The Dragon Reborn, p.1
Part #3 of The Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan- The dragon reborn, p.11 The Dragon Reborn, p.11 Part #3. Holding on Tighter Magic Bleeds Husband's Secret The Accused Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers, #1) Stars of Fortune Always You Hidden Star Tell Me Your Dreams Die Trying The Next Always.
- See also Dragon Reborn. Dragon, Prophecies of the: Little known and seldom spoken of, the Prophecies, given in The Karaethon Cycle, foretell that the Dark One will be freed again to touch the world. And that Lews Therin Telamon, the Dragon, Breaker of the World, will be reborn to fight Tarmon Gai'don, the Last Battle against the Shadow.
- Reviewer: jmount1068 - favorite favorite favorite favorite favorite - July 21, 2017 Subject: Wheel of Time series book 3 The Dragon Reborn I have read the whole series except the books written after Robert Jordan's death and Branden Sanderson finish with Jordan's notes.I look forward to hearing those books or reading them as I'm quite new to.
Praise for
THE WHEEL OF TIME®
Book Three
THE DRAGON REBORN
'An exciting, well-written adventure. Jordan offers distinctive heroes and themes, including an interesting look at relations between the sexes.'
—Milwaukee Sentinel
'Jordan's writing is clear and his vision is fascinating, as are the philosophies which run his characters. And speaking of characters, a more interesting bunch I would be hard put to name. . . . The Dragon Reborn will be one of the books to read this year.'
—Steven Sawicki, Science Fiction Review
'Jordan has created a world where everything fits together . . . his characters follow their own personalities rather than types, and his settings are presented with detail that belief is easy.'
—Lexington Herald-Leader
'Robert Jordan's latest book is a fine one, filled with the cleverness, imagination, and wonderfully drawn characters expected. . . . Jordan's skill as a writer doubles the pleasure. . . . The Dragon Reborn is on a far higher plane than most fantasy novels.'
—The Post and Courier (Charleston, South Carolina)
'[The Wheel of Time] continues to exhibit a freshness that makes it a welcome addition to any . . . fantasy collection.'
—Library Journal
'A complex tapestry of fascinating characters, descriptive details, and events. I highly recommend this series to anyone who loves epic fantasy.'
—Carol Lynn Ukockis, Galactic Dispatch
THE
DRAGON
REBORN
ROBERT JORDAN
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK
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Dedicated to
James Oliver Rigney, Sr.
(1920–1988)
He taught me always to follow the dream,
and when I caught it, to live it.
CONTENTS
Dedication
MAPS
PROLOGUE: Fortress of the Light
1
Waiting
2
Saidin
3
News from the Plain
4
Shadows Sleeping
5
Nightmares Walking
6
The Hunt Begins
7
The Way Out of the Mountains
8
Jarra
9
Wolf Dreams
10
Secrets
11
Tar Valon
12
The Amyrlin Seat
13
Punishments
14
The Bite of the Thorns
15
The Gray Man
16
Hunters Three
17
The Red Sister
18
Healing
19
Awakening
20
Visitations
21
A World of Dreams
22
The Price of the Ring
23
Sealed
24
Scouting and Discoveries
25
Questions
26
Behind a Lock
27
Tel'aran'rhiod
28
A Way Out
29
A Trap to Spring
30
The First Toss
31
The Woman of Tanchico
32
The First Ship
33
Within the Weave
34
A Different Dance
35
The Falcon
36
Daughter of the Night
37
Fires in Cairhien
38
Maidens of the Spear
39
Threads in the Pattern
40
A Hero in the Night
41
A Hunter's Oath
42
Easing the Badger
43
Shadowbrothers
44
Hunted
45
Caemlyn
46
A Message Out of the Shadow
47
To Race the Shadow
48
Following the Craft
49
A Storm in Tear
50
The Hammer
51
Bait for the Net
52
In Search of a Remedy
53
A Flow of the Spirit
54
Into the Stone
55
What Is Written in Prophecy
56
People of the Dragon
GLOSSARY
And his paths shall be many, and who shall know his name, for he shall be born among us many times, in many guises, as he has been and ever will be, time without end. His coming shall be like the sharp edge of the plow, turning our lives in furrows from out of the places where we lie in our silence. The breaker of bonds; the forger of chains. The maker of futures; the unshaper of destiny.
