Chapter Seven
The falcon’s elusive scent lingered maddeningly in the corridor outside his bedroom. He followed it through the abandoned palace until he reached the Garden Hall, a great room lined with floor-to-ceiling windows along the outside wall that overlooked what had once been an extensive garden.
Now, as he glanced out the windows, there was nothing to be seen but ice and snow-covered branches of trees, and mounds where well-tended shrubbery had once been. The great room had marble floors that were currently as cold as ice, cracked white molding along the top edges of the walls, a mellow gold paint that had grown faded and blotched with water stains, and vaulted ceilings with arched nooks overhead that were filled with white alabaster statues.
Outside, heavy, dark clouds hung low in the sky, and the grayness of the day leached all color from what Oberon’s memories told him had once been a bright, airy, and cheerful space.
Overhead, in the shadow of one graceful alabaster statue, the ruffled shape of a bird huddled. Her previous sleek shape had disappeared. She had fluffed out all her feathers and looked fat as a disgruntled partridge, small head sunk down between her wings.
It was comical enough to almost make him smile, except his rage still burned too cold to allow humor to set in.
As he prowled around the empty expanse, the fat partridge shrank back deeper into the shadows, but it was too late. He had already spotted her.
Restlessly, he sniffed along the floor and the edges of the great arched doorways, but there were no other fresh scents. The place smelled of winter, dry rot, and happier events that had occurred long ago. He and the Wyr female were the only two living creatures he could sense anywhere on the palace grounds.
She had chosen her perch wisely. In his lion form he had a huge spring in his leap, but the alcove where she huddled was still beyond his physical reach. As long as she remained there, he would have to consider his repertoire of magic when he was ready to launch a strike against her.
While he waited to see if she would speak, he considered the various possibilities. As he seemed to recall, she’d certainly had no problem with talking before he had fully awakened.
The silence drew out between them, and he grew irritated. The light scratches on his nose had already healed, but he wanted to paw at her, his own claws out, and draw blood like she had drawn his.
Silkily, he asked, Cat got your tongue?
If anything, her feathers ruffled further, and that small graceful head all but disappeared.
Very funny. Her grumpy mental voice sounded much better than her physical voice did. Okay, I apologize. I am so very sorry for what happened—
An apology wasn’t what he wanted. Whirling to face the shadowed alcove where she perched, he snarled wordlessly. The bestial sound vibrated in the huge nearby windows, and her words snapped off as if he had sliced through them with a sword.
Come down here and face me properly, or are you too much of a coward to do so? He threw out the challenge carelessly. He had no real expectation she would comply. If they stood face-to-face and she was grounded from flight, he had no doubt he could easily destroy her.
And she certainly didn’t seem to be motivated to continue the confrontation on the ground. Instead, she told him in a steady, crisp voice, Oberon, you’re going to die unless you consent to medical treatment.
That voice. That sounded exactly like the voice that had wound through his dreams, interrupting his nightmares of Isabeau. He snapped, I did not give you permission to address me by my name.
She retorted, I don’t really give a shit.
Cold fury blinded him. He flung himself at the wall just below the alcove where she sheltered. In his Wyr form, he weighed close to ninety stone, and as his body slammed into the wall, it shuddered. Cracks broke in the plaster, radiating out in a sunburst pattern.
Is that supposed to frighten me? she said coldly. Because I assure you, it does not. Your temper tantrum doesn’t change the facts. You’re going to die unless you consent to receive medical treatment.
Big as he was, too much rage filled his body for him to stand still. He paced the length of the Garden Hall and swung back around to prowl back toward her. He growled, How is it any business of yours whether I live or die, woman?
It’s my business because I came here to heal you if I could, she told him. My name is Dr. Kathryn Shaw, and I left a busy, full life behind in America to travel thousands of miles—across an ocean and two countries—just to see if I could help you. So far, this trip has been nothing but a disaster, but I am still here and willing for that to change if you are.
He coughed out an incredulous laugh. Do you really think I would consent for you to get anywhere near me again? You invaded my private space—you disrupted the stasis spell that was keeping me alive… You…
His words trailed away as he recalled the soft, gentle way her lips had pressed to his. It hadn’t really been an erotic gesture all on its own.
Not until he had kissed her back.
He shook his head sharply as if to dislodge the thought. What difference did any of that make now?
What I actually did, the falcon snapped, each word more crisply defined than ever, was move that magic needle away from your heart by two millimeters. Did that have something to do with waking you up? I don’t know. I wasn’t here when you put yourself under your stasis spell. But I do know this: you still carry the assassination spell inside you, so the only thing I’ve gained you is a little more time.
