A Kiss of Flame (Shadows Eternal #3)

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

B arith stood before his mother’s meeting room doors, taking a steadying breath. He turned to Sera beside him, his voice low as he asked, “Yer sure yer fine with this?”

Sera sighed, her dark brown eyes meeting his. There was steel behind her gaze. “It’s a good plan,” she told him.”If they'll agree.”

Jude grunted at his other side, arms crossed, as she gave him an exasperated look. “I think yer all daft,” she grumbled for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Barith eyed his sister. “You dinnae have to be here.”

Jude’s jaw set with determination. “If this is gonna work, you need all of us.”

Barith couldn't argue with that, though he wasn't entirely convinced that his plan would succeed even with his sisters and Sera on his side. What he did know was that they’d come too far not to try. He nodded once, murmured a quick prayer under his breath in Draconic, and pushed open the heavy doors.

The room was already tense, the air thick with unease. Queen Eithne sat at the right side of the grand table with three of her advisors and Flòra, her stern expression mirrored by the others present. Across from them sat Callum Ceanadach, his brother Angus, and two other Ceanadach horde advisors.

Barith knew Callum had been using his absence as an excuse to renegotiate parts of the deal with his mother—Threatening to toss out his mating contract and the rest of the agreement simply because Barith hadn’t been paying his niece enough attention during their courting. He’d not been wrong, but it’d also been an excuse to exploit the queen and her desire to see their agreement done. Not only that, Callum had used it as an excuse to push for absurd demands—like ownership of an island off the coast of Eilean Teine, where their horde raised nearly half their sheep herd.

Sera had been willing to fulfill her duty and take Barith as a mate, but she’d not taken kindly to having her opinions and feelings entirely overlooked by her uncle. Callum hadn’t asked Sera once if she’d been offended by Barith’s absence before he’d begun lying to everyone that his niece was beside herself with grief over being ignored. Sera had known he’d done it to manipulate the queen, and she’d not appreciated it one bit.

Everyone at his mother’s table was clearly exhausted, their expressions a mixture of worn, weary, and frustrated. Queen Eithne was mid-snarl when she turned her attention to the trio that had come barging in.

“And what’s the meanin’ of this?” Barith’s mother snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

This was the last meeting to solidify their agreements before a grand party that night to officially celebrate the merging of their horde’s banners. It was also when they’d planned to announce that his mating to Sera would occur the following week.

Callum’s gaze shifted to Sera with irritation. “Your contract is already settled.”

Barith's chest tightened, his resolve steeling against the fight he knew was about to unfold. After Levian had left the island, he’d proceeded to spend the three following days getting too pissed to stand up straight. Barith would have kept his spree going if it hadn’t been for Cat and Ismay. His annoying sisters had found him passed out near the stables, where they’d dumped a bucket of frigid sea water over his head to wake him from his drunken stupor. Then Ismay poured tonics down his throat to sober him up while Cat snarled at him to stop wallowing because it wouldn’t bring Levian back or help him convince their mother not to take the deal with Callum’s horde.

While he’d been trying to drown his heartbreak with ale and whiskey, resolved that he’d be forced to mate with Sera or be banished from the horde, his sisters had been cooking up a plan. A plan rooted in his ideas but perfected by Flòra and Jude.

Barith tried to settle his nerves and stepped forward. “We’ve come to negotiate a deal of our own,” he said, his voice firm, echoing through the room.

He’d not spoken to his mother since she’d stormed out of his cottage demanding he get Levian off her island. And in his drunken state of defiance, he’d not bothered to attend any of the meetings she’d ordered him to, including the one solidifying his mating contract.

Silence fell, and Barith could feel the weight of every gaze on him. His mother’s eyes hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. Callum chuckled before she could respond, leaning back in his chair with a smug expression.

“Is that so?” Callum taunted.

Sera stepped forward, her chin raised. “It is, uncle.”

Callum's amusement evaporated at his niece’s declaration. “I told you—Your mating contract is finished,” he said, pointing to a stack of papers in front of one of his harried advisors. “It was signed this morning.”

“It can be undone,” Barith countered, pointing at the array of papers. “All of this can be undone.”

Eithne's primal growl reverberated through the room. “Ye dare barge in here an’ threaten tae undo everythin’ we’ve worked for?”

Judith stepped forward, her voice unwavering. “Barith’s a McCroy an’ a member of this horde. He’s a right under our laws tae oppose any contract involvin’ his property an’ plead his case before his king or queen.”