—from Commentaries on the Prophecies of the Dragon,
by Jurith Dorine, Right Hand to the
Queen of Almoren, 742 AB, the Third Age
PROLOGUE
Fortress of the Light
Pedron Niall's aged gaze wandered about his private audience chamber, but dark eyes hazed with thought saw nothing. Tattered wall hangings, once battle banners of the enemies of his youth, faded into dark wood paneling laid over stone walls, thick even here in the heart of the Fortress of the Light. The single chair in the room—heavy, high-backed, and almost a throne—was as invisible to him as the few scattered tables that completed the furnishings. Even the white-cloaked man kneeling with barely restrained eagerness on the great sunburst set in the wide planks of the floor had vanished from Niall's mind for the moment, though few would have dismissed him so lightly.
Jaret Byar had been given time to wash before being brought to Niall, but both his helmet and his breastplate were dulled from travel and battered from use. Dark, deep-set eyes shone with a feverish, urgent light in a face that seemed to have had every spare scrap of flesh boiled away. He wore no sword—none was allowed in Niall's presence—but he seemed poised on the edge of violence, like a hound awaiting the loosing of the leash.
Twin fires on long hearths at either end of the room held off the late winter cold. It was a plain, soldier's room, really, everything well made but nothing extravagant—except for the sunburst. Furnishings came to the audience chamber of the Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light with the man who rose to the office; the flaring sun of coin gold had been worn smooth by generations of petitioners, replaced and worn smooth again. Gold enough to buy any estate in Amadicia, and the patent of nobility to go with it. For ten years Niall had walked across that gold and never thought of it twice, any more than he thought of the sunburst embroidered across the chest of his white tunic. Gold held little interest for Pedron Niall.
/> Eventually his eyes went back to the table next to him, covered with maps and scattered letters and reports. Three loosely rolled drawings lay among the jumble. He took one up reluctantly. It did not matter which; all depicted the same scene, though by different hands.
Niall's skin was as thin as scraped parchment, drawn tight by age over a body that seemed all bone and sinew, but there was nothing of frailty about him. No man held Niall's office before his hair was white, nor did any man softer than the stones of the Dome of Truth. Still, he was suddenly aware of the tendon-ridged back of the hand holding the drawing, aware of the need for haste. Time was growing short. His time was growing short. It had to be enough. He had to make it enough.
He made himself unroll the thick parchment halfway, just enough to see the face that interested him. The chalks were a little smudged from travel in saddlebags, but the face was clear. A gray-eyed youth with reddish hair. He looked tall, but it was hard to say for certain. Aside from the hair and the eyes, he could have been set down in any town without exciting comment.
'This . . . this boy has proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn?' Niall muttered.
The Dragon. The name made him feel the chills of winter and age. The name borne by Lews Therin Telamon when he doomed every man who could channel the One Power, then or ever after, to insanity and death, himself among them. It was more than three thousand years since Aes Sedai pride and the War of the Shadow had brought an end to the Age of Legends. Three thousand years, but prophecy and legend helped men remember—the heart of it, at least, if the details were gone. Lews Therin Kinslayer. The man who had begun the Breaking of the World, when madmen who could tap the power that drove the universe leveled mountains and sank ancient lands beneath the seas, when the whole face of the earth had been changed and all who survived fled like beasts before a wildfire. It had not ended until the last male Aes Sedai lay dead, and a scattered human race could begin trying to rebuild from the rubble—where even rubble remained. It was burned into memory by the stories mothers told children. And prophecy said the Dragon would be born again.
Niall had not really meant it for a question, but Byar took it for one. 'Yes, my Lord Captain Commander, he has. It is a worse madness than any false Dragon I've ever heard of. Thousands have declared for him already. Tarabon and Arad Doman are in civil war, as well as at war with each other. There is fighting all across Almoth Plain and Toman Head, Taraboner against Domani against Darkfriends crying for the Dragon—or there was fighting until winter chilled most of it. I've never seen it spread so quickly, my Lord Captain Commander. Like throwing a lantern into a hay barn. The snow may have damped it down, but come spring, the flames will burst out hotter than before.'
