“I’m sure you were beyond manly with a sword, but I think I’ll pass on the sight of you and Kostya hacking away at each other. I know how it ends, and honestly, I don’t think I could witness that again.”
“You control the vision,
“On the contrary, I don’t control it at all. It runs like a movie in front of me.” A thought occurred to me. If this was, in fact, the fall of Dauva, then I might be able to see if Constantine was killed here as well. It would make summoning his spirit a hundred times easier if I knew where to find it. “I’m just going to look around for a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“As you like. But it will only upset you if you see Constantine strike you down again.”
“I don’t intend to watch that, but I wouldn’t mind seeing where he died.”
“That would be satisfying. You will mark the place and I will dance on it later.”
I laughed at him, seeing the twitch of his lips that let me know he was teasing me.
“You think I am not serious?”
“I think you’re pulling my leg, yes. You have no reason to dance on Constantine’s grave, assuming I find it.”
“I have many reasons, but I will not go into them now. I am more concerned as to why you are so determined to find where he fell.”
“My little job for the First Dragon, remember?”
Baltic made a face. “You take that too much to heart. Do not go beyond the confines of Dauva. You are protected here, but outside you are not.”
“Protected from what?” I asked, picking my way over a fallen tree now consumed in moss and fungus.
“Kostya. He will no doubt descend upon us once he learns we are here.”
I didn’t think that was any too likely, but I kept my opinion to myself.
The snowy ghostly scene faded in and out of my vision, leaving me to believe it was a memory of the land I was seeing, rather than a personal vision. Those were much more immersive, whereas this was just faint images of a time long past. As I walked over the drawbridge toward the road that led up from Riga, faint snow whirled around me at the same time that birds chattered high above in the treetops warmed by the sun.
“This would be confusing as hell if it wasn’t so interesting,” I told a couple of snow-covered guards posted at the fringe of Constantine’s camp. Men and horses milled around in the darkness of night, small fires dotting the area, their flames flickering wildly in the wind and snow. Tents cast dark shadows against the present-day trees, giving the entire place an eerie appearance.
“All right, Constantine. Let’s have this out, you and I,” I murmured as I started to search the ghost camp.
He wasn’t in the big tent that I assumed belonged to him. As I prowled the shadowed camp, I passed a couple of men who spoke in French, pausing when one said he had two prisoners.
“Black dragons? Put them to death,” one man said with a dismissive gesture.
“They aren’t dragons,” the other replied, shivering and huddling into his fur-lined cape. “We caught them skulking around the north wall.”
“Humans? We have no need of them.”
“Human but not mortal—”
I continued on my way. Fifteen minutes later I was ready to give up. I had turned back toward the castle when I saw a flash of color from a high ridge of trees to the south. Stumbling over a snowdrift that was really a sprawling red-berried elder bush, I fought my way through the forest to the spot where, three hundred years before, I had pleaded with Constantine to leave Baltic alone, and was slain by the man who claimed he loved me.
“I really could go the rest of my life without seeing myself killed again,” I grumbled as I beat back a feathery tamarisk shrub that tangled in my hair. “At least I don’t have to see Baltic being—whoa!”
A brilliant flash of white light lit up the hillside for a moment, casting the figure of a man into snow-flecked silhouette. Just as the light faded, the man dropped to the ground. I stared for a moment, wondering just how many people were killed on that fateful day.
“And if it’s who I think it is,” I grumbled to myself as I slid down a small incline, smacking my ankle on a sharp finger of a dead tree branch, “I’d dearly love to know who was responsible for that. I have . . . Argh! Let go of me, you blasted plant!” I jerked myself free of a particularly grabby black ash tree and stumbled forward, the ground in the memory of Dauva rising, but falling in present day. I slipped down another moss-covered slope, half falling until I slammed up against a piece of man-made stone. Swearing, I got to my feet and scrambled around it, my eyes ignoring the greens and browns of the forest scene in order to focus on the past.
Ahead of me on a rise, the First Dragon stood with a newly resurrected Ysolde. He spoke to her for a moment, then faded into nothing. She nodded numbly and turned toward the castle, slowly picking her way down the drifts toward the drawbridge.
“Dammit!” I spun around and fought my way back in the direction I’d come, veering to the left in order to see if it was Constantine who had dropped in the blast of light.
“Well, this answers absolutely nothing,” I said a few minutes later as I stopped, panting with the effort of fighting through the dense undergrowth. Before me, slowly being covered by snow, lay the body of the man who had killed me. A sword lay next to him, half buried, crimson staining the snow around the blade. “You killed me, and someone came along and killed you right afterward?” I asked the body of Constantine. “Why? Just because you killed me? And who had the power to do that?”
The memory of snow and wind swirled around me as I sank onto my heels, watching as the snow drifted over Constantine’s body. Every now and again I heard faint voices carried by the wind, but they were worn thin by time.
“No wonder your father wants help,” I told the mound of snow that once had been a dragon. “You died with my death on your soul. I don’t suppose a formal statement of forgiveness right now would do the trick, would it?” I took a deep breath. “Constantine Norka, wyvern of the silver dragons, I forgive you for killing me.”
Nothing happened, but I didn’t honestly expect the First Dragon’s demand to be so easily met. Nothing is ever easy with dragons. I sighed and got to my feet, noting my location so I could bring Maura to it later.
I stopped by the lair’s entrance to check on how the progress was going. To my surprise, no one was there. A distant crack had me spinning around, but it wasn’t the sound of a tree falling, as I expected.
“The outer bailey has been breached,” I said sadly, watching as a stream of snow-covered men swarmed through the gate. The dragons headed straight for the inner bailey. I looked up to see the faint image of the walls, but there was no one left to defend Dauva now that its master was lying dead deep in the earth beneath the castle.
“I can’t watch it,” I said, my heart filled with so much sadness for what happened.
“Then don’t.” Thala emerged from a path leading to the north, giving me not more than the slightest glance. She nodded abruptly at the line of dragons as they rode into the inner bailey, right past where we stood. “You should go back to town if it is too distressing for you to see this.”
Once again, she surprised me. “You can see them? The people from the past?”
“Of course.” She bent over a smooth bit of glass laid out on a blue velvet cloth. “They do not matter. Nothing of the past matters. It is the present that should concern you.”
I didn’t agree with that, but I knew arguing the point with her would serve no purpose. “Baltic is off reliving his own memories, I assume?”
“So I gather.” She didn’t look up from her glass.
I hesitated, not wanting to destroy her good mood but needing to get something off my chest. “I know that you have quite a long history with Baltic, longer than I had with him, and that you view me as some sort of interloper in the relationship, but I assure you that I’m not trying to steal his affection. He’s told me himself that he owes you a lot for resurrecting him, and although I know you’re in love with him—”
Her head snapped up, a look of incredulity so stark in her eyes, I couldn’t doubt its veracity. “Love? Is that the
I gawked for a few seconds. “You’re
“No!” She gave me a scornful look before returning to her scrying glass.
“Then why have you been so jealous of me?”
“I am not jealous. Jealousy is a pathetic emotion borne by lesser beings.”
“Well, you were sure
