Ash took another step, almost pushing Piper off her feet.
“No!” she pleaded. “Ash, stop! Please, stop!”
The dragon opened its jaws. A blue glow lit the back of its throat and she knew what was coming. Fire boiled out of its mouth and blasted toward her and Ash.
For a second time, Lyre grabbed her and threw them both down. His golden dome shield formed around them an instant before the fire hit. The inferno surrounded them, the heat unbearably intense. Lyre’s shield rippled and shuddered, then holes appeared as though torn away by an impossible wind. The shield shattered as the last of the flames rushed past, mostly missing them.
She rolled over and shot to her feet, but froze as she turned to face the dragon.
The beast stood just in front of the tree line, wings spread as blue fire raced along them. Ash stood directly in front of it, his wings spread as well, covered with identical blue flames. The dragon’s blue eyes bored into him. Then the dragon lifted his head and loosed an ear-shattering roar of wrath and triumph.
Her stomach dropped with terror.
“Ash!” she screamed.
The dragon’s head came down and it focused on her for the first time. The buzzing pressure twisted through her skull, almost buckling her knees.
Futile, silver child, the dragon rumbled inside her head. He is mine.
“He doesn’t belong to you!” she cried. Ash’s voice whispered in her memory, murmuring that the only one he wanted to belong to was her.
You doubt? The dragon’s lips lifted from its long, curved fangs in the most vicious, terrifying smile she’d ever seen.
Ash finally moved. He pivoted to face her and Lyre, a slow, mesmerizing grace to his movements. Her eyes scoured his face, but his expression was as blank as a statue’s. Emotionless. Lifeless. His glowing, unblinking eyes were empty of the man she loved.
The blue flames on his body flickered as though agitated by a nonexistent wind. The air grew hot and heavy, electric with power. The blue fire leaped out from him, spinning around him in a slowly expanding whirlwind. In the center, Ash’s hand lifted robotically toward her.
She stared at him, frozen in place, unable to move. Unable to react. He was going to attack her. She could see it. She knew it. But she couldn’t believe it.
“Piper!” Lyre roared.
He grabbed her wrist and shoved something small against her palm. At the same moment, Ash unleashed the fires of hell.
The tiny cold spot in her hand flashed hot. Raging, bloodthirsty power crashed into her body like lightning along every nerve. The Sahar’s power rose through her, awaiting her command. She flung her hands up, casting a silver shield over her and Lyre.
The tidal wave of blue and black flames slammed into her shield with the force of an exploding sun. She gasped, her entire body trembling with the strain of holding the shield. The flames tore across the barrier and silver light burst in every direction as the shield threatened to break apart. With the Sahar clenched in one hand, she held her arms over her head as though physically supporting the barrier and called desperately for more power. It surged into her along with blinding agony. She threw the power into her shield as the inferno ripped away the magic the same way it had ripped through Lyre’s impenetrable dome shield.
When she thought she could no longer hold it, that her shield would collapse, the flames shrank. The fire faded.
Piper fell to her knees, unable to stand as she panted for air. Every nerve burned from the overload of the Sahar’s magic. Across the clearing, Ash stood in front of the dragon, hand still raised toward them, flames still dancing along his wings. He stared unseeingly at her, as lifeless as stone.
A tingle of magic sparked in the air, coming from Lyre. She looked up and felt a violent swoop in her belly. He had dropped glamour. His impossibly beautiful face was calm and smooth, but grim resolve hardened his golden eyes into steel. His pale hair gleamed. At the end of the thin braid that hung down one side of his face, a ruby shone like a drop of blood.
He reached over his shoulder, fingers brushing across the feathered fletching of his arrows. He pulled one free from the quiver, but instead of nocking it on his bow, he spun the shaft in his hand. Pointing the arrowhead down, he dragged the razor point across the palm of the hand in which he held his bow. Blood welled, running down his wrist.
Shocked out of her trance, she realized what he had done: blood magic. He had just activated a spell on the arrow—likely the most powerful spell he had.
