Rake My Lust (Dragons of Blood and Bone #3)

11. True

11

TRUE

T ension fills the dining hall as Jarl Jorg Eriksson pins me with his question—about me being a Bloodwalker and just how many mates it may entail to satisfy my power, so I can fight the Black Dragon. It doesn’t escape me that I never got his permission to life-mate his beloved great-grandson and Jarl-Heir. Among Blood Dragons, it’s tradition to at least notify a Jarl if one intends to take their Heir into a life-bond. In some clans, the Jarl gets the final say on the matter, since it involves the ongoing leadership of their clan.

And I realize now the Eriksson Jarldom is the latter situation.

That glaring omission stands between us now as the Eriksson Jarl takes me in, staring me down hard. I know he’s a good man; everything he does for his family and the way they love him proves it. I still overstepped, however, even though I am the King’s niece.

And it’s a big deal, as he waits for my answer.

“I love your great-grandson, Jarl Eriksson, and I always have since we first met. I’m only just realizing it now,” I say at last, giving him the straight truth as Aesa’s silver gem hums upon my chest. It emboldens me to feel it swirling with power as I speak, though I would have spoken plainly to Jarl Jorg Eriksson, anyway.

I know it’s the right thing to do, as the deep instinct of my dragon fills me.

“I can see that.” Jarl Jorg’s lips curl into a small smile, though his green gaze is still penetrating. “But he will never be your one-and-only, as evinced by you also taking the Magnussen’s former Jarl-Heir into your life-bond, as well.”

“Grandfather, it doesn’t matter—” Strom cuts in then, but a raised hand from Jarl Jorg silences him.

The Jarl’s green eyes still pinning me to my seat.

“It does,” he says now, watching me. “For in our clan, a Jarl-Heir has never been taken into a Bloodwalker’s harem of drakes, for good reason. Because then all of Blood Dragondom would know what the strongest of us Erikssons are. The ones who become our leaders… and why we keep our own so very close. When the rest of Blood Dragondom would kill us.”

As the Jarl stares me down, I realize then what he’s saying. He’s admitting to me, without so many words, that he’s a Bone Mage—and that he knows Strom is, too.

It’s why he made Strom his Jarl-Heir and not anyone else in the family, save his own son long ago, and Strom’s elder brother, before that brother died at Riksfold. Because those chosen to lead the Eriksson clan are Bone Mages, I understand as an amazed shock fills me.

Strom gapes at his great-grandfather, his mouth fallen open.

I have a sudden instinct, as Aesa’s stone hums on my chest, that he didn’t know any of this.

“Adjourn with me, you three.” The Jarl’s green eyes pin me, Bjorn, and Strom. “Bring a few bites of dinner, for there is much we need to discuss.”

As the rest of the family falls silent, Strom nods and fills his plate. Not sure what’s happening, I do also, Bjorn taking his cue and getting a full plate, as well .

As the Jarl fills his own plate, then stands from the table, picking up his platter and a flagon of mead for us, we stand with him. He nods to the rest of the family, giving a calm smile as he nods to the ample dinner spread.

“Enjoy, my loved ones. Eat your fill, then do as you will tonight. I need to have words with my Heir and his chosen mates. Annika, attend us. Mathilde, you too. The rest of you enjoy dinner. I shall return anon for games and such later.”

As the Jarl beams at his family now, he pins both Mathilde and Strom’s elegant grandmother with his intense gaze. With twin nods, though Mathilde looks befuddled at why she’s being called into conference with us, they fill plates and rise, joining us as we egress from the dining hall to an adjacent solar.

This room is far more cozy than the family dining hall. With a fire already going in an ample fireplace to push back the spring cold, it’s a cozy gaming parlor with bookcases all around and a few tables for backgammon, cribbage, and the like.

A beautiful multi-tiered humidor of glowing mahogany sits in one alcove, surrounded by gleaming bottles of fine brandy, whiskey, and scotch. As we enter and set our plates on a green velvet card table amidst a collection of green velvet mahogany chaises, Strom closes the drawing room doors.

Jarl Jorg going to the humidor and opening it up.

“Favorites?” he asks me with a pleasant look now as he holds up a cigar. “Anything you particularly care for?”

“Are we celebrating?” I ask with a blink, dumbfounded by the Jarl’s manner now when I thought I was about to get a serious talking-to for taking his great-grandson into my budding harem without his permission.

“You’re life-mated to my dearest grandson.” The Jarl smiles with kindness now as he slings an arm around Strom’s shoulders. “I think that calls for cigars, don’t you?”

“I do!” Mathilde has moved over to the cigars, perusing what’s inside. She’s eager as she points at one. “Dibs on the Rocky Patel A.L.R. Second Edition Toro.”

Jarl Jorg hands the exceedingly expensive cigar over to her without hesitation, retrieving a cutter and clipping off the end. Everyone selects cigars now, as I just ask for one of his favorites since I don’t smoke much, and we’re soon alight.