Niall cut him off with a raised finger. Twice already Niall had let him tell his story through, his voice burning with anger and hate. Parts of it Niall knew from other sources, and in some areas he knew more than Byar, but each time he heard it, it goaded him anew. 'Geofram Bornhald and a thousand of the Children dead. And Aes Sedai did it. You have no doubts, Child Byar?'
'None, my Lord Captain Commander. After a skirmish on the way to Falme, I saw two of the Tar Valon witches. They cost us more than fifty dead before we stuck them full of arrows.'
'You are sure—sure they were Aes Sedai?'
'The ground erupted under our feet.' Byar's voice was firm and full of belief. He had little imagination, did Jaret Byar; death was part of a soldier's life, however it came. 'Lightnings struck our ranks out of a clear sky. My Lord Captain Commander, what else could they have been?'
Niall nodded grimly. There had been no male Aes Sedai since the Breaking of the World, but the women who still claimed that title were bad enough. They prated of their Three Oaths: to speak no word that was not true, to make no weapon for one man to kill another, to use the One Power as a weapon only against Darkfriends or Shadowspawn. But now they had showed those oaths for the lies they were. He had always known no one could want the power they wielded except to challenge the Creator, and that meant to serve the Dark One.
'And you know nothing of those who took Falme and killed half of one of my legions?'
'Lord Captain Bornhald said they called themselves Seanchan, my Lord Captain Commander,' Byar said stolidly. 'He said they were Darkfriends. And his charge broke them, even if they killed him.' His voice gained intensity. 'There were many refugees from the city. Everyone I spoke to agreed the strangers had broken and fled. Lord Captain Bornhald did that.'
Niall sighed softly. They were almost the same words Byar had used the first two times about the army that had seemingly come out of nowhere to take Falme. A good soldier, Niall thought, so Geofram Bornhald always said, but not a man to think for himself.
'My Lord Captain Commander,' Byar said suddenly, 'Lord Captain Bornhald did command me to stand aside from the battle. I was to watch, and report to you. And tell his son, Lord Dain, how he died.'
'Yes, yes,' Niall said impatiently. For a moment he studied Byar's hollow-cheeked face, then added, 'No one doubts your honesty or courage. It is exactly the sort of thing Geofram Bornhald would do, facing a battle in which he feared his entire command might die.' And not the sort of thing you have imagination enough to think up.
There was nothing more to learn from the man. 'You have done well, Child Byar. You have my leave to carry word of Geofram Bornhald's death to his son. Dain Bornhald is with Eamon Valda—near Tar Valon at last report. You may join them.'
'Thank you, my Lord Captain Commander. Thank you.' Byar rose to his feet and bowed deeply. Yet as he straightened, he hesitated. 'My Lord Captain Commander, we were betrayed.' Hatred gave his voice a saw-toothed edge.
'By this one Darkfriend you spoke of, Child Byar?' He could not keep an edge out of his own voice. A year's planning lay in ruins amid the corpses of a thousand of the Children, and Byar wanted to talk only of this one man. 'This young blacksmith you've only seen twice, this Perrin from the Two Rivers?'
'Yes, my Lord Captain Commander. I do not know how, but I know he is to blame. I know it.'
'I will see what can be done about him, Child Byar.' Byar opened his mouth again, but Niall raised a thin hand to forestall him. 'You may leave me now.' The gaunt-faced man had no choice but to bow again and leave.
As the door closed behind him, Niall lowered himself into his high-backed chair. What had brought on Byar's hatred of this Perrin? There were far too many Darkfriends to waste energy on hating any particular one. Too many Darkfriends, high and low, hiding behind glib tongues and open smiles, serving the Dark One. Still, one more name added to the lists would do no harm.
He shifted on the hard chair, trying to find comfort for his old bones. Not for the first time he thought vaguely that perhaps a cushion would not be too much luxury. And not for the first time, he pushed the thought away. The world tumbled toward chaos, and he had no time to give in to age.
