CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Jareth~
Iliana had mistaken Darius for him. Had he mistaken Iliana for another woman? How had Darius encountered his Iliana? Why was her hair longer and her dress so old fashioned? And most of all, why didn’t she weep diamonds like a transformed dragoness? If this was a vision rather than a hallucination, what did it mean?
And what had occupied all Jareth’s waking thoughts for days? A means of locating Iliana’s sister and reuniting them. Could the weeping woman be Myst? It scarcely seemed possible. It was more improbable that the woman in his vision should be Myst, than that Iliana had been to Bradur, or Darius to Severn Island. Thinking about it made his head ache.
One thing was certain, he would not share his suspicions with Iliana. There was no way he was going to raise her hopes only to dash them. He would contact Darius and tell him they were on their way. The trip to Bradur would not take long. Three to four hours at most.
If Myst was on Bradur, they would find her. If the vision meant no more than any other passing dream, he would have to find the courage to confess to Iliana that he was certifiable and contagious. Release her from her pledge.
His call went to voicemail. He sent a text and an email and started to pack. A tap at the door had him flinging the last of his gear into his duffel.
“Come in,” he called.
“I’m ready.” Iliana’s arms were full of clothes. “I need a bag,” she said.
“We’ll have to borrow one from Lexi.” He tried to smile.
“Will it be cold?” she asked worriedly.
“Perhaps. But I will keep you warm.”
She blushed.
Theo’s helicopter was gassed up and ready to go. Jareth filed a flight plan. He tried once again to contact Darius. There was still no response. Well, with three babies they probably had their hands too full to answer their phones.
Iliana’s anxiety had been replaced by real excitement. She was rapt in aerial contemplation of an area she knew only from beneath the waves. Her excitement grew as he told her they were following the great rift in the earth’s crust from which the volcanoes welled. He knew she was thinking of Hel’s cryptic words. He was thinking their flight path mirrored the journey he and Darius had flown in his dream. Or perhaps that too had been a vision.
She shouted into her mic, nearly deafening him. “There. That’s where I guarded the treasures of the dead.”
Her former home was now a kilometer or so of jagged lava just barely higher than the ocean. No wonder the treasures of the dead had been entirely engulfed by the lava flow. A little seaweed grew here and there, but at high tide, Jareth suspected that this newly-made land was entirely submerged, not yet quite an island.
“This is better than flying on a dragon,” she yelled. “It’s not cold at all.”
“You’ll feel differently when we go flying together,” he assured her. “You’ll grow larger and be stronger. Bradur’s not far away now. That’s Reiki below us.”
“What’s Reiki?”
“Another volcanic island. It is the home of one of my more distant relatives, dragon lord Gunther Guntherson. Darius was serving as his sword bearer when he chanced to meet the sorceress, Freya*.”
“Why do dragon lords require assistance to carry their swords?” she asked disapprovingly. “If they are too weak to bear their own weapons, they are too weak to rule.”
Jareth laughed for the sheer pleasure of her company. Happiness had filled him with its unfamiliar presence. But he still needed to explain dragon ways to her. He sobered.
“Sword bearer is an old-fashioned term for body guard. Believe me, dragon lords are mighty warriors, fully capable of bearing their own weapons. But they retain the medieval custom of having a private army. Because the Lord of Reiki has few relatives, Darius was one of several Lindorms making sure that the island of Reiki was ready in case of attack.”
She looked unconvinced but was distracted by their first sight of Bradur. “Look how many trees it has,” she cried. “It’s even more beautiful than Severn Island.”
“It’s never been logged. Severn Island has. For centuries Freya and her brothers have guarded Bradur. This far north trees never grow very tall, but on Bradur they grow as thick and tall as the light and weather permit.”
He circled looking for a landing place. There was room in the clearing set aside for Darius’ chopper. Jareth set his helicopter down a careful dozen feet away from Darius’. To his surprise, although he could see lights, no one came running from the long low stone house.
“What is it?” whispered Iliana. “What’s wrong?”
“I was just wondering where everybody was.” He smiled reassuringly and unbuckled his harness. The rotors had stopped, and still no one had appeared. “Let’s go see where they have gotten to.”
“This house is beautiful,” she whispered clutching his arm. “It looks as if it just grew here.”
It did at that. The pale gray granite glowed pink in the setting sun. The roof glittered like quartz. Jareth guessed that Darius had installed solar panels that looked like sheets of slate or tiles depending on the weather. The house was constructed of worked stone from the island, put together by the powerful magic of Freya the Enchantress.
The door was shut. Jareth rapped loudly. He tried the knob. Iliana clung to his hand. Four wide steps down brought them into a stone-flagged kitchen with a great range and an open fire. A man and a woman turned to stare at them. Jareth smiled politely, even though it was obvious something was badly wrong.
“I thought I told you to stay in your room,” the woman said curtly.
“Hello, Darius,” Jareth said. He gave Iliana’s cold fingers a squeeze.
Darius broke out of his stupor. He came forward holding out his hand. They shook. “Jareth, by all that flies! What the heck are you doing here?”
“I seem to have arrived at an inopportune moment,” Jareth said. “But I needed to talk to you. I did text.”
“Shift.” Darius dug in his pocket for his cell. “I haven’t turned it back on since I kept watch.” He drew a deep breath. “Freya’s brother is upstairs badly injured. Brand may die. We’ve been taking turns to sit with him.”
Freya’s green eyes were narrowed. She glared at Iliana who cowered behind Jareth. “What are you doing with that nixie?” she demanded.
“Iliana is my mate,” said Jareth mildly.
“Is that what that little vixen is calling herself now?” The sorceress pointed a threatening hand at Iliana. “Go,” she commanded.
Iliana scurried for the staircase and vanished upstairs at the speed of light.
“It’s a long story, Jareth. But we have had trouble with that nixie.” With a great effort, Darius seemed to recollect his manners. “Will you not sit and join us in a cup of coffee?”
Freya waved a languid hand. Now that Iliana had left, she seemed to be her usual serene self. A steaming pot and three mugs appeared on the long harvest table. “Sit,” she urged Jareth. “Valdar is with Brand. He will call us if there is any change.”
*Dragon Bewitched