Blood of Stars and Gods Page 27

  How this dragon and this refined, intellectual demigod have become friends, brothers even, I can’t imagine.

  “Are you ready?” Theo asks, and Dante exhales heavily, nodding.

  “Yes.” He pulls his arm away when Theo reaches for it. “I’ll bite myself. Thank you very much. I do believe you aren’t quite aware of your own strength and may get rather carried away.”

  “Fine. But you control yourself as well. I do believe you aren’t quite aware of your tendency toward overly emotional displays of affection and get rather carried away.” Theo remarks with a hint of sarcasm. “Enough with the hugging, Dante.”

  The poor demigod looks absolutely offended.

  I doubt he recalls jumping up during his catatonic state, throwing his arms around Theo, and declaring how deeply he loves him. Or remembers Theo growling at him.

  Any lightheartedness seems to dissipate from the room with one shared look between them, and Theo nods as Dante raises his arm to his mouth, the soft snick of fangs dropping resonating in my ears. “My brother,” He says quietly, offering his bleeding arm up to Theo.

  It’s over in a few unceremonious moments, nothing heartwarming spoken aloud, though the expressions shared in their eyes say a thousand silent words only two beings with a history such as theirs could understand.

  Dante’s eyes drop to Theo’s chest with a quick glance before traveling to meet mine. “Ero is right. His mark is clearly defined, the circle enclosing the triquerta, and creating a Trifecta, our Trifecta, one we have yet to understand. Nonetheless, it is ours.”

  A smirk creeps across my dragon’s lips. “So, now I have the blood of stars and gods within my veins. What does that make me?”

  “Still a dragon,” Dante replies with a snort of laughter. “Albeit, the Lord Regent of the Dracopraesi, a dragon never touched by death, the guardian of the North Star, and her chosen husband, so likely one with a rather unhealthy ego, but still a dragon.”

  Chapter 24

  *Theo*

  The large eat-in kitchen has long been a gathering place of Clan Corrigan, and now it hosts the whole of our group, overflowing into the family room, everyone gathered to hear the announcement of Corrin’s successor.

  As I lean against the counter and watch the way they intermingle, dragons, vampires, deities, and humans alike, it is difficult to see why once we drew harsh lines between our cultures, though not all divisions have diminished, and many may never. We have come far.

  Oliver and Corrin leave great voids among us in their absence. Such a thing I expected of my brother. Never did I believe I would feel that way in the aftermath of the vampire’s death.

  Perhaps I have come some distance, too.

  “What are you doing over here alone, looking all tall, dark, and broody?” Cait falls into my open arms, always welcoming her. She looks up at me, smiling and bright-eyed, but it fades quickly, with it, her voice drops to a whisper. “You’re tense. What’s wrong?”

  “Waiting. That is what’s wrong. Ero holds the fate of the sovereignty in his hands with the name of the new king.” The others talk and enjoy one another’s company while we are still together. None of them pay any mind to us, and we have practice at keeping conversations quiet. “Cedric has never wished for the crown. It was his son’s destiny, and that is the only reason he entangled himself in such politics. But he is a fine advisor and a wise man. He would accept the throne if the Goddess asks it of him; however, he is too kindhearted, and its burden would destroy him in time.”

  “Jennifer worries what will happen to the monarchy if Cedric doesn’t take the throne. He’s a stabilizing force, a familiar face to the public. The transition would be easier.” Cait casts a glance at the woman standing near Liam. They do not touch, but I can see that connection of which Claaron spoke. “And who else could they possibly bring in? No supernaturals are going to let humans botch governing again after the twenty-first-century disaster. Fae wants no part of societal integration. The violent elves are out of the question, and too few rational vampire clans have enough clout in the world to hold the position without rebellion.”

  “There is Evan.” Her expression wears the same concern I feel. “Indeed. He has not the temperament for politics. PR suits him well. Engaging people is his strength. But the weight of the crown would crush his spirit swiftly.”