He let all the signs that foretold disaster swirl through his mind. War gripped Tarabon and Arad Doman, civil war ripped at Cairhien, and war fever was rising in Tear and Illian, old enemies as they were. Perhaps these wars meant nothing in themselves—men fought wars—but they usually came one at a time. And aside from the false Dragon somewhere on Almoth Plain, another tore at Saldaea, and a third plagued Tear. Three at once. They must all be false Dragons. They must be!
A dozen small things besides, some perhaps only baseless rumors, but taken together with the rest. . . . Sightings of Aiel reported as far west as Murandy, and Kandor. Only two or three in one place, but one or a thousand, Aiel had come out of the Waste just once in all the years since the Breaking. Only in the Aiel War had they ever left that desolate wilderness. The Atha'an Miere, the Sea Folk, were said to be ignoring trade to seek signs and portents—of what, exactly, they did not say—sailing with ships half full or even empty. Illian had called the Great Hunt of the Horn for the first time in almost four hundred y
ears, had sent out the Hunters to seek the fabled Horn of Valere, which prophecy said would summon dead heroes from the grave to fight in Tarmon Gai'don, the Last Battle against the Shadow. Rumor said the Ogier, always so reclusive that most common people thought them only legend, had called meetings between their far-flung stedding.
Most telling of all, to Niall, the Aes Sedai had apparently come into the open. It was said they had sent some of their sisters to Saldaea to confront the false Dragon Mazrim Taim. Rare as it was in men, Taim could channel the One Power. That was a thing to fear and despise in itself, and few thought a man like that could be defeated except with the aid of Aes Sedai. Better to allow Aes Sedai help than to face the inevitable horrors when he went mad, as such men inevitably did. But Tar Valon had apparently sent other Aes Sedai to support the other false Dragon at Falme. Nothing else fit the facts.
The pattern chilled the marrow in his bones. Chaos multiplied; what was unheard of, happening again and again. The whole world seemed to be milling, stirring near the boil. It was clear to him. The Last Battle really was coming.
All his plans were destroyed, the plans that would have secured his name among the Children of the Light for a hundred generations. But turmoil meant opportunity, and he had new plans, with new objectives. If he could keep the strength and will to carry them out. Light, let me hold on to life long enough.
Eschewing an appointment—those were for people with news of lesser importance—Deka sailed into her Aunt Zahra's office.
'Samael is missing,' Deka announced to the Silvergrace matriarch before flopping into the club chair in front of the desk.
The Dragon Reborn The Wheel of Time Pedron Nialls aged gaze wandered about his private audience chamber but dark eyes hazed with thought saw nothing. Tattered wall hangings once battle banners of the enemies of his youth faded into dark wood paneling laid over stone walls thick even here in the heart of the Fortress of the Light. The single chair in the room mdash heavy highbacked and almost a.
'Is that really the news you're using to justify barging in?' An arctic gaze pinned her.
'Well, yeah, it's important news. Samael is missing.' The travesty. The horror. The where the hell is the future father of my babies? It was a big freaking chunk of news. 'You're welcome.' Now, Auntie could act to find him.
'I already knew he was gone. Remiel told me.'
No surprise Zahra knew. As Sept matriarch, not much evaded her steely-eyed gaze.
'So when are we assembling the Sept to find him?' With Deka at the head of the posse, ready to save the day. Then he could thank her with a great big—
'We aren't assembling anything.'
Say what? Hadn't she marshaled the Sept, mobilized their forces?
The reason why became clear. 'I get it. You haven't launched a search party on account of Remiel wanting to find his brother himself.' The love of a sibling, so cute—unless they tried to hone in on your dessert. Then you stabbed them with a fork.
'Actually, Remiel would prefer Samael never show his face again. He's still got some deep-seated issues.'
Samael might have had a hand in keeping his brother locked in a pit with his memories wiped. But surely Remiel wouldn't hold a grudge forever?
Deka swung a leg over the arm of the chair and twirled a strand of hair. 'Given the king is all happy now and ruling us all, surely he wouldn't mind Samael coming back. Maybe letting his little bro hook up with someone in the family.' Ahem. Me.
