’s not…” Her voice gave out as he reached the water’s edge, his little-boy body a slight, pale thing before the dark water.

  “Call to her, Clarissa,” he said over his shoulder. “And please, ask your questions quickly.”

  All the muscles in her body locked with fear as a dark mat of hair crowned at the center of the water, and then two bulging dark eyes, and pale, waterlogged cheeks.

  “Clarissa,” he said between his teeth. “Don’t let her have me for free.”

  “Grindylow!” she called. “I have brought you the sacrifice of this child in exchange for questions answered.”

  Long limbs rose from the water, each with an extra joint that ensured there would be no confusing her with human. Her ribs protruded under grayish-white skin like a set of sickening gills. Her nostrils flared.

  “How old is the boy?”

  Clarissa glanced at Nathaniel. He looked twelve at the least, but Grindylow loved children—the younger, the better. “Eleven.”

  “Three questions,” she said, licking her lips.

  “Five,” Clarissa shot back.

  Nathaniel was silent. He stood at the water’s edge, looking terrified. His knees shook. She hated this.

  “Three, girl. This is the way it has been and always will be.” Her voice warbled as if she were talking underwater, but she was exposed from the waist up now, aquatic plants draped across her grotesque and twisted body.

  Clarissa stared at Nathaniel and hated this, but some part of her knew there was no going back. If she tried to back out now, Grindylow would attack. Nathaniel had chosen this. He hadn’t told her until the last second for precisely this reason. He knew she wouldn’t be comfortable with his choice, and he wanted to do this for her.

  Her heart broke as she said, “Okay. Three.”

  Those multijointed gray limbs shot out and tore through Nate. Clarissa didn’t even see what happened. There was a spray of blood, a splash of water, and then he was gone. Desperately, she wanted to cry, but anything she said from here on out could be considered one of her three questions, and the longer she took to ask them, the longer Nate was under that water.

  But Nathaniel had put her in a terrible position. She hadn’t had time to think of how to phrase her questions, and she doubted Grindylow would be forthcoming if she needed clarity. There was, however, one obvious place to start.

  “Who caused the loss of my magic?”

  The beast spread the thin flaps of skin that served as lips and exposed rows of black teeth. “The dragon queen and her fairy liege caused what vexes you.”

  Dragon queen. Clarissa knew of no dragon queen. The Order of the Dragon had one high priest, and it was Nathaniel. He’d told her once that his mother had been queen of Paragon, but she’d died in the bloody coup that brought him here.

  “How do I get my power back?” she yelled. It was a broader question than how to break the curse. If her problem didn’t stem from a curse, she’d learn nothing with that question. But this one should gain her the answer she wanted.

  “Rebind thee to thy sisters.” The empty pits that served as Grindylow’s eyes narrowed on her.

  “Liar!” she yelled. “Return the child. I have no sisters!”

  The pale limbs thrashed, and Clarissa was doused with murky water. “Insolent witch. Grindylow does not lie. Grindylow cannot lie. Ask thee thy third and then run from my sight or I will punish thee for thine insult!”

  Well… that wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. She pushed the answer out of her head and focused on her last and final question. But what should she ask? None of this made any sense.

  “How do I find these sisters?” she spat out.

  Grindylow shifted. “One is near. She will come to you. The other must be retrieved from her obsidian tomb before the queen finishes what she started.”

  “Obsidian tomb? Where is that? Is she dead?”

  Grindylow retreated into the lake, her dark head sinking toward the surface. “Three were asked. Three were given. Now we eat.”

  “Nathaniel!” she screamed.

  Emory was by her side in an instant, crossbow raised. But Grindylow was gone. She disappeared below the dark surface. Emory grumbled and aimed the crossbow at the ripples that signaled her departure. He couldn’t fire, not without risk of hitting Nathaniel. The water turned as smooth as glass.

  Clarissa rushed toward the lake, her toes slapping the edge and spraying mud up her legs. Emory grabbed her around the waist so she could go no farther.

  “Nathaniel! Nathaniel!” She screamed with all the air in her useless, magicless lungs.

  A bubble rose and popped. She held her breath. With a thrash and spray, a dark wing broke the surface, and then Nathaniel in his human form, wings spread, rose partway out of the water, his fist driving into Grindylow’s gaping maw over and over.

  “Why isn’t he transforming?”

  “Wing’s broke,” Emory said and fired the crossbow.

  The arrow pierced Grindylow’s shoulder, and she dropped Nathaniel before sinking into the bubbling, dark deep. Nathaniel took a few swimming strokes toward her. Fuck, he was pale, and one wing definitely wasn’t working.

  Clarissa pushed out of Emory’s grip and waded waist deep into the water, reaching out and grasping Nathaniel’s fingers. She hauled him to shore.