Queen Eithne’s eyes flared with fire as she turned sharply to her daughter. “What property?” she spat. “His cottage an’ that pathetic house in London? Neither are even mentioned in this contract.”

Barith clenched his jaw, his voice low but persistent. “ I am the property.”

His mother’s eyes burned with fury, but Barith held his ground, his heart pounding at a nauseating pace. He thought of Levian—how she faced the Council of Mages’s withering scrutiny with unwavering determination, intelligence, and resilience. He had to channel that strength now and mindfully keep his tail from tucking between his legs.

“They’re right,” Flòra said. She spoke softly, but her voice carried. “It’s in our laws.”

Eithne’s glare snapped to each of her daughters before it landed back on Barith. “I know it’s in our laws,” she growled.

Callum slammed his hand on the table. “This is ridiculous! We’ve already negotiated?—”

Eithne raised her hand, silencing him with a single, withering glance. “It is their right,” she said bitterly, then turned back to Barith, her lips tight. “You’ve one minute.” What she didn’t say was that she was going to have him strung up by his wings for the birds to eat after he was done.

Barith glanced at Flòra, then took a deep breath, stepping forward. He’d spent centuries charming his way across the globe and out of trouble. Now, all he had to do was charm a room full of miserable dragons—Gods help him.

He cursed in his head before he began, “As leaders of two of the largest Sun Dragon hordes, joinin’ under one banner would make us formidable—But merging into one horde willnae dae anythin’ to advance our status in the eyes of the Folk.”

Callum scoffed, but Barith ignored him, keeping his focus on his mother. Her furious expression was unyielding.

“I’ve spent time amongst the Folk,” he went on. “I know how they see us. The hordes were once respected, but now we’re relics of a dying era. Beasts to be gawked like mythical creatures but dismissed because we’re too preoccupied with our squabblin’ to be of notice. We lost our lands in Sylth?a because the faeries knew if they broke apart the tribes, we’d remain broken. They were right.

“Yer agreement willnae change any of that. It’ll only allow two great dragon hordes to continue distractin’ themselves by arguin’ over scraps while the Folk continues to push us out of trade and commerce.”

“And what are you suggesting, then?” Angus Ceanadach asked gruffly.

“I suggest somethin’ different,” Barith elaborated. “We’ll show strength as allies, united under two banners—no’ conquerors, but partners. Together, we can begin formin’ a new tribe of dragons—somethin’ far greater than two hordes.

“Think what ye will of me, but I’ve seen how the Folk view us. We’re all bluster while they carve away at what was once ours. It’s time we prove to the faeries—to the rest of the Folk—that dragons are capable of more. United, as our ancestors once were.”

Callum let out a harsh laugh. “Your son is a fool,” he snapped, turning to Eithne. “I thought he’d come to ask for more cows.”

Barith growled low, stepping closer to Callum, his eyes alight with fire. “ Careful who you call a fool.”

Callum rose slowly, his throat glowing with simmering flames. “Be careful yourself, boy,” he warned, menace dripping from his words. “You may be the son of a queen, but that doesn’t mean I won’t cut you open in front of your mummy.”

“Enough!” Eithne commanded, her voice slicing through the tension. “There’ll be no bloodshed in my house unless it’s by my hand.”

Callum glared at Barith a moment longer, then sat with a grunt, the tension slowly dissipating.

Eithne looked between them both, her gaze finally settling on her son. “So this is yer plea?” she asked, her voice full of exasperation. “To form a new tribe…to avoid matin’ wi’ Sera?”

Barith swallowed, his throat tight. “No,” he growled to be clear. “If matin’ with Sera would benefit the horde, I’d do it. But it won’t. This is about securin’ our future and what’s good for all dragons.”

Eithne studied him, her eyes narrowed as if seeking out every crack in his conviction.

“And you agree with this?” Callum balked at his niece.

Sera nodded. “I didn’t at first, but after I heard Barith’s argument, I began to see his points. We’re here because both our hordes are being pushed out of trade. The pixies have taken over significant ground in the last several centuries. Our ancestors built their troves by being clever and trading smartly with the Fae, but even the faeries of Sylth?a have evolved past us.” She looked to Barith, her gaze stern. “Our only chance is to adapt and stand together.”

Angus grunted and looked at his brother expectantly.

“I should have chosen one of your sisters instead,” Callum grumbled dismissively.