  She opens her mouth to reply, but Ero clearing his throat, a call to attention for everyone in the room, stops her short, and she turns as he raises a hand in the air. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, reassured by her nearness. I have seen many changes, many monarchies rise and fall, yet in the past, I did not feel tied to one in the ways I do this crown, nor did I have a home in which I wished to remain within any particular sovereignty.

  “Good afternoon, my friends.” Ero’s soft voice carries through the rooms, a commanding presence despite his mild demeanor, a humble man yet still a god. “It has been an arduous few days for you. Dana has asked that I express her pride in the strength of character shown through the trials faced in the midst of battle and every form of loss experienced. You have fulfilled and exceeded her expectations. As deeply pained as I am to attend to you for the reasons I do, I feel honored to be in the presence of those who give of themselves for the sake of others. Each of you here has shown compassion for another.”

  A wide smile spreads across his face as the room grows unnaturally still, and a few glances dart to Falcon, who stands like a stone statue in the doorway to the foyer, arms crossed over his chest. He stares past the god, out the windows, and makes eye contact with no one.

  “I consider myself a bit of an expert in the area of compassion,” remarks Ero with an airy laugh typical of the Fae’s patron god. “So trust me when I say that I have seen it in you.” Running a hand over the heavy, square wooden box on the table in front of him, expression turning serious, and I hold Cait tighter, preparing for the news we await with waning patience. “But alas, there are greater matters to which we must attend. We have said farewell to King Corrin mac Cedric of Clan Corrigan, and as much as he was a grandson, a son, and a brother, Corrin was the king, and a throne cannot go empty. The people of this sovereignty need a successor, and they need one now.”

  Cedric, Evan, and Runa stand together with Dante, prepared to hear the news of who will wear Corrin’s crown. Evan clutches his father’s hand, no doubt in some measure of worry that he could be chosen.

  Ero opens the box, lifting Corrin’s golden crown with its woven Celtic design and jewel-centered triquerta in the front. Facing the clan, he holds it in his hands, all humor erased from his face. “On behalf of Dana, Highest Goddess of the High Realm, Mother Goddess to all living creatures great and small, I hereby declare Dante Berkano, son of Dana, as King of United Sovereign America and all its territories. All hail your king.”

  “Holy hopping hell-bunnies,” Cait whispers over her shoulder to me.

  “Indeed. That was rather unexpected.”

  I cannot say Dante’s reaction is, not to me. Ero moves forward to place the crown on his head, and my friend steps backward, raising his hands as if defending himself from an attack. “No. Ero, I do not … I …” He’s at a loss for words, a rare trait in the demigod.

  “You refuse the crown?”

  Dante’s face reddens, and his eyes flit between the floor and the god standing before him. “I didn’t … that is not what I mean to say.”

  In the pause, I can see in his eyes the way he calms. He admitted centuries ago how he recites Elder Futhark runes in his head when anxious about something. It was in his fascination with runes that he found his preferred, but rarely used, Earthen Realm surname, ‘Berkano’ being a rune signifying the Mother Goddess.

  I wonder if he has recited ‘Pethro’ yet, the rune of fate and destiny. It seems that one has also become significant to him in rather sudden and unexpected ways of late.

  “If this is the path my mother wishes for me, the destiny she sees befitting me, I accept.” Dante glances to
me, and I’ve never seen so much fear in my dear friend’s eyes. “But I will not accept a crown of gold. I will rule in the name of the Earthen Realm Goddess, the Goddess of the People, the North Star of the Dracopraesi. I may hold great knowledge, but Caitriona leads with an unfathomable strength of heart, and Theo with an incomparable moral compass. If we are a Trifecta, then we are in this as well. I may bear the title, but a wise king knows his weaknesses.”

  Dante takes the crown from Ero and places it back in its box, closes the lid and latches it. “My crown will be silver, of simple Celtic design, and bear the enclosed triquerta, the symbol of the Trifecta. Cedric, is it safe to say you will stay on as Lord Master Chamberlain?” He receives a nod and soft smile from his son. “And Evan, you would continue as Secretary of Public Relations for me, would you not?”

