He had no doubt she would be amazing.
"She's going to kick ass," he said, imagining it with a slow, savoring smile.
Bastian appeared to consider this, then returned the smile.
"Yeah. I know."
Chapter 18
Rowan waited alone in the clearing.
It was how she had wanted it, at least in the beginning. Though she knew there were others, more than the dragons might imagine, just out of sight in the trees, it had been incredibly important to her that she be able to stand for the Dyadd this way. For the first time, she had been granted the respect accorded the Dyana. It was humbling. And as she waited, Rowan thought of her mother. She wished Elara could see her, because she stood for her now too.
Nothing would ever be the same. But she was going to do all in her power to make things right. It couldn't hurt that she appeared to be the natural daughter of the enemy, and a dragon besides. If that wasn't leverage, she didn't know what was.
At the moment her wings had burst from her back, she had known. There was no horror, only a sense of completion that she finally knew, and understood, both halves of herself. The dragons were the children of the Drak himself, for all their faults and shortcomings. She had the half that was Dyadd to temper those things and embrace their strengths. Handy, as the protector of her people, to have a dragon's claws and teeth at her disposal.
It didn't bother her that Mordred was, in all likelihood, her father, nor that Lucien was her brother. Elara had not always chosen the kindest or the most magnificent for her conquests. They were all Daughters of the Goddess Morgaine, and that was what mattered. Still, she had been worried about Gabriel. His way was different. The Andrakkar were his people's enemies. And for all her faith in him, she had felt his eyes upon her wings and worried that he would turn away from her completely.
As usual where he was concerned, she ended up feeling like an irrational idiot. He hadn't skipped a beat. Or at least, she thought with a warm flush, the kisses she'd gotten when he cornered her against a tree had felt a lot like acceptance to her. As had his willingness, though somewhat reluctant, to allow her to be out here on her own.
Now their enemies had only to arrive. Since she was wanted alive, Rowan didn't think they would attack immediately. She planned to try reason first. Then she'd just see how her dragon skin felt when she put it all the way on. And how the dragons felt when they realized just how much the forest had changed.
The moon hung low and red in the sky, which was deep blue and scattered with stars. The forest was strangely silent, as though all the creatures within it knew what was coming. And before long, Rowan's ears picked up that unmistakable sound in the distance, rushing air being pushed by many pairs of great wings, matching with the beat of her heart.
She remembered the same sound on a night that seemed long ago now, the memory tugging at her with old sadness. She knew now that it hadn't been her fault, or her mother's. Mordred had been punished, though it was not yet nearly enough. Making it enough fell to her.
This lime she was unafraid.
Shadows soared across the moon, circling high above, then dropping from the sky one by one to land in the clearing. Six dragons in all, hardly an army. But Mordred would have figured that whatever was left of the Dyadd would be easy to bend to his will.
Rowan smiled. He had a very nasty surprise coming. His last, if she had anything to do with it.
He had come himself, she saw, a venomous red dragon with terrible twisting horns. His neck wound leaked openly in this form, black blood mingling with the green poison dripping from his fangs to fall to the ground and scorch the grass.
Lucien landed beside him, folding pitch-black wings tightly against his body and looking at her with eyes that burned like live coals. The four others ringed them from behind, silent, waiting, smoke coiling from their nostrils as their breathing hissed in and out. She folded her hands in front of her, strangely calm. One way or another, she was going to finish this. And then she, Gabriel, and her people could all begin to move forward again without fear.
Mordred's and Lucien's forms seemed to melt and shrink as they shifted form, becoming men as they approached her in the midst of the Dyadd's dark and deserted tents. Mordred managed to walk relatively upright, though there was a stiffness to his gait that indicated he was in pain. Lucien seemed alert, nervous, scenting the air as though he was expecting an attack at any moment.
They stopped when they were only feet from her, and Rowan felt as though she was standing on one side of a battle line she'd drawn without being quite aware of it. They passed a full minute without speaking, and Rowan knew that Lucien had taken note of her appearance.
She had dressed with care, donning the glittering raiment befitting a Dyana of the tribe of Morgaine. Gone was the heavy velvet of the dragons. It was a message: I am not yours. He seemed to have received it. It was obvious Lucien wasn't pleased.
"I fail to see what the point in causing so much trouble is when you know you have no choice. Now I'm going to kill that worthless brother of yours as well, and I know he must be close by." Lucien's jaw was set. He looked exhausted, Rowan thought, and ill with the dark shadows beneath his eyes. She wondered about the pressure that the father put on the son, the toll that it had taken. About how close his mind was to breaking altogether, and what might happen if it did.