Sera glowered at him. “You could have chosen your own daughter,” she clipped back.

Queen Eithne’s eyebrows rose at that, her eyes narrowing on Callum. He had no children as far as they knew. “You’d have me give ye my son, an’ ye couldnae even offer up yer own daughter,” Eithne growled.

Callum glared daggers at Sera. “She’s too young,” he offered as an excuse. “And her mother and I are not mates.”

" How young?" one of Eithne’s advisors asked with irritation. Given Callum’s age, she was doubtfully under a hundred years old.

“It doesnae matter,” Flòra interjected. She stood at the table and looked at the queen and the Ceanadachs. "Barith’s right. I know advisors an’ leaders from six other hordes who’d be open to discussin’ the formation of a new tribe."

Callum huffed a bitter laugh. “You can’t even control your own children, Eithne. How the Hells would you rule over both of our hordes?”

The queen ignored Callum’s slight, her gaze shifting to her children before landing on Flòra. “You stand wi’ Barith, then?” she asked flatly.

Flòra nodded and moved to stand beside Jude. "Aye, I do.”

All the Ceanadachs began to chuckle then, except for Sera. Eithne let out a low growl, silencing them.

"If other hordes are considerin’ this, it’s only a matter of time before someone takes the first step,” the queen pointed out. “Would ye refuse them, Callum?"

Callum replied with a dismissive grunt, though his silence was telling.

Eithne slowly rose to her feet, her wings unfurling behind her. Her gaze was fixed on Callum, but she spoke to the room. “I’ve fought an’ bled for my horde—for my family—the whole of my life. My mate died over a stupid feud with the Ice Bjorn over sea routes. My son is right. If there’s to be a new tribe, I’d rather be the one leadin’ it—Wouldnae ye want the same?”

“Yes,” Agnus answered begrudgingly for Callum when he said nothing. “We would.”

Callum let out a string of angry curses under his breath, then stood. “We’ve spent near a year negotiating this agreement—And now you want to change everything because of this boy’s silly dream of starting a new tribe?”

Eithne squared her shoulders, her eyes meeting Callum’s with fierce resolve. “Ye shouldnae have asked for even more of my sheep before they came in,” she clipped.

Callum looked stricken, staring at the queen. When she didn’t yield, he cursed and ran his hand over his beard in frustration. He looked to the others, but with each passing second, reality began to set on him. When it finally settled that the agreement was blowing up in his face, he let out another curse and grunted.

“Angus told me asking for more sheep would only make you mad,” he admitted.

The tension began to lift from the room, and Barith glanced at his sisters. Jude gave him a subtle nod, her expression softening. Flòra looked pale as if the weight of this confrontation had turned her stomach. Barith caught her eye and nodded reassuringly. She gave him a weak smile in return. It was thanks to his sisters any of this had come to pass. Without them, he’d still be lost in his cups, passed out in a field somewhere.

Despite the apparent success, his heart still ached for Levian—a deep, unrelenting pain that made each breath feel heavy. He missed her like he was missing a part of himself, and even now, he had to fight the urge to fly off and find her.

“What of our grand feast?” Callum asked Eithne, drawing Barith out of his thoughts. “The hordes will be disappointed not to celebrate.”

“It’s already bein’ prepared,” one of Eithne’s advisors told her.

Eithne nodded, her gaze sweeping over those present. “Then we celebrate for a different reason. As the first two hordes tae cast our banners under a new grand tribe of dragons.”

Callum turned to his advisors, and though no one seemed particularly thrilled, there was no outright refusal. “We’ll need to discuss specifics,” he grumbled, “but the Ceanadachs are open to it. We’d be even more willing if you’d cut me in on some of that fine ale of yours.”

Queen Eithne let the faintest of smirks tug at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll send ye a load of barrels,” she agreed. Callum clapped his hands together, satisfied to have squeezed one more concession out of her.

As the conversation shifted to details of forming the new tribe, Callum approached Barith and Sera. “I suppose I should tear up your contract, then?” he posed. “Unless you want him of your own choice?”

Sera glanced at Barith, then shook her head. “No.”

Barith huffed a pained laugh. Sera was pragmatic, and he respected her honesty, integrity, and strength. He had no interest in making her his mate either, but it still stung to be set down so flatly.

Callum glared at Barith, stepping closer, his posture challenging. “We should square off some time, you and I,” he grumbled. “Real dealings are settled on fields, not over tables.”