Now he really felt trapped as he paced the hall. Thanks to that infernal spell, he’d been going in circles for years. If what you say is true, he growled, how long have I got?
I don’t know. It depends on how activated the assassination spell is. Maybe weeks? Maybe a few months? He could almost hear the shrug in her mental voice. The only thing I know for certain is that you are going to die if you don’t consent to more medical treatment.
Or that’s what you want me to believe! he snapped, even as he turned his awareness inward, seeking out the source of the poison in his body.
I don’t care what you believe. The indifference in her voice was total.
There it was, his nemesis—exactly where she had said it was. It was a touch farther away from where it had been when he had put himself into stasis. The woman had been telling the truth, at least about that much. He recalled the vials, the scalpel, and the other odd things strewn about his room.
His cold fury abated, at least to a certain extent so he could think properly. Stretching out on the floor, he reclined while never letting his gaze stray from the shadowed part of the alcove where she perched.
Say I believe you about the assassination spell, he said slowly. What about the other things?
There was a tiny rustle of feathers as she shifted. What other things?
She was beginning to sound tired. His lack of caring was monumental.
Laying his head between his paws, he said, I can tell the spell has shifted a small amount away from my heart, which verifies what you have said. Also, there are implements and vials in the room that look like they could belong to a physician’s bag. For now, I will accept that part of your story. But there are other things—odd items, clothing, drawings, and food. Butter? Cheese? There is also the scent of an old companion, but he has yet to show himself. Where is he? If you are a doctor intent on healing me, what’s in it for you? Why did you kiss me? He paused, eyes narrowed. If you are as blameless as you claim, you will stop hiding in that niche, come down here, and present yourself properly.
I agreed to try to heal you, she said. I didn’t agree to put myself in danger or make myself vulnerable to attack.
He would find a way to trap her. He had a hunter’s patience, and he was in no doubt of that. For now, he wanted to look on her human face again, and to hear her physically speak so he could better assess whether she was telling the truth.
And if she wasn’t?
He hadn’t eaten for a very long time, and he was in the mood to find out what a falcon tasted like.
* * *
Kathryn might not sound like it, but she was more rattled than she could ever remember being.
Because Oberon in his Wyr form was frankly terrifying. Back in his bedroom, when he had shapeshifted into his animal form, it had catapulted her even more deeply into shock—and she’d been pretty far gone by that point already.
He was not just a big damn cat. He was the biggest white lion she had ever seen, easily the size of two tigers combined. How big was that… maybe twelve hundred pounds? The average size of an African male lion was around four hundred to four fifty. That would make Oberon three times that size.
His gigantic paws were like dinner plates, and each wicked claw was as long as her fingers. And his eyes… there was something wrong with his eyes. They looked like cracked ice, black and white and entirely without feeling. The only real emotion she believed he had felt throughout their confrontation was anger.
This was a dangerous predator filled with ice and fury. How was this man the same one that the other Daoine Sidhe loved so much?
So she was in quite a dilemma. Going to ground ranked highly in the realm of Pretty Bad Ideas. But if she was going to continue to treat him, she had to somehow win his trust and come to trust him enough to get close again, and that wouldn’t be an easy feat.
Sprawled in a pose of apparent relaxation, the lion watched her steadily. He looked like he could wait there for years.
Finally she stirred and sighed. I’ll come down if you’ll move to the other end of the hall and turn into your human form as well.
He took his time before replying. While she waited, there was nothing in his leonine face to give her any hint of what he was thinking. He was the worst of all combinations, she thought uneasily—he had the lack of control over his animal nature that younger Wyr had, and it was coupled with an ancient, powerful, and cunning personality.
But based on their first skirmish, if he were to station himself on the other side of the hall, she should be able to shapeshift and fly out of reach before he could get to her. She was pretty sure.
Just as she was starting to get antsy, the lion rose to his feet. The lines of his immense body flowed with predatory grace. He padded unhurriedly to the windows. That end of the hall was closer to the two arched doorways as well, so his decision on where to position himself had been a strategic one. When he reached the spot that was squarely in the middle of the two doorways, he shapeshifted, and Oberon the man stood before her.
Holy cow, yes, he was bigger in person than any of the gryphons. Towering over six feet, Oberon was easily the size of Tiago, one of the former sentinels who had the Wyr form of a thunderbird, or even Dragos himself, and every inch of Oberon’s proud stature said he was a monarch.
With his back to the window, his features lay in shadow. Even so, she could see enough to know that his hard expression was chilling and the strange cracked ice in his irises hadn’t changed when he assumed his human form.