"Him," Mordred growled, his face alight with terrible anticipation, "and the arukhin shifter you escaped with. Don't think I didn't recognize him, witch. I'll replace the wretched beast I already have with him. It will be a pleasure to make him pay for the difficulties his family has caused me. And with luck, perhaps he may draw the rest of his kind back as well."
Lucien whirled to glare at his father, curling his lip in disgust. Rowan wondered if he would actually spit at the man, but he only spoke to him in a low hiss.
"For once, Father, I would rather not hear about the damned forest-shifters. This is about my taking a mate, about furthering the Andrakkar line. About what I want, for once. It has nothing to do with those wretched shifters!"
"Actually, he's right," Rowan said, drawing both sets of eyes to herself almost immediately. They both looked a little surprised, and she thought they might have forgotten there was a third person in attendance to their spat. She felt, though, that it was time to stop the madness of Lucien's pursuit.
"You're ... agreeing with me?" Lucien asked, looking puzzled.
Rowan nodded. "Yes. Because all of this has much less to do with the arukhin than it does with the fact that I have no desire to marry my own brother."
That produced a reaction, as she'd known it would. But she refused to dance around the truth. Lucien's mouth dropped open in shock, while Mordred's face contorted in rage. He bared teeth at her that had gone long and sharp.
"Nonsense."
"Hardly," she retorted, losing some of her calm. "Though I can understand why you'd lie about it. It's disgusting, to want the two of us together solely for the purpose of producing a purer bloodline." Her temper began to boil. "My mother, my cousins, died for your madness. Thank the Goddess your son hasn't killed any more before finding out the truth."
"The madness is yours," Mordred snapped, smoke rushing from his mouth in his anger. "You're the only one fit to marry my son, because you're a Dyana, High Drakkyn of reasonable wits and proper age. Not particularly easy to come by. Your mother died because she was foolish enough to try to stop me." His lips curved cruelly. "I don't know how you escaped, but it won't happen again. No matter who gets in the way."
Rowan just looked at him, feeling nothing. It was sad that she should feel so empty when she looked at the man who had fathered her. But then she supposed she had gotten the best part of him, whatever meager bit that was. It would have to be enough, because there was nothing worthwhile left to have.
"My mother's only mistake was in taking a man like you to her bed," said Rowan. "And I refuse to join with my own blood. Besides ... I am already mated."
Mordred snorted, his skepticism apparent. He opened his mouth to reply, but his son, silent all this time, had something to say.
Lucien looked from her, to his father, and back again. The misguided need in his eyes had turned to disgust as reality slowly sank in.
"Is this ... is this true?" he asked in a strangled whisper. He was so obviously appalled that Rowan actually felt sorry for him. She had worried a little that Lucien would see things the way his father did on the issue. But it seemed that Mordred had not twisted him enough for that. He had been so sure of what he considered to be love. Now he had the rug pulled out from under him. She remembered he had once told her that she was the only thing that made him feel in his cold and empty existence, and felt a surprising tug of sympathy.
He had not been there the night her mother had died. And if nothing else, he was her brother. Maybe he deserved nothing, but it wasn't in her nature to turn away.
She might end up spitting fire, but she wasn't ready to turn away.
She nodded slowly. "I only realized it today. There's no other explanation. I am your sister, Lucien."
"Lies!" shrieked Mordred. "I have no child but Lucien!"
She rounded on him, baring fangs that had gone deadly sharp. "No child that you admit to. But you recognized me that night in the tent, didn't you? Another dragon, and with Andrakkar blood. You encouraged Lucien's selection, and poisoned him with this misguided infatuation as a result. Look at him!"
Mordred lowered his head, his scales beginning to be visible beneath his pasty skin. "There is nothing wrong with my son that a good beating wouldn't cure. He's soft, and lacking in bloodlust, but he's all I have to produce an heir, and he should have the best. A Dyana."
"A Dyana who carries your blood," Rowan snarled. "I've had enough of your lies, old man. See what I am. See your daughter."
Enraged as she was, the Change came quickly. It was as though the dragon within had only ever waited to be beckoned. She tossed her head back, feeling the dragon blood rocket through her, stretching her, ripping at her as scales shimmered over her skin and her wings tore anew from her back to unfurl. It was freeing, and glorious. And yet her anger, which had seemed great as a woman, had grown along with her and now threatened to become a towering, destructive rage. She wanted to tear flesh, to burn. Flame poured from her throat and lit the sky, along with a roar so full of fury that it seemed as though it could have ripped her in two.
