Master of Smoke
clicked together in Belle’s mind. “Warlock is your father, isn’t he?”
Joelle grabbed her daughter’s shoulder and pushed her toward the door. “We have to go, Miranda.”
“We can protect you.” Tristan started after them in that fluid swordsman’s stride. “Both of you, even against Warlock.”
“There is no Warlock!” Calista’s voice rose, going shrill and insistent. “He’s just a legend! Tell them, Miranda!”
They all ignored her. “Let’s go,” Joelle insisted. “This isn’t safe for either of us. If Gerald gets wind of it ...”
“Mrs. Drake, let us transport you both to Avalon,” Tristan interrupted. “No one will be able to attack you through the city’s wards.”
“And trigger a war?” Joelle snapped. “Do you really want a war with the Direkind? Personally, I don’t need that much blood on my conscience, so no, I’m not going anywhere with you.” She turned a demanding gaze on her daughter. “Warlock would declare war on Avalon to get you back. You can’t go with them either.”
“You’re right.” The girl’s mouth twisted as her shoulders slumped. “I can’t leave her. Thanks, but—I just can’t.” And as Belle and Tristan watched helplessly, she let her mother hustle her out the door.
TWELVE
In the dream, three dragons surrounded the human child: a brawny gold and a pair of blues, one sleek and well fed, the other wiry as a snakedog with small, cruel eyes. They weren’t particularly big dragons, being not long out of the egg themselves, but they towered over the little boy as they surrounded him. Smoke thought him no more than ten or so, his build slim, with enormous brown eyes that dominated his elfin face under a disordered thatch of dark hair. He smelled of terror, but he held himself erect, chin up and defiant as he faced his tormentors.
“Let’s eat him,” hissed the snakedog, creeping closer and staring at the boy as if he were a fat stag. “He trespasses.”
The gold frowned. “We are not to eat these creatures. Cachamwri himself commanded it.” The god of the dragons had befriended the Sidhe millennia before, and he insisted his people observe the peace he’d declared.
“He said we are not to eat the Sidhe,” the well-fed blue corrected. “This one is not Sidhe. He is a mortal with no magic at all.”
“Interloper!” snarled the snakedog, examining the child with greedy interest, his tail lashing. “I want a bite of him. He will crunch. And then we will throw his bones into the human city as a warning, and they will leave our world.”
Rage drew Smoke’s lips off his great fangs as he gathered himself and leaped, landing between the child and the snakedog. He’d learned the dragon tongue long before the death of his people, and the words spilled from his mouth on a river of fury. “Touch him and die, egg sucker.”
The snakedog drew back from his bared fangs, confused, his thin tail whipping in agitation. “It speaks? But it looks like a ciardha.”
This fight could go badly. The dragons might be young, but they towered over Smoke. Still, the gold took a cautious step away. “’Tis no ordinary ciardha. Look at its aura—it’s inhabited by an elemental. And something else ...” The creature lowered his head for a closer look, then jerked back as Smoke slashed a warning paw at his nose. Iridescent eyes widened in puzzled surprise. “Sidhe. Its soul is Sidhe.”
“Aye, and I claim this boy as one of mine.” Smoke crouched, tail lashing. “You will not touch him.”
“We saw him first!” the snakedog objected.
Smoke roared even as he sent power thrusting at the cloudy sky. Thunder rolled in deafening reply, and lightning forked the ground, so close the dragons ducked. The boy screamed and dropped to his knees, curling into a tight ball with his thin arms over his head. He was evidently unaware that Smoke had surrounded him with a shield to protect him from the charge.
“The next bolt lands between your beady eyes, lizard!” Smoke snarled.
“Keep him, then!” Thoroughly spooked, the snakedog leaped into the air and flapped away, his fat brother blue following with an awkward hop.
“We did not realize he was yours, Great One,” the gold said, dipping his muzzle in a shallow bow.
“It should not have mattered if he was or not,” Smoke snapped, thoroughly incensed. “You do not eat sentient creatures, hatchling. I know Cachamwri, and he would not approve, whether the boy is Sidhe or not. Don’t
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