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Chapter Two
Arianrhod slumped lower in her chair, wishing she could find a graceful way to leave. The Celtic gods’ council hall had been in Inverlochy Castle in the Scottish Highlands for centuries. To human eyes, the place lay in ruins, but magic could resurrect most anything. The afternoon’s discussion had dragged on for hours, and she wanted nothing more than to slip out a side door and go hunting.
Or pour herself a stiff drink.
Or send a bolt of magic to silence the Morrigan permanently—if that were even possible.
She scanned the opulent room and tried to find something to focus on aside from the Battle Crow’s ongoing rant. Twelve-foot-high oaken doors carved with runic symbols decorated one end of the room. Crystals and natural stone in every hue of the rainbow made a prism of sunlight flaring through leaded glass panes. Rich carpets covered the stone floors, thick wool woven with depictions of Celtic glory. A fire burned in an enormous hearth situated across from the entry doors.
Ceridwen sat in her usual place before the blaze, cauldron before her. From time to time, she stirred the bubbling mix with an enormous wooden staff. When she cleared her throat in a muttery growl, a handful of Celts looked up from where they’d scattered themselves about the room, no one too close to anyone else. If Arianrhod read their expressions correctly, they were as sick of the Morrigan’s pontificating as she was.
Arianrhod straightened in her chair and came to her feet. Before she could open her mouth, the Battle Crow morphed into one of her other guises. Instead of a huge avian presence, she looked like a medieval noblewoman with long dark hair coaxed into intricate braids. Dark eyes regarded Arianrhod, and the Morrigan bent so her breasts almost spilled from her tightly cut maroon gown with long, daggéd sleeves.
With an eye roll, Arianrhod snapped, “Save it for the men. I’ve heard more than enough about your fourteenth cousin five times removed, who was killed by the young dragon. And about the dragon your kinswoman planned to bond with, demanding the other dragon’s life. How many times can ye tell that tale, anyway? And why is this cousin so bleeding important?”
“Do ye want dragon shifters to die out entirely?” the Morrigan demanded.
Arianrhod shrugged. “Not certain I’ve given it much thought, but I canna see where it would make much difference. Magic wielders come and go.”
“How can ye say such a thing?” the Morrigan screeched.
Ceridwen vaulted to her better than six-foot height. Long black hair streaked with silver fell to her knees, and her dark eyes mirrored an ever-changing collage of images. Body-hugging tan leather breeches and a hip-length tunic woven with green and golden thread covered her lithe frame. Knee-high leather boots wound up both legs. She extended an arm, index finger pointed at the Morrigan’s chest.
“I, too, weary of this. Ye havena said aught new in the past turn of the glass. I declare this topic closed.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and eyed the Morrigan, apparently expecting an argument. When she didn’t get one, Ceridwen added, “I’ve taken care of the problem.”
The Morrigan narrowed her dark eyes. “Really? How?”
“I sent the dragon in question, a young female named Eletea, to Fire Mountain to seek a First Born. They can read her intent and proclaim her guilty or innocent of malicious intent.”
“Pfft.” The Morrigan waved a dismissive hand. “How do ye know this Eletea will do your bidding?”
“Because I forbade her from returning to the Highlands, and I’m sending Angus with her.” An arrogant smile crossed Ceridwen’s ageless face. “Even if they doona find a First Born—and they may not—he can dream the truth.”
A flicker of something between annoyance and fear crossed the Morrigan’s features, turning them grim and threatening. Before Arianrhod could drill into what that expression meant, the Battle Crow morphed back into her avian form. Shrieking her displeasure, she flew out an open window.
“Would that it were always so easy to rid ourselves of that one,” Andraste muttered. The goddess of victory, dressed in her usual tan battle leathers, rose to her feet, stretched her arms over her head, and glanced at the assemblage. “I’m leaving, if ’tis all the same to you.” She tossed heavy blonde hair over her shoulders and swept her shrewd green eyes about the room in a clear challenge—should anyone question her right to go.
“Wait.” Arianrhod faced the other woman. “We havena addressed the rumors of dragon shifters running amok along with their dragons. In truth, I doona think of it often, but the Morrigan’s words—”
“Eletea will take that up with the dragons in Fire Mountain. ’Tis at the core of her rationale for murdering the dark mage,” Ceridwen cut in and shifted her unsettling gaze to Arianrhod. “Since ye expressed interest, mayhap ye could meet them there.”
“Them?” Arianrhod quirked a brow.
“Angus and the dragon.” Ceridwen eyed her coolly. “Ye werena paying attention. I just said that.”
“Sorry.” Arianrhod didn’t want to get into an argument. Easier to apologize and have done with it. “I’ll go. No problem.”
“Come closer.”
Arianrhod walked until she stood nose to nose with Ceridwen, staring at the images marching across her eyes. What she saw made her heart beat faster. Blood ran in rivers around dying dragons, with a huge crow feasting on one of them. The goddess of the world was warning her to watch out for the Morrigan. And to take the renegade dragon shifter problem seriously.
Arianrhod opened her mouth, but Ceridwen shook her head and switched from imagery to deeply shielded mind speech.“Lachlan and his dragon havena been seen for hundreds of years. They vanished without a trace. Britta and her dragon retreated to an earlier time. We must know if foul energy has infiltrated the dragon shifter bond. If incentives to tempt even the staunchest mage to dark power exist, I would know of them.”
A smile split Arianrhod’s face, and she showed Ceridwen a mouthful of teeth. This was better than hunting game. Evil was the finest challenge of all. She inclined her head. “I welcome the assignment.”
Ceridwen tossed her head back and laughed. “I dinna doubt ye would, not for a moment.”
“Would ye care for company, sister?”