The arrow spun in his hand again, and then it was nocked on the bow and he’d drawn the string back to his cheek. His blood clung to the tip of the arrow as it began to glow an eerie red. Her heart leaped with hope—hope that his spell, one so deadly his blood was required to unleash it, would be enough to destroy the dragon and free Ash from his control.
Her heart raced but time slowed. Only seconds had passed since Lyre had dropped his glamour and pulled the arrow. The dragon’s jaws opened in another ferocious snarl as Lyre took aim.
She almost didn’t notice, almost didn’t realize it.
Lyre wasn’t aiming for the dragon.
“No!” she screamed, throwing herself into Lyre’s legs just as he released the arrow.
The glowing bolt streaked past Ash’s left cheek, barely missing him. It flashed under the dragon’s wing and into the trees behind it. Tearing, popping noises erupted as the arrow tore through trees—something no arrow should have been able to do.
A heartbeat of silence.
Back in the trees, the arrow detonated with the force of dynamite. Tree trunks shot into the air like missiles and curved blades of red magic sliced above the treetops.
The dragon roared furiously at the missed attack. Its wings snapped wide open again. Blue fire erupted all over its scales, leaping for the sky. The flames whirled and spun, expanding, growing larger. The dragon vanished in the inferno, then it engulfed Ash too. Black fire laced through the blue, rippling through the azure flames.
She threw a hand over her face to protect it from the heat as the wall of fire leaped higher. The black and blue flames writhed. The earth shuddered beneath her like the beginnings of an earthquake. The trees shook, leaves falling from their branches.
The fire shot out from either side of the engulfed dragon. Then the blue and black flames flashed to a pale green and leaped higher than ever before, shooting above the treetops. Slowly, it faded, and then all that remained was a line of rippling green light, twice her height and undulating gently along the ground.
The dragon and Ash were gone.
Still sitting on the ground, Piper stared, her heart racing. She felt dizzy. She couldn’t breathe right.
He was gone. Ash was gone. How could he be gone?
All that was left was that strange line of shifting light. Power whispered in the air, teasing her senses. Familiar. Ancient. She knew the feeling of that magic.
“That …” she choked, scarcely able to make a sound. “That can’t be …”
Lyre sank to the ground beside her, his bow loose in his hand.
“A ley line,” he whispered.
Chapter Thirteen
A ley line. The undulating line of light was mesmerizing, and on any other occasion, its beauty would have enchanted her. She’d never been shaded at the right time to see a line before; she’d only sensed their presence.
And she’d never had a chance to sense this one before now—because that line hadn’t existed a moment ago.
Coby had joked that the draconian legends were pretentious, claiming that dragons had created the ley lines. Piper had never imagined the legends were true. She would have bet her life that no mortal creature could create a ley line.
She hadn’t bet her life, but if she’d been betting on Ash’s, she’d clearly lost.
He was gone. The dragon had created a ley line, and they’d both gone through it. They could be anywhere in the Underworld, Earth, or even the Overworld. They couldn’t be tracked. They couldn’t be found. Unless
Ash broke free of the dragon’s control or the dragon decided to bring him back, there was no magic or power that could locate him.
Trembling, she squeezed both hands against her chest, pressing against the unbearable pain of her shattering heart. Still clenched in one fist, the Sahar was a cool weight against her palm. Tears slid steadily down her cheeks.
Beside her, Lyre pushed wearily to his feet. He crossed the scorched, blackened ground to stand at the edge of the rippling light. Extending a corner of his bow, he poked it into the line, causing the light to flicker energetically for a brief second. He dropped his arm back to his side and turned, golden eyes travelling over the camp behind her. His impossible radiance would have taken her breath away if she’d been able to breathe. But crushed by despair, her lungs barely functioned. Her gaze dropped to the bow in his hand.
“You were going to kill him,” she said hoarsely.
His grip on the bow tightened, tendons standing out on the back of his hand.
“He asked.” The impossible, layered harmonics of his voice flowed over her, but the beauty of the sound couldn’t hide the pain in each word. “I promised.”