Puffs are taken as fine brandy and scotch are poured, me getting a whiskey that smells just right. We clink glasses, the Jarl beams at us, and we slam our drinks back in our first toast. After the third drink of our traditional three-drink toast to celebrate a life-mating bond, Strom’s elegant grandmother laughs.

Then rakes me in for the biggest, sweetest hug.

“It’s so wonderful to have another Bloodwalker in the family!” she crows, as she smooshes my cheeks with her surprisingly strong hands, then kisses my lips.

“ Mormor Annika, enough accosting my mate!” Strom chuckles, though he doesn’t pull me away from his thin but formidable old grandma.

“She is one of my kind, grandson!” the old matriarch says now as she links arms with me, facing the men. I’ve noticed Mathilde has come to my other side, linking arms with me, as well.

“And so the Bloodwalker drakainas do as they will. Always it is thus, in the Eriksson clan.” Jarl Jorg chuckles now as he slams another scotch back.

“You’re a Bloodwalker?” I blink as I glance at the handsome elder, Annika. I look at Mathilde incredulously, as well. “And you?”

“You didn’t think you and Maryse were the only ones in modern times, did you?” Mathilde scoffs at me with a wink now as she shakes me by my arm. “ Mormor and I are the only two in our clan. She has three life-mates. I don’t have any yet, though.”

“And you’re a Bone Mage.” I look pointedly at the Jarl now, as he calmly holds my gaze .

“It is Eriksson tradition that only the Bone Mages of our clan are selected to lead us,” Jarl Jorg says now as Strom stares at him anew.

“All this time…” Strom gapes as he takes in his great-grandfather. “You knew what I was. And you were keeping from me what you were.”

“I had to, my Heir.” The Jarl is serious now as he drains his drink, then puffs his cigar, candid as he watches Strom. “For we are hunted in the wider world, by forces who have made enemies of us.”

“The Black Dragon Knights,” I say, knowing who he’s talking about.

“Yes.” His gaze pins me. “But not the original Black Dragon Knights, of which we are a part and whose founder, the Bloodwalker Matriarch Aesa, you wear upon your very heart in her ancient, much-coveted Truthstone. It’s all part of a legend the True Black Dragon Knights keep—us. A story that goes back generations of the Bone Mages who were persecuted because of how powerful they were, and the Bloodwalkers who tried to help, before it all went disastrously wrong.”

“You know the real story of the Black Dragon,” I say now, as both Bjorn and Strom stare at Jarl Jorg. “And of all our ancestors… who gave that thing life.”

“I know some of the tale, though other parts of it have been lost, even to us.” He nods, as even Mathilde waits with bated breath to hear this ancient tale. We take our cigars and drinks, adjourning at the Jarl’s beckon to the dark green velvet chaises that surround the low card table. We sip and snack on our dinners as we smoke. As everyone settles, the Jarl swirls his latest drink.

Then pins me with his ancient gaze—taking it around the circle.

“All of you here have a stake in what’s coming, and must know the story I am about to tell.” He is sober as he regards us. Nodding to Strom’s grandmother, he continues. “Annika is already aware of this tale, for she is part of the original Black Dragon Knights, as I am. The three of you are not, but as modern Knights with this mission you now share, you are involved perhaps more than any of us. And Mathilde, as a young Bloodwalker, needs to understand her power, and learn the tale of why the Bone Mages are hated so much… and why the Bloodwalkers are nearly so, as well.”

Pausing, Jarl Jorg looks around at us all.

Then launches into his full tale, as I sit on the edge of my couch between Strom and Bjorn, to hear it.

“Five thousand years ago, when the Blood Dragons were many, we were a strong people,” Jarl Jorg says as we listen. “We were not just in Scandinavia, but had clans all around the globe, thanks to raids and travels in ancient times. I assume you know everything Maryse found out about our ancient past before she died. That a terrible war began between the Blood Sages and Bone Mages… which nearly wiped out the Bone Mages after such long and vicious in-fighting.”

“Maryse said the Bloodwalkers tried to stop the war.” I cut in with a frown. “We discovered that my own ancestor created something terrible—the Black Dragon—to try to stop it, though it got away from her and caused devastation.”

“Yes and no.” Jarl Jorg pins me with his gaze now as he continues. “Maryse was digging into the true origins of the Black Dragon Knights right before she died. She was close to discovering us, the real Knights, still beholden to our duty since ancient times. For there was a schism in the Knights, three hundred years after they were formed. We are getting ahead of ourselves now. Yes, ancestors in all our families contributed to creating the Black Dragon, the Usurper. Bloodwalker ancestors… which is why Bloodwalkers surface in all our families, every so often. Their bloodlines passed down through the generations.”

“My family doesn’t have any Bloodwalkers.” Bjorn scowls, though he’s listening intently.

“Check your family histories again, Magnussen Heir.” Jarl Jorg pins Bjorn with his hawkish gaze, as intense knowledge glitters in his eyes. “Ever had someone in your family who was born weak of body, brittle of bone but incredibly strong in magic? I believe your own sister was one of those… a young Magnussen Bloodwalker killed before her time, because your father deemed her too weak.”

