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Was it a warning? My senses had shifted to high alert as we entered the barrow. There was ancient magic here, with its beginnings lost in the mists of time. It wove itself around us, a cloak of stars and shadows.
I turned back to look at the door. I could still see the trees and the clearing, but the pale sunlight of spring lingered outside, not crossing the doorstep. As I approached the arch, Smoky cleared his throat, and the door slammed shut by itself.
"Don't try to leave the barrow without my help. You aren't strong enough to negate my wards and bindings. You could hurt yourself."
"So I'm trapped here?" I glanced up at him. Once again, I realized that I really didn't know him very well, for all the time we'd spent together.
He silently swung around behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, leaning down to trail kisses along my shoulder. Damn, his lips were soft. "It would seem that's about the size of it."
The real question was what about the size of him? A brief thought that I'd bitten off more than I could chew ran through my mind as he pressed hard against my back. It dawned on me that Smoky could do whatever he decided he wanted to with me. Nobody around here had the power to break through that barrier covering his door.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim glow—about the same level as a reading lamp on an autumn evening—I realized that the barrow mound was cavernous, far bigger than it looked from the outside. Eye-catchers provided the light, the glowing orbs hovering near the ceiling.
We were standing in a human-size living room, complete with leather sofa and chair, old heavy walnut tables, and a bookshelf. But instead of a back wall, the tiled floor ended at the edge of a chasm, where I could see a staircase leading down into the deep cavern, the bottom of which was filled with coiling mists.
There would be plenty of room down there for Smoky to change shape in and easily maneuver around, and the sound of splashing water signaled an underground stream flowed somewhere in the rocky ravine. And if I wasn't mistaken, there might be a waterfall down there, too.
I backed away from the edge, looking for any signs of a kitchen or bedroom, but only saw two doors, one to either side of the living room.
"So this is your home," I said, more to break the silence than anything else. What else do you say when a dragon has coerced you into his lair and effectively trapped you until he's ready to let you go?
"I'll give you the tour," Smoky said, then let out a low laugh that echoed through the chamber. "But first…" And his eyes shimmered, diamond dust falling in them like snow in a snow globe.
"First…" I repeated, shivering. An updraft from the cavern swept past, and the temperature plummeted.
"First…" He took a step toward me, never letting me out of his sight. I stepped away, barely able to breathe.
"Camille, come." He held out his hand, and I swallowed my fear. The compulsion to obey was stronger than any fear or doubt, and I slowly walked toward him. When I reached his side, he leaned down to stare in my eyes.
"All mine," he said softly, then silently led me toward the door on the right. It opened as we approached.
The room reminded me of some ancient king's chamber, with a four-poster bed carved from marble and a step stool leading up to thick mattresses piled high with silver and blue bedclothes. A dresser, dark walnut, and a matching armoire graced one wall, and a rocking chair sat near an alcove that was sheltered from view with a full-length trifold screen of Japanese design.
The walls were covered by tapestries, scenes of dragons winging on the sky, attacking villages, woven from silver and gold threads.
Propped in the corner, a shield caught my eye. Polished to a high sheen, the front of it was formed of lapis lazuli and reminded me of a coat of arms. Yet the aura surrounding it told me it had seen use in battle. It felt older than Smoky, older than even Queen Asteria.
Engraved on the center, a dragon glanced over his shoulder, nine silver stars shooting out of his mouth into the sky. Over the dragon, in silver relief, a pair of foils matched blades, and beneath the dragon, a trail of nine silver snowflakes fell from the sky. The shield was edged with a wide border of silver, and two perpendicular lines of silver engraving wove in a knotwork to the left side of the dragon.
I slowly approached the shield and reached out, not touching. The years rolled off of it, ten millennia and more. For over ten thousand years this shield had stood watch. All this unfolded in my thoughts as I stared at the armor.
Smoky rested his chin on the top of my head as he leaned over my shoulder. "This is my family crest, my family shield."
Swallowing abruptly, I realized that he was inviting me into his life—a rare honor from a dragon. "It's seen battle, hasn't it?" I kept my voice low, hesitant. I didn't want to press too far, ask too much.
"Yes," he said softly. "My father carried it, and his father before him. And someday I may, too, carry it into battle. I am the ninth son of a ninth son of a ninth son. I carry the family history in my blood, in my memory. In my very bones, marrow, and hide."
I wasn't sure what this meant—numbers were magical, but I had no idea exactly how dragons divined them—but the significance was rife in his words. Smoky wasn't just any everyday dragon. "What battles did your father fight? And why would a dragon need a shield?"
"My father saw several battles," he said, easing beyond me to caress the lapis of the shield. "But none were as catastrophic as the one my grandfather fought in. As to why we need a shield… There are times my family has stood beside humans on the field. Tight quarters require us to shift out of our natural form, hence the shield. The leather that covers the metal beneath the stone was taken from the body of the first of my lineage. The lapis was mined from the walls of the first dreyerie built by my ancestors."
"Dreyerie?"
"Lair… nest."
I stood perfectly still, staring at the shield. There was so much about Smoky that I would probably never know. He would outlive me and my sisters, and many generations to follow. I was barely a blip in his life.
"What war did your grandfather fight in?"