Crossing his arms, Oberon said, “Your turn, Doctor.”
This was her idea. She had to go through with it.
Shaking out her feathers, she tipped into the short glide that would take her to the point farthest away from him. As she neared the floor, she shapeshifted in midflight. She was already walking as her feet hit the ground.
Turning, she faced the Daoine Sidhe King.
“I’m suffering from voice strain, and I had to abandon both my coat and cloak upstairs, so I need to keep this brief,” she croaked. “While you’ve been comatose, your Power has been raging out of control. Apparently, your skills as a weather mage are phenomenal, because your own people were forced to abandon the city. Your body was the only thing that held any warmth. All the water is frozen solid. The food too. None of the fires I’ve built will generate any heat. I was in bed with you because it was the best way I knew to get warm. The food was with us, under the covers, so our combined body heat would thaw it enough for me to eat it.”
Her throat felt dry and raw. Putting a hand over the base of her neck, she tried to generate enough saliva to swallow, with minimal results. She was too dehydrated. She had needed that water.
He cocked his head, one corner of his mouth lifting in derision. “Physician, why don’t you heal yourself?”
“Because there’s only so much that magical healing can do. The physical body has to do the rest.” Her hoarse voice cracked, and she continued in a whisper. “All I need are rest, warmth, food, and proper hydration. Healing spells won’t give me that. This cold isn’t normal. You’ve already destroyed half your city and forced your people out. As long as you’re conscious, you need to pull yourself together and get your Power back under control.”
Coldly, he said, “You don’t lecture me on what I need to do.”
That was his only reaction to hearing how much distress he had caused his own people? She had rarely disliked someone as thoroughly as she disliked him in that moment. He had totally killed any lingering attraction she might have felt.
She snapped, “Fine, let’s keep things blindingly obvious, shall we? I repeat—you’re going to die unless you consent to medical treatment. I’m your best option for healing, and I’ve already demonstrated I can produce results. But like I said, I agreed to help you if I could—I didn’t agree to put myself in danger. Either I stay and continue to work on your healing, or I give up and leave. Right now, the conditions are unlivable, so unless things change, I’m leaving. But by all means… don’t take my word for things. Go take a tour of what’s left of your city and see the damage you’ve done for yourself. It’s your move, asshole. Like I said, if something doesn’t change in the next two hours, I’m gone.”
She paused. As unlikeable as he was, he still deserved an explanation for her earlier behavior, but right now, she was too angry to give it to him. In the meantime, she was risking hypothermia without her coat, and she wasn’t going to risk damaging her vocal cords with any further conversation. She had her own physical needs to take care of.
Shapeshifting into a falcon again, she soared as high as the ceiling would let her and darted toward the nearest doorway. Her heart pounded as she neared the still, shadowed predator watching her, but he made no move to attack. Flying safely out of the hall, she made her way up to his bedroom.
Once there, she shapeshifted again. First, she shrugged into her coat, opened one of the body warmers, and tucked it underneath her sweater so it could help to bring her body temperature back up.
While it heated, she moved rapidly to collect her things—her cloak, the various items that belonged in her physician’s bag, the small metal box holding her antique fire-starter kit, and the all-important emergency Mylar blanket. While she worked, she strained to hear any telltale sound that would indicate he was returning, but a deadened silence blanketed the place.
Last, she snatched up the scattered food. It had already started to freeze again. Dammit! And she didn’t even see where the tankard had landed. Tucking the nuts, cheese, butter, and dried fruit under her sweater beside the body warmer, she eased out of the bedroom and jogged down the hall.
She had given him two hours. Now she had to find a place where she felt safe enough to wait it out before she made her next move. This palace was his home. He would know it far better than she could. He probably knew all the best hiding places already.
In the end, she surrendered to instinct. There was a sundial in the rear garden that she had been using to tell the time. Slipping outdoors, she chose the largest tree she could find, a huge, ancient silver maple, that provided a good line of sight to the dial, and she climbed as high as she dared.
When she reached the place where she no longer trusted any of the higher limbs to hold her weight, she arranged herself on her perch, pulled out the Mylar blanket, and tucked it around her torso and legs to block out the bitter wind.
Oberon was so much heavier than she was, even if he climbed the tree he wouldn’t be able to reach her height. She would trust her safety to physics and gravity, and when the two hours had passed, she would shapeshift and fly away.
Once she was settled as comfortably as she could manage, she wrapped one arm around the trunk to keep herself anchored and used her free hand to pull out the newly rethawed food, one item at a time.