'No,' Auntie replied, not bothering to peek up from her stack of paperwork.
The abrupt reply didn't deter Deka. Auntie probably needed help in understanding the importance of finding Samael.
'Aren't you curious at all as to where he's gone?' Deka certainly couldn't handle not knowing. She'd been watching his house—the mansion vacant and up for sale since Remiel took over—and hadn't seen a single sign of Samael.
Rifling through his closet showed he hadn't packed a bag or taken his passport and that he didn't like to wear briefs. At least she didn't find any.
Just like me. Going commando meant less laundry, and Deka was all about keeping things simple for their staff.
With his house being a bust, she'd had to rely on electronic means to monitor him. As yet, she'd seen no activity on Samael's bank accounts, credit card, Netflix, or his favorite porn website. Nor had he placed any orders at his favorite restaurant for an extra large, double pepperoni, mushroom, olive, bacon, extra cheese with chipotle sauce smearing the base. Deka had left a few hundred in cash with the owner, along with orders to contact her if Samael called.
Extreme? Not really. Deka simply took her stalking seriously.
How else am I supposed to find my man?
'I really don't care if he's disappeared from public sight. More than likely, he's gone into hiding. Between his unholy union with that Crimson pretender and his treatment of our king, he's probably worried someone will assassinate him.'
Over my dead body. I'll protect you, muffin.
'He's too valuable to kill.' Even with his list of crimes, Golden blood coursed through Samael's veins—and he also had super sperm wearing glittery capes sleeping in his balls, waiting to shoot from his cannon dick. And, yes, she giggled each time she thought of the little bullet-headed fellows firing off into her vagina.
Genetics gave him, if not a free pass, at least a chance to live a long life—probably in captivity as a breeding bull.
Unless I save him. Once he became her mate, she'd keep him safe. Male dragons were rather rare and precious. Kind of like unicorns—which no one liked to admit had been eaten into extinction by dragons.
Shhh.
'Why this continued interest in him?' Zahra lifted her head and stared at Deka, the directness of her gaze unnerving. However, Deka had been the object of many stern gazes in her life and simply shrugged.
'It just seems like we should be paying more attention. What if the wrong sorts got their hands on him?'
In other words, what if some hussy with designs on his body dug in her claws. Then Deka would have to murder her, and that might start a war, which would be fun but messy, especially since the humans now knew that dragons existed. She'd heard there'd been a rise in demand for giant crossbows that fired harpoon-sized arrows.
It meant the training all dragons went through had been amped up a notch. They weren't being complacent about their safety and survival. Ever since they'd been almost wiped out, they'd learned how to survive.
And fight.
'I really don't care if another Sept snatches him.' The matriarch arched a brow. 'Don't tell me you haven't gotten over your obsession with that man.'
'He's mine.' Of that, Deka had no doubt. From the moment she'd first seen the guy, his golden hair perfectly combed—in need of a ruffle—and the smirk—that totally said, 'take off your clothes'—she'd wanted him.
But someone was telling Deka she couldn't have him.
It's not up to her to decide.
Zahra still blathered. 'You do realize with the return of the Golden king we no longer need to enforce breeding protocols. You're free to mate, or not, as you choose.'
'Then I choose him.'
A heavy sigh. 'I would prefer, and I know your mother agrees with me, that you select someone else. He's got bad blood.'
'Golden blood.'
'He's tainted. You've read the reports we filched from Parker's labs.'
Ah, yes, good old Parker, the wolf shifter who'd outed cryptozoids to the humans. Now, everyone suspected his or her neighbor of being some kind of enhanced being. The sale on silver and shotguns had shot through the roof. The zappers in the yard got bigger as folks tried to prevent any fairies from taking over their green space. And swords, along with armor, were making a comeback as wannabe heroes thought to go on quests to find dragon treasure.
As a side note, armor was the number one reason most quests ended abruptly. The most common of that being drowning.
