Breaking Ties (17 page)

A few seconds pass, and his accent vanishes, or rather changes when he speaks again, unrecognizable. But I have the sense it's from a land far older than the countries I've ever heard of. “Spencer Crain has been taken.”

I nod.

“
Dragons
aid the ones who took him.”

I nod again.

“And the Lightning Rod…the
Ra'keth
is missing?”

“Yes, Riordan.”

His eyes barely contain his fury. “Fetch me a blade of the coldest iron. I am conscripting you into my service, and you will give me aid in addressing the conflicts you have brought to my attention.”

I will admit I tremble. “Sir?”

His accent returns to Irish. “There will be blood tonight.”

Chapter Nineteen

James

December 20, 10:01 am

So it turns out that dragons can cook, or at least that a few of them picked up the skill over the centuries. There is a subtle difference when you eat conjured food; it tastes a little too perfect. Considering that conjured food, at least in my case, is based off memories, it always tastes as you remember it, and nothing is ever as good as you remember it.

But what Dungeons & Dragons didn't get right about dragons? God, they're boring. When the council gathers for a meal, I got to be formally introduced to all of them. With their unabbreviated names. Over three hours later, we're finally ready to eat.

I have no idea what I'm eating; the little details are just wrong, but it appears to be some sort of fish, rice and vegetables. This could be breakfast, lunch, dinner—I have no idea what the draconic meal schedule is like.

Parivian is sitting several seats down on my left, and he doesn't make eye contact, which leads me to believe that, yes, he did in fact hear what Slartibartfast was thinking about him. Ras is also on my left, acting as if sitting on a throne is perfectly normal while he eats. It's not, by the way.

First of all, the chair is too damned high, considering I can swing my legs. Also, the stuffing in the cushions isn't all that plush or comfortable. It's itchy, even through my pants. I'm not that in favor of the symbolism either. I've enjoyed being a low-profile sorcerer, as everything in the supernatural community outside of that Knight of St. George has left me alone.

Ras doesn't have the best of table manners, but I'm guessing he's either from a time where proper utensils weren't all that important or he got too used to eating with his face. He hasn't spoken much. No one has, really, only the sounds of feasting fill the hall.

“So…”

And now, dead silence as dozens of eyes train on me.

I swallow hard and mutter to Ras. “Why are they all staring at me?”

“Because the Ra'keth is speaking.” He returns his attention to his food as if it's perfectly normal.

“Uh, you guys can just talk amongst yourselves. I was talking to…” I gesture to Ras, as I suspect they wouldn't appreciate that I've given him a nickname. They're still staring, and it's starting to get a little creepy.

I lower my voice again. “So when do I get to leave? Or contact anyone and at least let them know I'm here and not in mortal danger?”

“When I deem you capable enough to defend yourself.”

“I didn't need to defend myself before. No one knew about me.”

He
hmphs
. “And you truly believed you could continue your reign in obscurity?” He reaches over and flicks my lock of white hair. “Sooner rather than later,
that
would be apparent to all. We all cannot be as the Recluse.”

“Why not? This world's clearly moved on from magic. Why do I have to go public?”

“
Humans
have embraced science. The mythics, on the other hand, have not. To many, the Keth are trophies, targets, just cause for long-repressed vengeance, and eventually someone will learn who you are and decide the world would be better off without you. Hence, you will remain here under guard of the Dracon Council until it is determined you only require limited accompaniment.”

“So I have to choose a protector no matter what.”

He simply nods and takes another bite of the fish before making a face. “Of all the clans you could give support to…”

“Huh?”

He points to the fish. “A staple of the Snow Clan. As you are the Ra'keth, and you showed them your favor…”

“We're eating…fish.” I shrug—it's not bad or anything. When I catch Parivian's eyes he immediately casts them downward. “Parry?”

He freezes and meekly looks in my direction. “Yes, my liege?”

“Did you arrange to have that door fixed? That one you busted down while you tried to save me from the terror of starting my day off right?” Ozzie and I don't often do it in the mornings, but it could've gone there, you never know.