It was a very unappetizing meal. Without water to wash it down, she had to choke down every bite, and eating the lumps of the butter felt like swallowing slime. What she really needed was fresh meat, but at least she managed to ingest enough calories to quiet the gnawing hole in her middle.
After that, there was nothing to do but wait. Pulling a flap of the Mylar blanket over her head to capture the heat from her breathing, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. Intrusive thoughts chased each other around in her head.
What was Oberon thinking? What would he decide to do next?
Very rarely, a Wyr could turn feral enough there was nothing that could be done to bring them back to their senses. Kathryn had been involved in a few cases where she’d had to diagnose a feral Wyr and recommend they be put down for the safety of everyone around them. It wasn’t humane to cage them indefinitely, but each time the decision had been gut-wrenching.
Oberon wasn’t feral yet, at least not quite. He might be repellant, but he still had language and the ability to engage in some kind of reasoning process. He might not reason the way she would like for him to, but he was capable of a certain amount of cold logic.
Still, she couldn’t shake the sense that he was somehow fundamentally different from the impression she had received from those who loved him. Was that because she simply loathed him in real life? Or were any of her observations thus far valid for diagnostic purposes?
The scientist in her was still intrigued, but self-preservation trumped everything else, hands down. She peeked out at the sundial. Even with the heavy cloud cover, there was enough of a shadow to get a reading on the time. Only another quarter hour to go, and then she was out of here.
Danger prickled along the back of her neck. Holding her breath, she listened intently. She heard nothing but the constant wailing of the wind. And yet…
Snatching the Mylar away from her face, she looked around.
Oberon stood at the base of her tree, looking up at her. The black-and-white cracked ice in his eyes reflected the clouds overhead. There was no emotion in his wide, unblinking gaze and blank expression.
Staring down at him, she shuddered. She had seen serial killers with the same lack of expression. One of them had been injured badly in a battle with two sentinels before they had brought him down. Dragos had ordered her to heal him so the killer would be healthy enough to stand trial. He’d said the families of his victims deserved it. She had agreed, but it had still been one of the creepiest experiences she’d ever had.
“I have unanswered questions, Dr. Shaw,” Oberon said.
“We all have something,” she told him. After resting for almost two hours, her voice was marginally better. “I have a full bladder, but I don’t feel safe enough to pee.”
Her flippant reply didn’t appear to provoke any reaction. “I walked through my city. The damage here didn’t happen quickly. How long was I in stasis?”
She stirred carefully. She might have indulged in some petty sarcasm, but she hadn’t been lying—she had to pee very badly. “How do you want to calculate the time? On Earth, it’s been two hundred years, and the social, political, and technological changes have been huge. I don’t know the yearly cycle here in Lyonesse, but if you use Earth’s three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, you’ve been in stasis here for fifteen and a half years.”
Ah, now that provoked a reaction. His hands tightened into fists. “The scent of my old court companion threads through the city. Where is he?”
“If you’re talking about Robin, I don’t know.” She stirred again. “After I promised to explain everything to him first before casting any spells on you, he brought me here and shadowed me for two days. Then he vanished.”
His frigid gaze remained sharp and unblinking on her face. “Explain those drawings in my room.”
“I drew those when I explained things to Robin. Some of my explanations became lengthy. He doesn’t have a medical degree.”
“Where is Isabeau?”
“Short answer: I don’t know. I’ve never met her.” She tried to consider what she should say next. How would he react if she brought up Morgan? Better not find out. “I did sit in on one conversation where your cousin said Isabeau had suffered a recent setback. Annwyn was hopeful they could defeat the Light Court, especially if we could revive you.”
He reacted to that too. Features sharpening, his lips pulled back from hard white teeth as he exhaled in a near soundless hiss. “Ah, Annwyn. How is my devoted cousin?”
Growing irritated, she snapped, “She’s a lot more devoted to you than I would ever be. I would have given up on you years ago, but she’s the one who hired me. In fact, every member of your court that I’ve met is more devoted than I would be. Based on what I’ve seen of your charming personality, I don’t get it.”
“Have a care, physician,” he said between his teeth. “I have chosen not to attack you again—yet.”
She glanced at the sundial. “Your two hours are almost up, and I have only one more thing to say.” Taking a deep breath, she reined in her temper. Despite the fact that he was an asshole and she was personally mortified about her earlier behavior, he still deserved an explanation for what had happened. “Oberon, I am truly sorry for what happened in your bedroom. It was not what it looked like, or what you thought it was. When I…” Force it out, Shaw. “…when I kissed you, I was saying goodbye. You would only allow me to work on you when I talked nonstop, and I was losing my voice. With the unlivable conditions here, I couldn’t—I can’t heal you without your cooperation. So I was giving up, and after having come so far I felt emotional, and I crossed a line. I promise it won’t happen again.”