“You promised to murder him?” she said, lifting her head to meet his eyes. Bitter accusation rang through her question.
“I promised I wouldn’t let the dragon take him alive,” Lyre replied, anger joining the pain in his voice. “He knew he couldn’t fight the dragon’s hold on him. I promised him a clean, swift death instead of slavery to a beast he couldn’t fight.” His mouth twisted. “I failed.”
Because of you. He didn’t say the words, but she heard them. They were in his eyes, burning through her with something close to loathing.
She dropped her head, squeezing her eyes shut as her heart broke all over again. Ash had been so afraid—terrified of being lost to the dragon—that he’d asked Lyre to save him from that fate. Not her. Lyre. Because Ash had known she would refuse. He’d known that even if he convinced her to agree, there was every chance she would have balked at the last minute. She’d done the same once already. In the Chrysalis facility in Asphodel, she’d stood over him while he was lost in torture-fueled madness and hadn’t been able to free him from the pain in the only way left.
Lyre hadn’t balked. He hadn’t hesitated. Once it was clear Ash was lost, he’d acted. And she’d sabotaged his attack. But in Asphodel, Ash had found a way back from the brink. Maybe he would find his way back this time too. He didn’t have a chance if he was dead.
But if he didn’t find a way, she’d condemned him to a terrible fate.
She climbed to her feet. Her knees were shaking. Exhaustion permeated her inner turmoil; she’d been drastically fatigued even before channeling so much power through the Sahar. Unable to meet Lyre’s eyes again, she turned toward the camp behind her.
Utter destruction. Everything was black—the ground, the rocky walls of the valley, the stones bordering the waterfall. The trees caught in the inferno were charred, crumbling stumps that still glowed faintly. Everything the fire had touched had been razed to the ground. Their pile of supplies was nothing but ashes and twisted remains of cookware. Small fires crackled merrily along the edges of the devastation.
The others were only just climbing out of the pool at the base of the waterfall. Ivria held little Yana tight in her arms, gawking as water dripped off them. The other women stood with the younger girls, steadying one another as they observed the destruction. Raum stood in front of them, sword still in his hand, his dark eyes travelling over the ruins of their camp.
Seiya stood just in front of the others, Mahala holding one of her arms, the other clutching Zwi to her chest. Zala hung off her shoulder. Seiya stared at the ley line with black, horrified eyes, frozen in place. Mahala must have forced Seiya into the water, otherwise she would have been right there fighting for her brother.
Visibly shaking off her shock, Seiya pulled out of Mahala’s grip and ran across the burnt ground, right past Piper. She stopped in front of the new ley line, stretching her free hand out as though to touch the magic. Zwi whimpered.
“How—how—” Seiya stuttered.
Lyre slowly shook his head as he hooked his bow into some sort of holder on his back. He shimmered back into glamour. Raum moved, his boots crunching on the charred ground, loud in the oppressive silence. He headed toward her, Kiev following.
Halfway across the camp, he spun, sword rising. Piper whirled in the direction of his gaze.
Figures stood at the edge of the scorched earth—Eliada and her warriors. They must have retreated into the trees far enough to escape the fire. As they moved cautiously out of the trees, the last faint glow of the sun leaking from behind Periskios faded and darkness fell across them like a heavy blanket. Several of the warriors created small orbs of light, tossing them into the air to illuminate the clearing.
As her eyes locked on Eliada’s, Piper’s despair morphed into fury. She surged into motion, striding straight for the old woman. The warriors tensed but Eliada waved them back, facing Piper.
She stopped almost on the woman’s toes, glaring with her hands clenched at her sides.
“How did you know the dragon was coming for him?” she demanded. “What do you know?”
Eliada pulled her face wrap down, surveying Piper with steely teal eyes.
“Do you understand now why he needed to die?” she said coldly. She pointed her chin at the charred clearing. “That was but a taste of the power the dragon now commands through Ashtaroth.”
Piper ground her teeth together, barely controlling her anger.