  “Of course, Grandfather.” The young vampire beams with pride, and I imagine he knows working PR for Dante will be far easier than it was for his wayward brother.

  The new monarch approaches Jennifer, extending a hand, bowing as she accepts it. “My fairest lady, I do hope you will accept an offer of continued employment as Personal Secretary to the King, despite requiring that you must tolerate me flailing about at an utter loss for my bearings as monarch for a bit. I daresay after ten years in your position, you could singlehandedly run the office quite smoothly, and set me straight right quickly. I’m amenable to whatever terms you deem necessary to find this a suitable offer.”

  “Far be it from me to refuse such flattery from the king.” Liam nudges her in the side with an elbow, and she suppresses only a partial grin. “I’m sure coming to terms won’t be too difficult, your Highness.”

  The mortification on Dante’s face is priceless, and I wish I had my GoSky ready to capture the moment and show him later. “Please, Ms. Anly, unless situational formalities require otherwise, call me Dante.”

  “Not unless you call me Jen.”

  Dante drew lines in the sand long ago regarding his definition of propriety and respect for women, hence why Cait will always be Caitriona to him.

  “Fair enough.”

  But apparently, he becomes flexible if that rule affects him being called by a title. Time will tell how many creative ways he can find to address her without actually calling her ‘Jen’.

  “Hail to the king!” I call out, grinning at the tight smile that forms on his face as it reddens, while everyone cheers and echoes my sentiments.

  “He hates this,” Cait comments.

  “Oh, indeed he does. However, Dante is a wise choice, and we will be there for him. Our circle is closed. Our bond is strong.” I run my fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her ear as I speak quietly. “The sovereignty needs stability. He brings longevity, balance, and mindfulness to the throne. He has no lust for power or infamy. There will be no whoring, no debauchery, no scandals to tarnish his name and shame his people. Dante will make mistakes. Even the wisest of kings do. But he will admit to them and right his wrongs. I’ve seen how he can change, Cait, and I know he no longer fears reaching out a hand when in need of help.”

  “Well, then … all hail the king.” She shakes her head, laughing. “So his last name’s really Berkano? I had no idea.”

  I grin and kiss the top of her head. “I’m sure you read it in a textbook somewhere and do not remember. We have long and storied histories, Cait. Do not think you know everything about us. Perhaps you may never.”

  ***

  “This seems awfully ceremonial, Theo.” Cait mutters under her breath, tugging at the thick, blue scarf around her neck.

  “It is, but you look beautiful, and this means a great deal to them.” The long, chocolate-brown, wool coat complements her well in its fit, and the suede boots’ heels give her the small bit of extra height she likes. “Be patient. This will not take long, and the sun is shining today, so it is much warmer than it was earlier this week.”

  I take hold of her right hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and Dante does the same on her left side, offering a smile as well. From behind, Ero pats her shoulder. I’m sure the clan and Jennifer would give words of encouragement were they not remaining a respectful distance behind the god. This is not a matter of their concern. This is a matter for dragons, for Cait as our North Star, and for me as the Lord Regent.

  Once again, Dante finds himself tied in complicated ways to things that outsiders would not see as his business.

  While it is true dragons do not care for grandiose pomp and circumstance, we care very much for honor and respect. Cait is quite correct in her comments regarding our egos, and few dragons would not admit it. We are proud, but we are not ‘all talk and no action,’ as they say.

  My brothers, Cait’s Guard, create an aisle before us with Claaron and Jai to the right, Liam and Clifford to the left, each in their natural forms, seated regally in the sunlight as it glistens off their scales. Falcon waits at the far end from us, well dressed and standing like a soldier fit for inspection.

