“You know what I want.” Brynhild spat the words at the druid.
Cathbad flicked his hand as if to brush them away. He clearly did not see her as a threat.
Tristan had to get back to Daegan and tell him what he’d learned here. That wouldn’t happen unless he escaped.
Not an outlook he’d bet heavily on right now.
He noticed the silence first and peeked through his lashes again to see what had changed.
Brynhild slowly turned to face Tristan.
Her seductive eyes outlined in black carried a deadly warning with each blink. Man, that woman was as smokin’ hot as they came, but everything about her said she would be a deadly mistake for any man, human, or otherwise.
Where did Cathbad find that level of crazy women?
The druid also turned to Tristan.
Since they now knew he was awake, Tristan called out, “You practicing witchcraft now, Cathbad?”
The druid lifted a stick he’d been holding at his side.
Tristan recognized the four-foot-long club Cathbad had used to knock him out. The stick appeared to be dense hardwood, like hickory, and had three claws at one end.
Yellow glowing claws.
Ah, shit. That had Imortik written all over it.
Lifting an eyebrow in amusement, Cathbad started toward him. “Witchcraft? Why would ya think I need a lower form of majik than my own?”
“Because of that stick. What is it?”
Smiling, the druid lifted the claw-stick and gave it an admiring once over. “Ah, yes. I made this after findin’ an Imortik runnin’ around Atlanta. ’Tis a useful tool for capturin’ beins’. A demon. A gryphon. A dragon. Anythin’ really. This stick, as ya call it, has more than one use, but capturin’ nonhumans is a good one. Worked perfectly for takin’ ya down.”
Yep, Tristan still recalled the excruciating pain of being struck by something sharp that cut him off midstream while calling telepathically to Daegan. His body had vibrated with incredible pain. He could still feel the aftermath of that attack.
But he would show no weakness to this pair of wackos.
Lifting his gaze to meet Tristan’s, Cathbad walked toward the wall where Tristan hung fifteen feet off the ground.
Energy pulsed through the straps, which probably created the barrier preventing him from teleporting or using telepathic communication.
It also muffled his gryphon.
He needed his gryphon’s power for healing as much as for strength. Maybe Cathbad would ask him to shift.
He’d love that.
Because the next time Tristan let his beast out, any threat in his gryphon’s path wouldn’t have a chance to scream before he slaughtered it.
As Cathbad neared, Tristan went for casual conversation. “Why did you capture me?”
“I had not planned to do so actually,” Cathbad admitted. “But once I sensed someone followin’ me, I set the trap and ya walked into it. I never waste a gift. Ya can be useful.”
Tristan didn't pop off in response, but the battle to hold his tongue still was close. He kept pushing for information, anything he could squeeze out of this pair. Going for sarcasm, he pointed out, “I’m thinking you want to use my gryphon to do something, right? I can’t be much use if you’re gonna keep me tied up, causing my muscles to atrophy.” He doubted Cathbad would send him to Queen Maeve since Tristan would bet she knew nothing of the partnership underway in this cave.
“Do ya recall Ossian?” Cathbad asked softly with an underlying tease of threat.
Tristan’s skin crawled at remembering the only time he saw that creep. He’d watched Ossian’s body lose control as he died, shifting through a mix of different identities, including some Beladors the polymorph had impersonated.
Disgust rolled through him, but he had to keep his emotions locked down. Affecting a bland expression, Tristan tried to shrug. Failed. Hard to manage lifting a shoulder when hanging from his wrists. “Ossian? That little pipsqueak? Sure. What about him?”
Brynhild had stood back listening to the exchange, but now walked over to stand next to Cathbad. “Who is this Ossian?”
Infusing his voice with charm, Cathbad explained, “He was what is known as a polymorph. He could shift into the livin’ image of another human form, includin’ nonhuman beins’. I created him from a warlock.”
Wrinkling her nose, Brynhild said, “Does not sound good.”
Cathbad kept his attention on Tristan as he continued filling in his partner. “Oh, but he was special. I poured a tremendous amount of power into him until he could alter into any form at any time. He was one of my greatest works of art in many a century.”
Tristan brought reality to the conversation. “I’m not so sure about how powerful Ossian was. Whatever that witch Veronika did to him caused a major malfunction. I watched when he took his last breath. Looked like a wind-up toy coming apart.”
Cathbad’s humor soured. “Queen Maeve holds all fault for his demise. She sent him on a mission without my approval.” Cutting his gaze to Brynhild, Cathbad said, “I do not mourn the loss of anyone, but I will never forgive what Queen Maeve cost me.”
Ah, now Tristan understood what had caused a crack in Cathbad and Queen Maeve’s union.
He just did not know how deep that fracture ran.
Under Queen Maeve’s direction, Ossian helped Veronika escape a warded prison cell beneath the mountain VIPER used as their headquarters. Cathbad had agreed to work with Daegan and the Tribunal deities to prevent Veronika from destroying everything in her path.
No one had understood how she escaped until seeing Ossian lose his shit when his body freaked out. Like many others, Tristan had thought Cathbad agreed to return Phoedra, who he’d captured, in exchange for the Tribunal powers not going after Queen Maeve for her part in the deadly jailbreak.
Based on what Tristan had learned here, Cathbad had only wanted to appease everyone at the time to prevent anyone from disrupting other plans he