“The great dragons seek out Taroths to bind their magic together. The sealing of their magic is normally deadly to the draconian; the great dragon’s magic is too fierce for a draconian’s body to endure. With the seal upon them, death is a gift.”
“But if the draconian survives?” Piper asked tersely.
“The dragon’s power multiplies beyond imagining. The Taroths have feared it for generations, passing the warning from father to son for as long as memory stretches.”
“So what will happen to Ash? He just stays as the dragon’s helpless puppet until he dies?”
The old woman inclined her head. “I told you it was a mercy to kill him.”
She waited for the woman to tell her more, but Eliada remained silent. “That’s it? That’s all you know?”
“Knowledge of the great dragons was passed from Taroth to Taroth as their birthright and secret to guard—much of which was lost with the bloodline. I only know what Jesyr told me.”
Piper’s hands clenched and the Sahar pressed against her right palm. She needed more information. How was she supposed to figure out how to save Ash if she didn’t know what the dragon wanted or where it might have gone? The only person she could possibly think of who might know something about ancient Taroth secrets was Natania … but why would Nyrtaroth have discussed forbidden knowledge like that with his haemon lover?
Her vision blurred. The world spun and rocked under her feet. She blinked rapidly, catching her balance.
The charred Underworld forest was gone. She stood in front of a heavy wooden worktable in a large room. The wood-paneled walls were mostly hidden by tall, deep bookshelves. Hundreds of crates, baskets, and unrecognizable contraptions overflowed from the shelves with no rhyme or reason.
Before she could panic about where she was, her frantic gaze fell on the woman sitting at the table, her legs folded at the knee and hands resting neatly on the tabletop. She smiled as she brushed her golden hair off her shoulders.
“It has been so long, Piper,” Natania purred.
Piper looked around again, her heart climbing into her throat. “I’m not sleeping. I’m not unconscious. How the hell are you messing with my mind while I’m wide awake?”
Natania’s eyes widened innocently. “You needed to speak with me. Do you not want to speak with me?”
“This shouldn’t be possible!” Panic simmered in her gut. “You shouldn’t be able to do this. Wha
t is my body doing? Did I just collapse in front of everyone?”
“Of course not,” Natania replied calmly. “Scant seconds have passed, and your body will continue to stand as long as necessary. Really, Piper. Do you not realize the mind moves so much faster than reality?”
Piper pursed her lips. She did sometimes have long, involved dreams that seemed to last hours even when only snoozing for a few minutes. She supposed it made sense that time passed more slowly inside her mind—or rather, inside Natania’s mind.
Natania ran her hands over the tabletop, the wooden surface half buried in thin, unbleached papers and metal gadgets, as well as a sprinkling of grape-sized rubies and sapphires that would have made any jeweler drool.
“My dark moon spent much of his time in this room. He preferred the hours of darkness. Some nights I would stay up until the sun rose, doing nothing more than watching him work. His genius was rivalled only by Maahes—and, perhaps, by your sweet incubus.”
“Lyre?”
“Mm, yes, Lyre.” Natania breathed his name as if it were a delicious delicacy. “Such a mystery. That spell on his arrow, bound by blood. A most lovely weapon of war. Who, I wonder, trained him? A master weaver, surely. Years of study went into just that one arrow. Yes, your sweet incubus is far more than he seems.”
Piper pulled out the chair across from Natania and dropped into it. “I didn’t want to talk to you about Lyre. You know what happened to Ash. Did Nyrtaroth ever talk about the great dragons?”
Natania rose to her feet. Her silver gown swirled around her legs as she sauntered to the head of the table, trailing her fingers along it.
“My moon spent countless hours at this table, many of those long nights with my sun at his side, while they perfected their weaving for the Sahar—prior to adding the ‘final ingredient,’ of course.” Natania’s mouth twisted on the last words, bitterness lacing her voice like poison.
Piper roughly pushed her bangs out of her face. Natania knew everything in her head, including how desperately she wanted information about the dragon. So of course the woman would avoid the topic as long as possible.