Deka realized her aunt was staring and shrugged. 'I know what the reports say.' She'd read every single medical one. Her mother surely meant for her to check them out, given she'd put them in her special safe. 'Samael D'Ore is definitely the brother of one very majestic Remiel D'Ore. But he's not a full-breed like the king. The maternal half he inherited makes him part of the Gold Sept.'
'It's the other half that worries me,' admitted Zahra. 'There is something about that boy…' She pursed her lips and pointed a manicured finger at Deka. 'Forget Samael. Find yourself another man. You can even consort with a human'—no mistaking the sneer— 'if you'd like. Your mother has been working with the other Septs' scientists to figure out the serum to help transition the wyverns. A few have ascended into their true shape.'
'Which is awesome.'
It truly was. For centuries, the dragons had enforced brutal breeding programs to ensure their continuity. It led to a few cross-eyed cousins and blathering idiots. Male dragons were few and far between, and while humans tasted delicious—and not just in a basted-over-the-fire-with-rosemary-and-garlic kind of way as endorsed by Aunt Claudia—they couldn't make real dragon babies. Progeny between a dragon and a human were known as wyverns, sterile hybrids that did nothing to continue the family bloodlines. Unless they got injected with a special dragon cocktail to force them to ascend.
Blah, blah, all kinds of science. The details didn't apply to her because she planned to make babies with a dragon. A Golden dragon…
'Forget that tainted misfit.' Zahra still shook that finger. Deka's tummy rumbled for French fries. 'Or face the consequences. You know the king has said we are to leave his brother alone.'
Forbidden. Was there any tastier treasure?
'But—'
'Oh no, you don't.' Zahra narrowed her gaze at Deka. 'I know that look. You will stop that train of thought this instant. And I will ease one fear. Samael will not be touched. The Septs have been warned of what will happen should they capture Samael and try to use him to steal the throne. And that includes us.'
A ruthless king. And a handsome Gold one at that. It was enough to make a girl swoon, especially after Remiel's first throne speech, broadcasted via Skype, to the Septs around the world. It was a great speech, short, to the point, and ended with, 'Betray me and die.'
It got resounding applause. Who didn't want a tough ruler who declared that any who disobeyed would find themselves crushed to a pulp? Remiel was arrogantly powerful like that, and Brand's sister was super lucky to have him as her mate.
Deka was also green with envy. She wanted a man who could pulverize his enemies like a bug, too. Not that she wasn't capable of smooshing them herself, but think of how much fun couples night would be. Smiting some foes, maybe getting some treasures for the hoard—you could never have too many Pokémon collectibles—grabbing a hoagie, and then sex.
Good sex. The kind that didn't have a gal worrying she'd accidentally put her lover in traction.
Again.
Stupid Silvergrace family lawyer now had her make potential partners sign a waiver before she got wild with them. It tended to kill the mood.
'Why does this say I promise not to sue if, during the course of sexual intercourse, you break my bones or rupture my organs?'
'Just a precaution.'
'Is it a precaution to list side effects such as blood in my urine, paralysis, and death?'
Many walked at that point; some even ran. It meant her poor vibrator was going through a lot of batteries lately and would soon join her collection of plastic penises that couldn't keep up with her appetite.
But I bet a big, strong Golden dragon could.
Now if only her matriarch would agree.
Deka amped up her argument. 'What if it's not one of the Septs who takes him but that freak-ass bitch who pretended to be Anastasia for a while?'
Some mysterious figure with glowing red eyes had messed with dragon politics. They should be hunting her ass down. Instead, the Septs had retreated and closed ranks, fearful of getting into a fight. No one wanted to join the fate of the Crimson Sept, decimated in number and dropping from second most powerful to last.
Zahra slid a sheaf of papers aside in order to begin signing the next set. 'We've no reason to believe that entity has any interest in us any longer.'
'No interest? She gave us a head.' Literally. They'd yet to come across the body.
'The head of our enemy. A fitting gift, if you ask me.'
Deka kind of agreed, still, all this no-you-can't-go-find-the-hottest-thing-since-spicy-margarita-night-at-the-pub shit was ruining her fun.
A heavy sigh left Deka. 'I don't understand why you're not more worried.'