He reacted to that as well. The dark slashes of his eyebrows drew together in a fierce frown while he laid one big, flattened hand on the trunk of the tree, as if he would physically push it away.
She stared at him, perplexed. What did that mean? He looked as if he were trying to push away her words—he didn’t appear to welcome anything she said.
She muttered, “I think I’m done here. We’re not making any headway, and I should go home.”
“Wait,” he snapped. “You may have had your say, but I am not finished yet. You demand I give my consent for you to treat me, so you owe me this interview.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Of all the times for him to come out and say something right, it had to be right as she was getting ready to shapeshift and get the hell away from this cursed place.
She glared at him. “Fine,” she ground out. “What else do you want to know?”
His eyelids lowered, hiding his disturbing alien gaze. “Why did Annwyn pick you?”
The wind had picked up while they talked, and she drew the Mylar blanket tighter around her torso.
“I’m not sure,” she told him finally. “You would have to ask Annwyn for her reasons, but I know my résumé would have been part of what she considered. I’m two hundred years old. I’ve been a trauma surgeon in the Wyr demesne in New York for over a hundred and forty years, and I’ve been on retainer to Dragos Cuelebre and his court for almost ninety. I specialize in combining magical and surgical techniques when I create treatment plans—”
He interrupted her, eyes narrowed. “You are the dragon’s physician?”
Of course. Oberon would be well acquainted with Dragos. Sometimes that fact could work well in one’s favor, and sometimes it most definitely did not.
She couldn’t tell how Oberon felt about it. Swallowing what she had been about to say, she redirected. “On the rare occasion that he has needed a trauma surgeon, yes, I am. Most of my work has been on the sentinels after they’ve sustained injuries from battle. At first I didn’t understand why Annwyn insisted I would be such a good fit for this assignment, but now that I know you’ve become full Wyr, her choice makes more sense.”
He started to pace, his long, powerful body tight with leashed aggression. “Those are all other people’s experiences and opinions. Give me one good reason I should consent to you treating me. Why should I trust you when you’re working for my cousin?”
Kathryn angled her jaw as she chewed on that. Annwyn had shown her nothing but loyalty and caring about Oberon’s well-being, but he didn’t sound like he trusted her at all. What did that mean?
She told him a version of what she had said to Robin. “I don’t owe Annwyn any loyalty. My first loyalty lies with my patient, always. After almost fifteen years, she probably has a long, elaborate list of preconceived notions about how things are supposed to go once you’re revived. None of that is any of my business. Whatever comes after you’re healed is up to you. My one mission—the only job I care about—is healing.”
He didn’t look impressed as she spoke. Why did she even bother?
She could have let it go. Half of her was already winging home. But she knew exactly what an ancient alpha asshole like Oberon would respect hearing, so she leaned forward, met his cold gaze, and gave it to him.
“Besides,” she said, her voice soft, “I could have already killed you if I’d wanted to. All I would have had to do was keep your Power acquiescent while I drove a dagger home to finish what Morgan’s assassination spell had started, and we would never be having this conversation.”
For the first time he smiled, a quick baring of his teeth. She caught her breath. Whatever else Oberon was, his expression of naked ferocity was breathtaking.
Then he bowed his head and held out his arms. It was only as his Power rippled out over the clearing that she realized her danger—he might very well be casting a spell so pervasive she couldn’t fly away from it.
Whipping off the Mylar blanket, she stuffed it in her pack and prepared to shapeshift.
Then she realized what he had done.
He had cast his Power out in as wide and far a casting as she had ever felt, and now he clenched his fists and pulled it all back again. The draw of magic was so forceful it felt dizzying, like sensing hurricane-force winds blowing past her. Usually her sense of direction and balance were immaculate. Now she clung to her perch, afraid to take to the air until it stopped.
After a few moments, the magical hurricane died down. Oberon smiled coldly. “I have done what you requested and taken back my own Power. This winter is normal again, Doctor. I give my consent for you to treat me—at least for now. You may begin.”
Excitement swelled. She could no longer remain sitting on her perch and scrambled to stand on the branch.
“Not so fast, King,” she told him. “Consent might be a necessary part of treatment, but you also need to prove you’re not going to hurt me before I get near you again. I don’t see how you’re going to do that, but I’m open to you giving it a try. Convince me you’re not a sociopath… or, wait, you don’t know what that terms means in a modern sense. Convince me you mean me no harm, and you won’t hurt me.” She glanced at the sundial. “You’ve got five minutes, more or less. Go.”