“I…”

“Parivian!” Ras stands, his jaw set. “You were asked a question.”

“Y-yes, my liege.”

I glance at Ras. “You don't have to yell at him.” When I look closer, I can see that his eyes have shifted to the serpentine slits.

“He should be honored to even be allowed at this table.”

“I am, Great Ra'saar! Deeply honored.” Parry's actually trembling.

I reach over and pat Ras's hand. “Lay off, okay? Maybe I could've worded it better.” I look to Parry. “Thank you for attending to that matter.”

He nods quickly. “Yes, my liege. Thank you, my liege.” The dragon lowers his head and focuses his attention on his food, the fish already down to the bones. Not many other dragons are eating the fish. I eat it anyway. Screw 'em.

I'd like to note to Ras that his people don't seem to be as free and happy as he implies, given the rigidity, but it's not polite to talk about people in front of them. Plus, I'm pretty sure it won't be taken all that well. Instead, I decide to concentrate on finding a way out.

Seeing as I sent Coda off to Dave's, I have to assume I can do that to myself, if only I knew how. I
have
done something similar to teleportation before, when I yanked Spencer all the way back from Japan, but that required a lot of work, preparation and energy. I've never 'ported myself, and I don't think slipping into Tartarus counts…

And I doubt that dragons could follow me there.

But first, I need to find something out.

“Parivian?”

Parry snaps to attention. “Yes, my liege?”

I smile genially. “Where are we? I mean, where in the world are we?”

He tilts his head. “I…I don't understand, my liege.”

“If I had a map of the world, and I asked you where we are, where would you point?”

He blinks several times. “We are in His Majesty's realm, my liege.”

I sigh with exasperation. “Yes, yes, but where
is
that?”

Ras chuckles to himself with amusement, and I squint at him.

“What, if I may ask, is so funny?”

Once he's composed himself, he smiles at me. “We are in my realm. You will not find it on a map of the world.”

“Because…?”

“It is not
of
the world.”

I start to speak several times. “Run that by me again?”

“I could hardly have you traipsing off to Tartarus. All manner of beings would butcher you in a heartbeat. My realm has no such connection to Hades, or any of the other lands of the dead for that matter.”

“We're in another dimension?” I'll admit I'm having some trouble wrapping my head around that.

“I am a Ra'keth, an archmaster of conjuration, of creating things from nothing.”

I stare at him, then get up to look out the windows onto a perfectly lovely pastoral vista replete with blue skies and forests and snow-capped mountains in the distance and a bubbling brook winding its way across the countryside. “So you conjured all…” I gesture at nothing in particular, “…I mean, everything here? A whole
world
?”

“It was my will, yes. My dragons needed a place they could be safe, where their rookeries would be unmolested. I was not the first to create such a place and I doubt I will be the…” He glances at me. “Perhaps I will be the last, given the state of the Keth, as it were.”

Shit, that makes things difficult. Jumping over to Tartarus and making a break for it wasn't much of an option. I can only stay there as long as I can hold my breath and it takes a lot out of me. But it was at least an option. An entirely different
world
? No wonder scrying Spencer practically killed me.

“So how do you get back and forth then? I mean, I thought most of the dragons lived in Europe.”

He waves his hand, and all of the plates on the table disappear as he rises from his seat. “They do, and the majority of the ways that lead here begin in Europe.” Shortly afterward the dragons begin to file out, though Parry spares a lingering glance. “A temporary way can be opened, though it often requires great effort. You are fortunate that I prefer this realm to the one that I once called home.”

“I am?”

“Indeed.
The world shall have only one Ra'keth.
” He looks at me. “Unless I am willing to take my greater form, I have been forbidden to step foot on…” He furrows his brow. “You call it Earth now, yes?”

I nod. “I… You can't ever go back? I mean, not as a human?”

He shakes his head. “And the Ra'saar is quite limited in where he can go. It is also rather easy to lose myself in him.” He smiles to himself. “And he finds you quite insolent. That was quite a display you put on, and insulting to many who only wished to serve you. Codacintha herself was in line to join my personal guard. She eschewed her opportunity when you took the throne.”

