“Ladon.”
Ladon? How in the name of all the heavens had the King of the Blue Clan—who’d been the first to take his throne from one of Pytheios’s puppet kings in a bloody coup—managed to establish a trusted contact within Pytheios’s own mountain? “You’re sure we can trust this informant? That he has access to this kind of information?”
“He’s one of Pytheios’s most trusted advisers.”
Her shock must’ve shown on her face, because Gorgon coughed a chuckle. “My reaction exactly. We’ll discuss with Ladon tomorrow on a secure line.”
Meira nodded.
“Until then, I have one more day to recover, then we have other things to discuss. Agreed?”
That elusive pulse skated over her again. What was going on in his head? Meira swallowed as she considered the man in front of her. Perhaps the king was ready to hear her news. He appeared a hundred times better today than he had yesterday. The fact that he was out of bed was an encouraging sign.
Meira opened her mouth to say the words, get this over with now. The truth had been eating at her. An acid inside her mind and heart. She should tell him before he talked to the other kings. Instead, what came out was, “It’s nice to see you on your feet, my lord. We had been told you were dead.”
Gorgon’s lips twitched. “This is a marked improvement, then.”
Guilt surged inside her, but telling Gorgon without Samael at her side, without having discussed it with him at all, wasn’t right, either.
Would Sam go for the plan she’d been formulating these last days? Obviously, the two of them ruling the Black Clan was no longer a viable option. Given the glares she received from the few she passed any time she left the king’s chambers—hell, her guards would probably have killed her themselves if they weren’t under strict orders to keep her alive—told her being accepted as queen would be like pushing a square boulder uphill only to have a giant kick it back down again.
Had this been the Meira pre–Samael Veles, she would have been tempted to think she wasn’t built for that kind of challenge. She’d always thought of herself more of a behind-the-scenes girl, anyway.
But now she’d had a taste—a fantasy—of what she could have been to these people…at Sam’s side…
In her head, she and Samael would tell Gorgon together, then, most likely depending on the king’s response, make it easy on everyone involved and disappear, to the gargoyles maybe, or go to Rune and help him with the problems in the Americas. Help her sisters whenever they needed transportation by mirror or someone to hack a computer system.
If she could get Sam on his own and talk to him, dammit.
“Anyway, I’m glad you like the computers,” Gorgon said.
“I do. Do dragon shifters have a native tongue?” she asked, well aware he probably thought this was a random segue. “Mother said they speak most of the contemporary human languages after thousands of years living around them, but…”
“We do. It is a guttural language. Harsh. We call it Vritranvhis. Only older dragon shifters know it any longer. A dying language, I’m afraid.”
“How do you say ‘thank you’ in Vritranvhis?” She stumbled over the word, unfamiliar on her tongue.
He tipped his head, expression apologetic. “No word for thank you exists in my people’s language.”
That told her a lot.
Gorgon took her hand and escorted her to a small leather sofa set against a wall, seating her first before he dropped heavily into the seat beside her. His legs were obviously still not entirely stable, but she refrained from commenting.
“Did you know the ancient Vritranvhis have a story of how the world ends?” Gorgon paused and ran a hand over his face, which had gone pale, obviously feeling the effects of being up and about.
“Should you lie down?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I am sick to death of that bed.” He dropped his hand. “Though perhaps that is an ill choice of phrases.”
“Mmm…” Meira patted his hand. “We were immune to human diseases, but Skylar broke her leg once and had to stay in bed for a month. She was a terror to be around the entire time.”
“I can imagine.”
Meira relaxed, the butter-soft leather making no noise at her movement. “So…how does the world end?” Her curiosity had got the better of her. “In fire?”
He shook his head. “In ice and water.”
What dragons feared most.
“Before our kind knew of the Americas, it was said that beyond the great waters were untamed lands. From these lands a terrible war would arise, setting a blaze even we could not calm, scorching all the earth. Every tree, every creature, gone. Leaving nothing in its wake except ash and dragons who are immune to fire. The heat caused by this fire would melt massive sheets of ice at the ends of the world, flooding everything with freezing water and consuming the last of us in the end.”
“Sounds like most end-of-the-world stories from culture to culture,” Meira murmured. “I wonder that they were wise enough to guess at more land, or even the polar caps, at a time when they couldn’t have known.”
Gorgon considered that but shook his head. “I think maybe they did know.”
She tipped her head in question.
“Humans aren’t the only breed with a few adventurous spirits. Even if that wasn’t the case, I think your ancestors might have helped?”
“Mine?” Meira raised her eyebrows.
“According to my father’s father, who I knew as a boy, a phoenix has ruled beside a dragon since the beginning. If you can walk through mirrors, and Kasia can have visions, I imagine those phoenixes must’ve seen something.”
“Something terrifying.” Meira grimaced. “Do you believe in the legend?”
“I believe that the legend is a warning. Your sister has changed a few of the outcomes she’s seen, simply
