Chapter Thirteen

Josef

After his grandsonsleft with their fishing poles, Josef rested his weary bones in a rocking chair beside the open window. Gabriel was still abed, where Josef hoped he remained. He didn't wish anyone to witness what he was about to do, for the thought of separating the pair filled him with shame and remorse. But what choice did he have? The dragoness would not heal Gabriel unless Josef broke her bond, a spell he'd only done once before by accident. He had to practice if he was to successfully separate the dragon from her mate.

Josef called the little swallows from their mud nest perched under the eves on his front porch. How easily they flew to him, landing on the small table beside his rocker. They innocently chirped, looking up at him. It had always been this way between Josef and animals. As an earth speaker, he had a way with all creatures. They trusted him, and until now, he had protected them.

A tear slipped down his weathered cheek as he bent over the pair. "Forgive me, my little friends, for what I'm about to do."

He stretched his arms across the table, turning up his palms. His limbs trembled when a bird hopped into each hand. Closing his eyes, he summoned the spell, which was no more than an image of a tree with twisted roots embedded deep within the ground. Slowly, the roots started to unravel, uprooting the tree until it fell on its side. The tree stiffened and began to pull apart, splitting down the center until the whole was two halves. The roots burrowed deep into the ground again, and this time there were two young saplings, their branches growing in opposite directions, so they never touched. The smell of fresh wood and raw earth filled his senses, the signal the spell had worked.

When Josef's eyes fluttered open, the birds flew from his hands, going in opposite directions. Josef wept to see them go. They would start new lives, finding new mates, neither caring for the other as they'd done for so many seasons.

"What are you doing, Papí?"

Josef's gaze shot to his grandson, wheeling toward him from across the hall. He had an accusatory look in his eyes, filling the old man with even more shame.

Josef hung his head. "Practicing, mijo."

Gabriel wheeled to the window, craning his neck and searching the horizon. "What's happened to them? Why didn't they go to their nest?"

Josef heaved a sigh, but it did little to ease the heaviness in his heart. "Their bond has been severed."

Gabriel turned sharply on him. "How?" he asked accusingly. "Did you do it?"

Josef threw up his hands. "Yes. I must if you are to walk again."

"I don't understand." Gabriel stared at his legs and then at Josef, a look of puzzlement in his eyes.

Josef had yet to tell his grandson of the deal he'd made with the dragon, for he didn't wish to get the boy's hopes up. But now it seemed he had no choice, or else Gabriel would think he'd gone loco.

"The dragoness will not heal you unless I sever the bond with her mate. I have little experience with such dark magic." He turned to the window. The silence from the abandoned nest was nearly deafening. "I cannot do it without practice."

"You promised you'd never use dark magic again." Gabriel's accusation was like a knife to the chest.

Josef knew that, like him, the boy was empathetic, too, caring for all creatures with a tender heart, which made it even harder to explain why he'd had no choice but to separate the birds.

He forced himself to look into Gabriel's eyes. The pain and disappointment he saw there was nearly enough to make him collapse. But then he recalled the sickness that had crippled Gabriel, a once vibrant, active boy so filled with promise. After Gabriel had first woken from his brush with death, he'd cried in his bed for months, first for the loss of his parents, then for his legs, which had been reduced to two useless limbs. Josef could never bring back Gabriel's parents, but now he had the chance to make his grandson whole again. He'd stop at nothing to heal Gabriel, for none of his other grandsons had so much promise, so much potential to set out in the world and achieve great things.

He pulled back his shoulders as best he could, though they sagged from a lifetime of sorrow. "I also made a promise to protect you. It was your father's dying wish."

Gabriel waved at the window. "I would rather remain a cripple than watch you harm innocent creatures."

Josef bristled at that. "They are not harmed, ni?o. They will find other mates."

"And what will become of their young?" Gabriel snapped. "Who will feed them?"

Josef's breath hitched, for he'd forgotten about the chicks. Though the nest was quiet, there was a good chance the lovebirds had already laid eggs. "I do not know."

He slowly rose on shaky legs, hoping Gabriel was wrong. He'd been so consumed in his mission to heal Gabriel, he'd forgotten to check the nest first. He hobbled to the porch and Gabriel followed, the boards creaking beneath his wheels. Josef steadied himself on a pillar while climbing on a stool. But even before he reached the nest, he heard them, their tiny, helpless chirps sounding like accusations of treachery in his ears.

He carefully pulled the nest from its perch, mud and twigs crumbling to the ground as he climbed down and set it on the stool. Four little mouths snapped eagerly as they awaited their next meal. But there would be no food, for when their parents had flown away, they'd most likely forgotten their offspring as they'd forgotten each other.

Josef leaned against the railing, hanging his head in his hands. "Why would God grant me the power to destroy such beauty? If only he'd given me the gift of healing."

Gabriel reached up, clasping Josef's elbow. "You have healing powers, Papí."

Josef shook his head, his eyes overflowing with moisture. "They are not strong, ni?o. Not like the dragoness."

"Listen to me, Papí. No good can come from dark magic." Gabriel nodded toward the orphaned chicks. "You must stop this before more innocents suffer."