Zahra braced her hands on her desk and leaned forward. 'Dragons don't worry. Especially not about other beings. Everyone knows there is none greater or more powerful than our kind. We are the top of the food chain, the true leaders of this world, and now that our king has returned, we shall take our rightful place.'
'Our rightful place better not mean wearing skirts and shit,' Deka mumbled.
'If you ask me, the day women shortened their skirts and started wearing pants was when things got messed up. Back in my day—'
'When they'd just learned to make fire.'
'—a lady did not chase after a man.'
'That's not what I heard. I heard you tackled Uncle and told him you'd tell everyone he got beaten by a girl unless he took you to the debutante ball.'
Aunt Zahra glared. 'I see your mother has been yapping again. She obviously remembers things differently. And it has no bearing on the here and now. When our king truly rules the world, you will curtsy and wear a dress.'
'I guess if it's ankle-length, no one can bitch about my hairy legs.'
'There will be no hairy legs. You will shave.'
'You don't have to shave in Europe,' Deka muttered. 'Wish I lived there.'
'If you think it's so wonderful, then perhaps you should plan a trip abroad.'
'I don't want to go. I've got stuff to do here.' Deka crossed her arms and sulked.
'Things like hunting down a man who doesn't want to be found and vexing me?' Auntie arched a perfectly manicured brow. 'I say enough of that. You are going to Europe. It will do you some good to immerse yourself in a new culture and visit some of the other Silver Sept branches. The Belleargents in Paris come to mind.'
'Do I have to go to Paris?' Deka wrinkled her nose.
'Yes. That is an order.'
'If you say so, boss.' Deka bounced up from her chair and headed for the door.
'That's it? You aren't going to argue a little longer?' Auntie sounded puzzled.
'First, you're giving me heck for not listening to you, and now that I am obeying promptly, you're still getting annoyed.' Deka rolled her eyes. 'I can't ever do anything right. Maybe I should stay home.'
'Pack your bags! I am booking you on the first flight to France. Don't you dare miss it.'
'Yes, ma'am,' said quite somberly, at odds with the smile on her lips. Good thing she had her back to Aunt Zahra. She'd wonder why Deka was so excited about going to Europe, which coincidentally was where a certain crate, with a manifest bearing Anastasia's name—dated after her death—had been shipped.
A box that she was pretty certain had a man inside.
My man.
And she was going to find him. Even better, she had permission. Of a sort.
Auntie says I have to go to Europe. https://truetload637.weebly.com/choctaw-casino-durant-upcoming-events.html. Wouldn't hurt to look up an old friend while visiting.
Bouncing out of the office and heading to her room to pack—more like zip up her duffel bag since she'd prepared it ahead of time; Auntie was so predictable—she ran into her cousin Babette.
'Why do you have the grin that says you ate Farmer Brown's prized cow again?'
'Ew, what do you mean again?' Deka's nose wrinkled. 'I digested and pooped that thing out ages ago. Nothing left to eat.' And dragons were much too refined to eat rotting corpses, and that included zombies.
'Something's got you excited. Atlantis queen free slot. Spill.'
'Auntie is sending me to Europe.'
'Europe?' Babette's voice rose. 'Lucky heifer. How come I never get sent to cool places? Instead, it's ‘Babette, ask Cameron to pick up my prescription.' ‘Babette, make sure the staff detail my Bentley.''
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'Babette, stop talking about yourself in the third person.'
Her cousin and best friend wrinkled her nose. 'Nope, because I am so great,' she sang.
'What'd you do?'
'I made Mother guzzle a bottle of wine last night.' Babette grinned with pride.
'That's not a great accomplishment.'
'It was a two-liter bottle, and she wouldn't share. She did, however, agree to let me dye her hair. I might have miscalculated the colors.'
'So you're the reason she looks like a rainbow barfed on her head.'
'Just helping her change up her style, but did I get any thanks?'
'No!' they shouted in unison then giggled.
'So why is Auntie sending you to Europe?' Babette asked as she followed Deka through the vast mansion they called home.
White and gray marble, painted walls, and gilded molding gave the halls they passed through a rich elegance.