“Anytime,” Barith replied coolly, and Callum smirked.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have been a terrible mate for my daughter after all,” Callum said before turning to his brother and the queen. “How about we continue this discussion over ale? I need a bloody drink.”

Queen Eithne caught Barith’s eye as the others filed out, her expression severe. Jude and Flòra lingered, but Eithne waved them away. “Leave. Make sure Callum doesnae drink me out of house an’ home.”

Once they were alone, the silence hung heavy between them. Eithne regarded him, her voice even but laced with anger. “I should have ye thrown in the stocks if we still did such a thing,” she growled.

Barith said nothing, his gaze steady. He had expected her anger and braced himself for it. Now that Levian was gone, there was nothing she could say that would hurt him more than he already did.

Eithne grunted. “Ye can hate me, Barith. But you don’t know how much like your da ye are.” She sighed, her gaze softening. “He would’ve been proud of what ye’ve done.”

Barith blinked, her words catching him off guard. The shock must have shown on his face because she gave him a sad smile.

“I loved yer da,” she told him. “We werenae the best match, but he was a good mate. He only ever wanted what was best for you.” She shook her head. “I thought of what ye said about my duty as yer mother…of me driving ye away.” She straightened, her demeanor shifting into that of a queen giving judgment. “When yer da died, I didnae know how to handle my grief. We’d fought an’ were barely speakin’. Every time I saw you, I saw him. I could feel ye wanting to run, like he did. When ye left, I was happy for you to be gone—But I knew ye’d come back.”

Her words struck him like a blow. He hadn’t come back—she’d had to drag him back. “I missed the horde,” he admitted. “But I was happy with my life outside it.”

“Happy with yer half-fae woman,” she clarified sharply.

Barith's expression darkened at the mention of Levian. “Aye,” he said, unwilling to deny it.

Eithne studied him for a long moment before she spoke. “You’ll be needed here if we’re to build this new tribe,” she told him. “If we’re to make this work.”

He nodded. “I know. I’m no’ leavin’.”

“And what of her, then?” Eithne asked.

Barith felt his heart twist painfully. “She’s gone,” he said, unable to keep the sorrow from his voice.

“Do ye want her?” his mother asked plainly.

His shoulders slumped, the overwhelming grief rising inside him again. He shook his head. “It doesnae matter,” he mumbled. “She’s gone.”

The queen moved to his side, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. He looked over at her, surprised by the empathy in her gaze. “Come, son,” she said, her voice touched with a hint of warmth—a tone he hadn’t heard in centuries. “The Ceanadach horde may drink all my ale, but they’ll never get my good scotch, and I think we both need it.”

Barith stood in the doorway of his cottage, his vision blurred by hours of drinking his mother’s best scotch and participating in the revelry of the party. He should have felt proud and relieved by all he’d accomplished that day. It wouldn’t be easy to get all the dragon hordes to cast their banners under a new tribe, but today had been a significant first step.

His gaze fell to the tartan shawl Levian had left on his kitchen table, and a deep grief consumed him. His heart should’ve been light and filled with hope for the future of the horde, but there was no joy to be found in the success of the day or in the tentative peace he’d made with his mother.

Half of his heart was gone, and no victory could change that.

Barith picked up the shawl, breathing in the lingering faint scent of Levian’s night jasmine perfume. His mother had tried to comfort him and told him there were other mates. He wanted Levian.

He’d done the right thing. He couldn’t fight for their love alone—but it didn’t make the hurt any less. It didn’t lessen the desire to hunt the mage down and beg her to give him a chance. What did it matter if he was right if it meant being miserable for the rest of his bloody life?

A shadow shifted in the corner of the room, and for a moment, his heart leaped, thinking it might be Levian. But as he turned, a blurred figure in a black mask emerged from the shadows. Barith growled, pressing his hand to his chest to draw his sword right as he was smashed in the back of the head. He roared in pain, stumbling forward. A puff of silvery powder hit his face, and he recognized it too late to hold his breath. His heart pounded, limbs growing heavy as the sleeping powder took effect. Barith glared at the masked figure, the fire inside him pulsing and waning as he tried to fight the magick powder. The figure raised her hand, lifting the black mask to reveal her face.

“I told you, you ‘d pay,” Tsuki seethed.

Barith growled, collapsing to the floor, his vision darkening. His last thought before he succumbed to unconsciousness was of Levian. If they’d found him, they could find her. His broken heart lurched with terror before the darkness claimed him, his face pressed against the tartan shawl.