  “He looks like Liam.” Cait stifles a giggle. “The way he stands. Liam’s always doing that.” I would tell her Falcon might believe she is laughing at him, but Ero slips a laugh, too. I cannot tell a god to be quiet, not that telling Cait would be effective either. “Does it matter how I do this?”

  “Order always matters to dragons, Caitriona.”

  I ignore Dante’s remark. “Honor his service first, then announce your decision regarding his request. Should you accept him, such honors better dignify his rank among your Guard. Do you remember what to say in acknowledging his service?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Yes. We’ve gone over this fifty times in the past hour.”

  I bite my tongue from making sharp remarks. This has been a long day already. Instead, I lean over and kiss her cheek. “And you’ve done well. Now it’s time to begin.”

  With a deep breath, Cait stands, head held in an elegance befitting every bit the goddess blood that runs in her veins. “Falcon Kielgard, First Brother of the House of Kielgard, Sixth House of the Dracopraesi, present yourself before me that you may be honored for your noble service.”

  Cait’s desire to roll her eyes is nearly audible to me.

  When Falcon reaches us, he bows to me, and I nod in return, then he drops to one knee at Cait’s feet, one fist clenched over his heart. “I accept such gracious honors and formally request to remain in milady’s eternal service.”

  “Do you pledge yourself to me?” Her question is calm, and I suspect she made her decision well beforehand. I will not argue, but I do not have to like it.

  “I do. I swear my fealty to you, our North Star. My honor and respect are yours. I swear to honor an eternal bond as your dragon—your guardian—protecting you as my ward, bringing death to those who would cause you harm, keeping peace at your behest, and dying a noble death in your name if that be my destined path.”

  She offers her hand, and on it, he places a gentle kiss. A deep warning growl escapes me at the sight. Cait does not chastise my territorial nature. As Lord Regent, I do not apologize either.

  “Go, and join the others. You are one of mine now, Falcon Kielgard.” He walks away to stand beside Jai, and Cait’s breath catches. “No, Falcon. That place remains as Oliver’s even in his absence. Take your place beside Clifford.” She exhales heavily and looks to me as he takes his place and shifts into his deep, crimson dragon form, the blackened, oily sheen of his scales showing with remarked effect in the daylight. “Thank you.” Her words to me are but a whisper.

  Until an hour ago, Cait understood nothing about the minute details of honor and rankings that have a wealth of meaning to dragons. Holding a position at her right hand versus her left matters significantly in our culture, where the right hand symbolizes strength. In Cait’s perception, those to her right hold a stronger bond with her. They are her ‘favorites’.

  In the eyes of every Dracopraesi, they hold a place of higher honor and respect because they sit at the North Star’s right hand.

&n
bsp; She lets out a quiet huff and adjusts her scarf once more. “Well, that was relatively quick and painless. What’s next?”

  “Now your Guard take to the sky, circle the area with great roars and breathing fire, warning anyone and anything that this is our territory.”

  I cannot suppress a grin as she rolls her eyes. “But we’re leaving and going home to Boston. This isn’t your territory.”

  “Location matters not, Cait.” I lean down and kiss her lips to the sound of thunderous celebratory roars in front of us and cheers and clapping behind us.

  And I do not care. She smiles against my lips, grasping my neck with her chilled fingers, and presses into the kiss. My Cait. My fiery Cait. Countless thousands of years I have spent waiting for her yet knew not that I waited.

  “Only you matter, Cait. Wherever you are, we claim as ours. We protect it and keep you safe.”

  “Then Boston should be the safest city in the Earthen Realm.” Her mouth curves into a grin, and I want to kiss her again.

  “Indeed. Second only to Avalon itself. Now, we dragons grow restless and need to fly.”

  Winking, she gives me a sassy little growl. “Ooh, you know I love it when you go full dragon, Theo.”

  Her effort to make me laugh is unsuccessful as I manage to maintain my serious Lord Regent demeanor, responding with a far deeper growl before letting her go and turning to the others. “Hezab! Eh sib!” I command them, stepping away from Cait in long strides.