EIGHTEEN
Sian’s spies had returned with their first cursory report on Calliope, leaving him with more questions than answers.
In the ten days since her capture, his curiosity about his mate burned ever hotter. His gaze fell on the hand mirror. Want to see her.
He considered his addiction to watching her a major failing. Over the last few nights, he hadn’t slept, just gazed at her even when she slumbered.
Once she drifted off, nothing could wake her. And she had an active dreamlife, her expressive face evincing emotion after emotion, her limbs and ears twitching.
Was she dreaming about her past life? Would she ever admit if she were?
He succumbed to the need, snatching up the mirror and summoning the scene in the tower. He raised his brows at the sight.
She was talking to two spiders that seemed to be following her around the central courtyard. Fascinating. Was she no longer afraid of them?
She crossed to one of the walls and reached toward a fire vine. Then she . . . pressed her palm against it!
Why would she burn herself? To trick him in some way! To get sympathy?
She gritted her teeth against the pain. Then she did it to her other hand. To the backs of her wrists as well.
His instincts screamed to protect her. Even from herself.
She paused, eyes watering, then repeated the process. When tears spilled down her cheeks, he tensed to trace there and demand answers—
Realization struck him, and he stilled.
“Immunity.” She was building up her tolerance to the vine, so she could escape down the side of the tower. Torn between the need to kiss his ingenious mate and the urge to throttle her, he muttered, “You clever girl.”
He found himself almost pulling for her. Yet a wave of his hand imbued her ring with a confinement spell. As long as she wore it, she could never leave the castle.
She burned her forearm in vain. “Motherfucker fuckity fuck!”
His brows rose. Definitely not the language of a princess.
Calliope had gotten inside a Møriør hold; a spy would not be this desperate to get out of one.
Damn this thread of hope. Even if she proved true in this life, she hadn’t in her last. He could never trust her. The day he’d lost his horns he’d lost forever any hope of a future with her. A traitorous voice whispered, You grew new horns.
Unsettled, he traced to the River Styx to find Uthyr basking in lava again, backstroking with his wings. His golden eyes were heavy-lidded. —There is nothing like Pandemonian lava. Demon, if you could bottle this . . . — He sucked in a mouthful and spurted it into the air. —How is Calliope?—
Sian paced the stony riverbank. He kicked a black lava rock—cold and crumbling like his heart—into the river, watching it melt. “She’s doggedly trying to escape. And scratching slashes on the wall for each day of imprisonment.”
—Not typical spy behavior.—
“My thoughts as well.” He couldn’t hold in what he’d seen her do. “She was purposely making contact with the fire vine, burning herself to build immunity.” His tone held a note of pride.
—So she can climb out of the tower! Your mate’s a cunning female. And you thought her stupid.— Uthyr lifted his scaled brow. —I wonder how else you’ve misjudged her.—
So did Sian. “My own spies have returned from their first foray into her background. Apparently the Magic Kingdom is a gathering place for mortals. Calliope worked there for years as a face character, whatever that is.”
The contents of her apartment were sparse and gave scant insight into her personality—aside from the books stacked against every wall from floor to ceiling. The subjects ranged from introductory Japanese to Sumerian artifacts.
If she liked reading, then Graven’s Tower of Learning would leave her agog. Pity she’ll never see it. “She was abducted from her place of employment by the Sorceri bounty hunters.”
The hunters he still owed. Though Sian disliked having a debt hanging over him, he wasn’t looking forward to a bout of hell manipulation.
He’d have to put himself into a trance, envisioning the changes he would make to the lands—but he’d actually be forcing his own consciousness to expand.
Such an undertaking would deplete his life force in a way it hadn’t been in ages.
If Calliope could enliven his mind and combat his stupefying boredom, she might be worth that price.
—No wonder your mate is so indignant. She likely had a life she was enjoying. A career. Maybe even a lover. It seems Nïx is playing with you both.—
Sian gnashed his fangs. “My mate had a . . . fiancé.”
Uthyr cringed. —That’s less than encouraging. What of her family?—
“I believe she has none. No blood ties were uncovered on Earth.”
—I pity young Calliope. Cooping up a fleet-footed fey is beyond cruel.—
Her species loved to run. Did she miss it? What would she give for a bout of freedom?
—And imagine how confused she must be. She’s starving, imprisoned, and friendless in a strange new dimension. If you won’t bring her food she can tolerate, I’ll toss some game in there. Maybe keep her company. You could conjure a chess set for us.—
Sian scowled.
—She is bold, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be afraid at times.—
Sian’s mate. Afraid.
Damn Uthyr for plucking that instinct string!
Over his endless lifetime, Sian had pondered one question more than any other: What if she returns . . . different?
Already she seemed to be.
—She’s affecting you, demon. Your rages are much less severe.—
Mates were thought to center each other, bringing clarity and steadiness. Was she neutralizing his uncontrollable aggression?
—You won’t even attempt to seduce her?—
Sian shook his head.
—Why not?—
“Because it will end in failure.”
—What would you lose by trying? This strikes me as abysmal, Abyssian.—
“Damn it, dragon, I don’t know how. Before my transformation, my seduction arsenal consisted of one tried-and-true move: a crook of my finger. I beckoned, and females fought over me.” Everyone except his mate. “I never needed anything more. Yet you think someone like me could tempt an exquisite fey?”
—I will assist your endeavors with seduction. In the form of a man, I was quite good at it.—
Was Sian actually about to take advice on this subject from a fucking dragon? Before he could stop himself, he’d grated, “What would be your first move?”
—I’ll help you, but only if you swear off the cruelty. I won’t put forth the effort just to have you undermine it.—
“Very well. I swear off the cruelty. For now.”
Nod. —First, you need to provide her with comforts. If you give her a bed, she will think of you favorably whenever she’s in it. The same with clothes. Then you invite her to dinner. Afterward the two of you could explore the castle, and you’d let her pick out treasures for herself.—
Graven was a type of time capsule. The thousand rooms throughout the seven towers were filled with mystical goods—art, jewels, weapons, clothing, and more—preserved since his foresires had first created this castle.
As boys, Sian and Goürlav had played among those rooms, calling them the attics of the gods.
The two brothers had once been inseparable. After Sian’s return from Sylvan, they’d never been as close. How could they have been? Yet another thing Kari had stolen from him. . . .
—You could delight your mate with the marvels here.—
Reminded of his rage, Sian snapped, “She deserves no delight.”
Uthyr tapped his chin with a long talon, innocently asking, —Didn’t she call your home a “pathetic excuse for a castle”?—
The little witch had. She must’ve compared Graven to the stately castle in that Magic Kingdom and found the demons’ seat of power lacking. But so far she’d seen only a derelict tower and a cavern here.
He scrubbed his hand over his nape, recalling an exchange between himself and Kari:
“Do your kind truly burrow in the ground?” she asked with a shudder.
“Some live in the underworld of the Abyss.” As his ancestors had before Graven had been completed. “But we also have temples of solid gold and a grand castle.”
“Grand?” She scoffed. “I suspect your definition of the word does not match my own.”
Sian stopped pacing. “If you were a talented seducer as a man, that would have been millennia ago. What do you know of modern females?”
Uthyr cast him a fang-filled grin. —I watch soaps.—