“What about what I did to Salondine?”

“Truly, I am grateful you pointed out the oversight in a method that was not so damaging. Once Salondine had served out a reasonable time of punishment, I saw fit to remove the offending title.” He looks at me quizzically. “Stuffington Fluffypants?”

“The
Third
. Esquire.” A few seconds pass in silence. “I want to go home.”

“I've told you what is necessary to achieve that.”

I shake my head. “No. I want to go home. Ozzie's probably going out of his mind, and he doesn't deserve that. He deserves to know where I am and that I'm coming home to him.” Ras gives me a blank look, and I have to chuckle. “You don't get it. Guess you've never been in…”

Oh shit, is that what it is?

After Cale I didn't think I could…

I was certain I'd never feel the same way about anyone ever again, and I have to admit I was right. What Cale and I had was special, a once-in-a-lifetime love that stays with you for as long as, well… And it's not the same with Ozzie. It's definitely different but…

But it's just as good.

God damn you, Hades. Fucking smartass.

“Listen, I appreciate that you're trying to teach me and everything, but requiring that I take myself out of here when you know I don't know how doesn't make me a guest you'd like to stay. It makes me a prisoner you're forcing to attempt escape.”

Ras waves his hand dismissively. “Again, you try to convince me with words, which is proper for a Ra'keth, but not the right
kind
of words. When a Ra'keth speaks, the world alters to his will. He does not request, he does not take, he does not steal. If there is something he wants, he wills it his.”

“I
want
to go.” Even Tartarus would be better than listening to a lecture in Megalomania 101.

I hold my breath.

Nothing happens.

Well, the air shimmers a little and I feel tired, and he notices this.

“Why would a Sorcerer King allow his realm any sort of connection to the land of the dead?”

“Because Hades personally collects the souls of dead Ra'keth?”

Ras chortles. “That is his
privilege
, his preference, not his right. One last bit of vindictiveness before sending us off to whatever cruelly ironic punishment he has in mind.”

“The Recluse was sent to…” I remain quiet, as that's not for me to share. “Well, he slew a god and he didn't get anything terrible. The Frozen River, he deserves whatever he got.”

Weird, usually even mentioning Cale and Heath in the same train of thought has a definite effect. It still does, just not as strong, like seeing an old scar and remembering how you got it. A dull, far-off ache.

I think it might be the first time in weeks that Heath's actively crossed my mind.

“You have been given a marvelous tool, the words that command reality, and you refrain from using them.” Ras sighs, disappointed. “Even my least-talented students did not struggle this much with khrazet.”

“I don't
know
the words—”

“Yes you do!” His voice thunders through the hall, his eyes serpentine again. “Yet you croon and whine like a hatchling, eager for your broodmother to
do it for you
.”

I back off a step, and he quickly takes the given ground. “When you could change the world to your vision, you choose to be
lazy
. When you could be strong and protect yourself, you choose to be weak and hope you can sink beneath notice. We are Ra'keth. We are
never
beneath notice,
we are Marked
.” He yanks on my hair. “This will never be hidden.”

My eyes bore straight into his, static starting to crackle along my skin. “Take your fucking hands off me.”

He only smiles. “Make—”

“
Force.
” I imagine a great fist socking him in the chest, and that's exactly what happens—a spectral hand, clenched tightly, colliding with his torso and knocking him across the room, my scalp screaming with agony as he takes a chunk of my hair with him. The pain fuels my conviction, and I move my hand, the disembodied fist rocketing across the room to hit him again.

And again.

And again.

I need to stop.

And again.

No, no, I need to stop this.

And again.

“No!” The fist hovers just above Ras, trembling. I gingerly step toward him, blood spattered on the floor, his breath coming in wheezes. Oh God, what have I done?

I move more quickly, his eyes shut and his face locked in a grimace. I know how to heal myself, but not someone else. Then again, I've never tried it before, so maybe the rules work different?

I place my hands on his ribs, sniffling, searching for the words. “
You is no hurt now. You is are go heal time now yes.
”