  “Help me,” she cried.

  Emory waded in ankle deep and grabbed Nathaniel’s other arm. “Hurry, miss. That arrow won’t kill ol’ Grindy, just give her a sore shoulder and a sore disposition to match.”

  Leveraging every ounce of her weight, she squatted down and with Emory’s help heaved Nathaniel out of the water. She landed on her back with him lying in the grass beside her. He was barely conscious.

  “Nathaniel, can you walk to the car?”

  His eyes fluttered, and then he turned his head away and spewed a fountain of dark, frothy water.

  “Bloody well not okay yet,” Emory said. “Let ’im rest a bit.”

  Nathaniel turned back to her. “Hurt.”

  “Why didn’t you shift into your dragon form?”

  He groaned. “Wing broke. Treasure room.”

  Emory sighed. “I thought that might be the case. Changin’ into a kid like that uses a ton of mag
ic. He doesn’t have enough left to heal himself fully, and if he shifts here and now, he might make things worse. Help me get him back to the car.”

  She was soaked to the bone and covered in mud, but together, they were able to move him in short bursts. Unfortunately, the broken wing dragged painfully on the ground. Nathaniel couldn’t retract it, and she couldn’t figure out a way to cradle it while she helped carry him. She gave a relieved sigh when they finally reached the car.

  With one last, massive effort, she dragged him into the back seat. She ended up leaning against the far window and coaxing his back against her chest with his body between her legs. Her thigh gave some support to the wing, and in this position, she could keep him from rolling off the seat. Although he dwarfed her frame, she was strong enough to hold him, especially after what he’d done for her. She’d hold him until her arms gave out.

  “Ready, Emory. Get us home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Everything hurt, yet at times Nathaniel thought he might be in heaven. He was surrounded by Clarissa’s scent, cradled in her arms, between her legs. She felt warm to him, which was odd. Usually he ran hotter than her 98.6. He supposed the loss of blood accounted for the change. He wasn’t healing.

  He glanced down at his ring. Its normally amethyst stone was almost completely black. Grindylow had bled him and drowned him. His magic was drained. He’d live of course. His head was still attached to his shoulders, but this was as close to death as he’d ever come.

  “What did you find out?” he asked, but only the last two words actually projected from his lips.

  She kissed his temple. “Shhh. We’re almost there.”

  They were not almost to Mistwood. A quick peek out the window told him they had hours yet to go. Even that quick pop of his eyelid hurt. He closed it again. “What did Grindy tell you?” he asked more clearly.

  “Maybe we should wait to talk about this later.”

  He gently squeezed the arm that was wrapped around him.

  “Okay.” She pressed her lips against the top of his head in an easy kiss, and he felt a little warmer for it. “I asked who stole my magic and, get this, she said, and I quote, ‘the dragon queen and her fairy liege.’”

  He stiffened in her arms. He only knew of one dragon queen, his mother, and she was dead. But she did have a fairy who performed magic with her, Aborella. That couldn’t be right. Even if his mother had lived, she’d be in a dungeon in Paragon. She wouldn’t even know Clarissa existed. Unless Brynhoff had replaced her. Was there a new queen of Paragon?

  He squeezed her arm again.

  “Nah. You need to rest, Nate. Just don’t worry about anything right now.”

  Unease suffused her voice. Whatever it was that Grindylow had told her must be upsetting to her. He sensed she was holding back out of fear for him, that whatever she’d learned would upset him and slow his healing. He squeezed again, now even more curious to know.

  Her lips landed near his ear. “I said no.” Her warm breath brushed his cheek. “I’m still angry at you. You should have told me what you planned to do.”

  He sighed. His back hurt, but when he tried to adjust in her arms, he couldn’t move his wing.

  “Try not to move,” she said softly. “That wing doesn’t look good. Maybe Tempest can set it when we get home.”

  He settled against her in absolute agony. “Talk to me.” He needed the distraction. She didn’t disappoint.

  Her lips brushed his ear again. “I would never have let you do that if you’d given me a chance to refuse.” Her voice was stern, and he lay perfectly still, hoping she wouldn’t yell. He was in too much pain for that. “It wasn’t worth it, Nate.”

  Something hot and wet hit his cheek. He cracked an eyelid and watched her wipe a tear away. Another tear hit his jaw. He squeezed her arm again and shook his head. The small movement made his brain boil, and he settled against her chest.

  “Don’t cry,” he rasped.

  “I’d rather live without my voice than live without you.” This time when her lips pressed against his ear, his heart leaped. Had he heard her correctly?