Real slot apps. The red crayon on a lower panel with the scribbled words, 'Polly is a poopy head,' reminded Deka of when she and Babette had been young and raising hell. Open bif files.
Not that they weren't still raising hell. Las vegas slot tournament schedule. They just did it more maturely now by writing messages in the sky or having it plastered on the Jumbotron at ball games.
'Aunt Zahra thinks I should immerse myself in the culture that is France since I'm already half-French, what with my unshaven pits and legs.'
'Did you explain it's because you ran out of razors and keep forgetting to ask Cameron to put them on the list?'
'Details,' Deka replied with a lofty wave of her hand.
'I'm surprised you agreed to go. What happened to finding your mate? You know, the one who doesn't even realize you're alive?'
A scowl pulled Deka's expression. 'He was kind of busy at the time. I'm sure, had we enjoyed some proper time together'—naked and in her bed—'he'd have realized we were meant to be.'
'More like realized you needed to be committed. The man is bad news.'
'I know.' It was one of his more appealing qualities.
'So does this trip mean you've given up.'
'Of course, not.'
'So you're going to try and get out of it.' Babette nodded her head.
'Nope. I am going to be on that plane for Paris.'
'Hold on a second.' Babette's brow creased. 'You shouldn't be agreeable about this. Why aren't you fighting?' A light bulb went off. 'Holy shit, you're still looking for him. In Europe!'
'Shush!' Deka hissed, her finger over her lips. 'Don't let Auntie hear you. She'll forbid me from going.'
'And? Since when does that stop you?'
'It doesn't.' Deka shrugged. Forbidding a dragoness was like putting a pie out to cool and telling hungry faces and grabby hands not to touch it. It was gone in under five minutes. 'Going with permission, though, means all expenses paid.'
Babette's gaze narrowed. 'Take me with you.'
'Sorry, cuz. You know what they say. Two's a couple. Three's—'
'A ménage.'
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A snicker escaped Deka. And this was why she loved Babette. Like a sister, not a sister wife. 'Sorry, but I am not sharing this dick.'
'Ugh.' Babette gagged. 'You know how I feel about sausage. It's only good for breakfast and if served with bacon. But pie on the other hand…' Babette's lips rounded in pleasure. 'I love me some fresh pie.'
'Lots of flavors where I'm going,' Deka mused aloud. Having an extra set of eyes along might not hurt. After all, anything badass enough to kidnap a Golden dragon might be a soupçon difficult to deal with. Look at me, using French words already.
'How do we convince Auntie to send me with you? You know she says we're troublemakers when we work together.'
'Because we are.' Way to state the obvious.
'I know. I don't know why they think that's a bad thing.' Babette smirked. 'Remember the last time we went away together?'
'Don't even think of it,' Deka hastened to say. 'She'll ban us both from going if you remind her of that incident.' The one that left her unable to enter Canada.
And, Deka might add, it took a lot to get banned by Canada. The terms of her banishment precluded her from speaking about it. Needless to say, she couldn't look at poutine without giggling.
'Good times,' Babette said with a sigh.
'Yes, they were.' Deka turned thoughtful for a moment—it almost hurt. 'Why not tell her you're thinking of taking French as a second language.'
'Yeah, that won't fly. I used that excuse when I told her to stock the pond with frogs.'
'I remember that. They were delicious.' Especially when battered and deep-fried.
'Maybe I should pretend to be a caring cousin and tell Auntie you shouldn't be sent alone.'
At that, they both giggled.
In the end, Babette simply told Aunt Zahra that she thought the local police chief was in love with her, and as soon as she got rid of the husband, they planned to run away together and start a hippy commune in the desert dedicated to the spiritual pursuit of peyote smoking.
In short order, Babette was commanded to join Deka on a European vacation, first class—which meant they got to drive the suits sitting with them nuts—and were assigned a luxurious suite at the Four Seasons HotelGeorge V.
Only the best for Silvergrace daughters.
Free video casino games no download. But Deka didn't plan to use the hotel room for long because, if her plan worked, she'd soon be with Samael.
'Don't worry, stud muffin. I'm coming for you.'And it was Babette who added the ominous laugh to her statement.