Josef thought long and hard about his grandson's words. Why had Graechen brought the dragoness to him if he was not to sever her bond? For he knew Fiona had lived in torment for the past five hundred years. Besides, he wasn't sure he wanted to be the one to refuse a dragon. He'd already seen the monster's strength, and he had no wish to cross her.

"I have already given Fiona my word. Do you want me to anger a dragon?" he asked.

Gabriel looked him in the eye. "I want you to do what's right."

The boy was young, unaccustomed to the ways of the world. He knew not what it was like to sacrifice for others, to carry the responsibility of so many on shoulders already strained with the burden of loss and regret. "Sometimes the line between right and wrong is blurred."

"It doesn't have to be." Gabriel pointed at Josef. "Not when you wield the pen."

But what Gabriel failed to understand was that Josef didn't wield the pen. Fate was indifferent and sometimes cruel and was a much stronger hand in their lives than free will. Some days fate was a gentle current upon which they drifted toward the salvation of the shoreline. Other days, it was a violent tempest, ripping their world apart and casting them into a maelstrom of pain and sorrow.

But it was no use arguing. Gabriel took the nest and rolled back into the house, reminding Josef he was once again a failure in the eyes of his family.

* * *

Fiona

I DRESSED EARLY THATmorning, intending to pay Josef a visit and see if he'd made any progress, for though he had never severed a human-dragon bond before, he'd told me he knew of a spell. Safina was still fast asleep, so I intended to slip out early and return before my daughter awakened.

I was almost out the door when I heard the sound of cackling crows from Mrs. Jenkens's kitchen. My dragon-touched senses also heard my name whispered, along with another word that made my limbs turn to ice—"magic." I knew not who was in the kitchen with Mrs. Jenkens, but one thing I did know: Mrs. Jenkens had broken her vow and divulged my secret. I should have known better than to trust a mortal.

I pushed open the swinging door, my gaze tunneling on the pair of old women sitting at the kitchen table, heads bent toward each other as they hissed urgent whispers.

"What is this?" I stormed up to them. "You gave me your word!"

Mrs. Jenkens gasped, jerking away from the other woman. She slowly stood, and with a trembling lip, motioned toward her friend. "I'm so sorry, but Agnes Alderman has such a kind heart. She has suffered far too long with her condition."

The mortal, Agnes Alderman, stood too, favoring both legs as she rested her weight on the table. She looked like an overstuffed sausage, her plump cheeks ripe and pink like the skin of a newborn babe. She attempted a curtsy but winced as a jolt shot up her knees. The sting was so bad, I winced, too, feeling it as if 'twas my own mortal wound. How I resented my healer's curse, to be able to feel the suffering of others.

"Forgive me, miss, but when I saw how quickly Abby had healed, I just had to know." The woman's fleshy chins shook as she hunched over the table. When she lowered herself to the chair, the pain in her knees turned into a dull throb. "Some days I can hardly walk with this rheumatism." The woman massaged both knees before looking up at me with a pleading gaze.

My heart sank like a stone. I knew I'd be a fool to help her, but my cursed empathy would not let me deny this woman relief.

I squared my shoulders, glaring at Mrs. Jenkens. "If I do this, it will not stop with her."

Mrs. Jenkens swallowed hard before nodding at her friend. "Oh, but it will. She is the epitome of discretion. She will keep your secret."

"On my honor, I swear." The woman made the sign of the cross and then winced as another jolt raced up her legs.

I crossed my arms, shooting eye daggers at Mrs. Jenkens. "As well as you have done, Mrs. Jenkens?"

"Oh, please." Mrs. Jenkens clasped her hands in a prayer pose. "Agnes is my very best friend. You don't know how much it pains me to watch her suffer," she said with an overly dramatic flourish. "Besides, she's willing to pay handsomely for your services."

The offer was too tempting. I could use the extra coin if Safina and I were to begin again in this new world. I hoped the reward was worth the risk.

* * *

Duncan

I HADN'T BEEN ACCUSTOMEDto traveling in coach in over thirty years, but the first-class cabins had already been booked. I was lucky to have secured a seat at all, having boarded the train moments before it left the station. I found little solace in the crowded dining car, in a corner seat far from the eyes of matchmaking mothers and swoony debutantes.

My gaze kept wandering sharply to the right, to a flame-haired woman, strands pulled back in a thick braid that ended at her waist. She was scolding a red-haired girl for banging her utensils against the plate. I wondered what my daughter looked like after five hundred years. Had she grown to be a woman, or would she still resemble a girl? I'd no idea how quickly dragons aged, if they aged at all.

I wondered if her mother had told her about me. If she cared to see me, or if her heart was filled with dread at the mention of my name. I'd give anything to see her. "Safina" the villagers in the old world had called her.

I went to bed many a sleepless night with her name rolling off my tongue. "Sweet Safina," I'd say. "My little dragoness."

What I wouldn't have given to be able to tuck the mite in bed each night, reading her a bedtime story or two. Then I'd kiss my daughter goodnight and go make love to her mother.

Seemed a simple, easy life, even if it was more fantasy than reality. But I had learned long ago my life would be far from easy. I hoped I was man enough to live up to the challenge that was to come.