  Her cheek snuggled in against his, and her warmth ushered him into oblivion. He must have slept hard, because the next time he opened his eyes, they were pulling up to Mistwood and Tempest and Laurel were rushing toward the car door. To his dismay, he was pulled from Clarissa’s arms. Oh, how he would have protested that if he could, but he really wasn’t well, and when Tempest straightened his wing and rebroke the bone so he could set it properly, Nathaniel growled straight from his inner dragon.

  “Treasure room,” Tempest ordered. “Emory, help carry him.”

  “I’ll help,” Clarissa said.

  “You are not going into his treasure room,” the oread spat out.

  But Nathaniel reached out and grabbed her hand. “Yes.”

  Tempest grumbled. Hands lifted his body. She was there, right beside him. Minutes later, he landed on a pile of gold and jewels. The feeling was heavenly. The cold metal, the vibration of the stones beneath his back. He felt the power flow into his cells. His spine lengthened and he stretched and folded, flapped his wings. His bones cracked more than usual, and the transformation was slower than any he’d made before. But when it was done, he could open his eyes again.

  She was there, watching him, small now that he was in his dragon form. She grabbed his nose and planted a kiss on his snout.

  “Show me you can use it,” she said, glancing at his wing.

  He obliged with an experimental stretch and flap. He groaned a little from the pain, but it was working.

  “Good.” She stroked his face again. “See you in a few hours?”

  He inclined his head, then backed into his pile of treasure, closed his eyes, and rested.

  Clarissa was pretty sure that no amount of scrubbing would ever free her from the stench of Grindylow’s bog. She reeked of it. There had been blood in her hair. Either hers or Nate’s, she didn’t know. Her mind replayed the moment the monster had sliced through his twelve-year-old body, and she turned up the hot water to combat the chill that ran through her.

  Eventually her hands started to grow pruney, and she decided she was as clean as she was going to get. She turned off the water and drew a fluffy white towel from the rack. Her legs shook as she walked to her bedroom.

  She was physically tired from dragging Nate to the car and holding him through the long drive home, but the mental fatigue from the painful regret rattling through her brain was far worse. Everything felt heavy. What she’d done to Nathaniel was wrong. She realized that now. If he’d shown her anything today, it was that his heart was true. And she had walked away from it, not from indifference but out of fear.

  All this time, she’d believed the lie she’d told herself, that this was about her career and independence. But it wasn’t. This was about fear. She’d feared Nathaniel would change his mind about her, so she’d ended things to beat him to the punch. It was a coping technique. A way to avoid the pain of abandonment she’d all too frequently experienced.

  But today… today it had all become too clear. He was more important than her voice. If given the chance, she would have refused his plan. She would have done anything to avoid watching Grindylow hurt him. Even if it meant disappointing every one of her fans and Tom. Even if it meant canceling the O2. She couldn’t picture a world without him in it.

  She brushed out her wet hair and tossed the towel on a chair, then crawled into bed. There was only one choice to make now that she realized her true feelings. She couldn’t be without him. She couldn’t pretend for a moment more that she didn’t need him as much as she needed the air she breathed.

  When he awoke, she would tell him. It was time for her to say yes and to mean it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Clarissa?”

  The sound of Nathaniel’s voice entered her dreams and called her out of sleep. When her eyes fluttered open, he was there, shirtless and in a pair of loose-fitting sweats
. She stared at his chest. He was a masterpiece of long, lean muscle with a set of abs that made her long to stroke their hard peaks and valleys. She could stare at that chest all day and never get tired of it.

  “I can dress,” he offered. “I was just concerned. It’s been hours. It’s the middle of the night. Tempest said you hadn’t eaten.”

  She sighed. “I’m sore and very hungry.” She ran a hand through her hair. It had dried while she slept and fell loose and wild around her shoulders.

  “Let’s make you something.” He held out his hand to her. “A proper special omelet.”

  She slipped her hand into his and sat up, allowing the blanket to fall from her naked body. It wasn’t a mistake. She’d been thinking of him when she crawled between the sheets, and she was thinking of him now. She wanted him to see her.

  He sucked air through his teeth. “Shall I fetch you a robe?”

  “No.”

  “I know I told you there was nothing I hadn’t seen before the first night you were here, but there is only so much a man can take.” His voice was coal and grit. “You have to get dressed, Clarissa. I can’t…” He shook his head and turned his gaze away.

  She climbed from the bed and placed her hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble against her palm. Bracing her thumb on his chin, she turned his head to face her. “Be mine, Nathaniel.” Her voice was so weak she could hardly hear herself.

  His gray eyes turned hard and cold in an instant. “Careful, Clarissa—this isn’t a game. If you’re playing with me, you won’t like how this ends.”

  She searched his face, craning her neck to see him better in the dim light from the door and the moonlight streaming in the window. “Today, when Grindylow grabbed you, I didn’t care if I ever sang again.”