As Bjorn pales, I watch him simmer. I see him finally understand why his sister was unique—so strong in her magic, despite her frailty. He knows, deep down inside, that she was a Bloodwalker; I feel him churn now, as he understands why he felt so called to protect her all those years ago. I feel him wonder if his mother knew, when she found that precedent of ancient Magnussen battle-mages allowed to live because they were so massively strong in their power. Strong in magic, rather than their body.

Bloodwalker magic—a strength his father eliminated when he killed her.

“Do you think he knew, my father, when he killed Astrid?” Bjorn asks now as he watches Jarl Jorg.

“I do not know.” The Jarl shakes his head sadly. “Your father has always tried to solidify his power, though, Bjorn, in a way I’ve never liked. He throws his own family to the wolves, sacrificing your most powerful members in tremendous battles while he observes from afar. It would make sense to me he knew what she was, and used her malady as an excuse to kill her so she would never become a contender for his high seat. Much as he ousted you from the clan, the moment you beat him in battle. A story everyone who is anyone knows—that Bjorn, only son of Jarl Oggi Magnussen, should be on that Jarl’s seat, rather than him. A formidable drake who now does his time building honor in the King’s service, while the usurper rules at home.”

As silence falls, I see Jarl Jorg hold Bjorn’s gaze. Emotion wells up in Bjorn; though Bjorn doesn’t show it, the Jarl nods quietly to him.

Seeing him—and the place he should hold among his people.

“In any case, our family lines have had many Bloodwalkers, down through the ages.” Jarl Jorg glances at me, then Strom. “The original Knights remember the names of the Black Dragon Five, the Bloodwalkers who created that heinous creature and all the destruction it wrought. They were families who subsequently needed to be watched by said Knights… lest anyone in their bloodlines become tempted to raise the Black Dragon again, wielding it like our ancestors did of old.”

“All our families have been watched by the Black Dragon Knights through the ages?” I ask now, scowling.

“The original Knights, yes.” Jarl Oggi nods as Annika does, as well.

“We are far smaller an organization than you think, youngling, the True Knights,” Annika says now as she glances at me. “Three hundred years after the Black Dragon was put to rest, the Knights became split on their agenda in Blood Dragondom. There were those who wished to rule all the Blood Dragons with an iron fist, watchful of every family and clan among us. There were also those who knew we need only watch the families of the Black Dragon Five… who had to be observed and guided, so none were ever tempted to pursue a vendetta in the world. And unleash the Black Dragon again… the scourge of us all.”

“The True Black Dragon Knights, as we call ourselves,” Jarl Jorg glances at us, “number only thirty individuals. Those who call themselves the Black Dragon Knights, and whom I know all three of you are sworn to, number some five hundred strong between their Council and all the cells they keep hidden from each other. We know who they are, and keep tabs on them. In their ruling of Blood Dragondom from the shadows, however, they miss the most important reason we were created, long ago—to stop the Black Dragon, should it ever rise again. And to keep anyone from the Five Families from wielding it… if anyone is ever tempted to do so.”

“Someone is wielding it now,” I say darkly, knowing there is somebody behind that monstrous creature’s return to the world who is now controlling it to do their will.

“Someone, or someones ,” Jarl Jorg nods. “For us True Knights have not been able to determine just who exactly unearthed it and have been manipulating it to do their will. Maryse Allbright was close on their trail; though she was Head Matriarch of the false Knights, her heart was true. She knew where disaster lay and was trying to thwart it; we were about to induct her into our order and tell her everything she was already discovering, so we could share information, when she was suddenly killed. We come to a dire part of our story now, though: a part that involves you three, directly. For by entering the sacred death-city of Unhaemmerten , and desecrating that altar which should have lain forever undisturbed, you have done a very great ill to our world. You did not know it, but the souls of the original Black Dragon Five were contained there in that place. Because of the altar’s breaking, they have been liberated… to rejoin the undead bones of the Black Dragon itself. Giving it mind, power, and flesh once more. And a will of its own—to destroy us all. Just like it did in ancient times.”

As Jarl Jorg’s pronouncement comes, I feel it hit me like a ton of bricks. I know, deep in my heart, as both my dragons roar a terrible death-knell inside me, that I never should have touched that altar in the underground cathedral. That was a hallowed place, kept buried for a reason. That cathedral wasn’t buried because the devastation at Seerselen ruined it.

It was entombed beneath the ground with the dead on purpose.

Something so heinous, and so deadly, was locked away in there—sealed forever by the massive wards that kept the altar secure—that it never should have been released. Something beyond terrible was secured there by the ancient Black Dragon Knights, and we unleashed it by breaking the altar’s seal.

I know now, as a horrified feeling engulfs me, it was the souls of the Black Dragon Five we released in that awful malevolent energy and those four dragon-wights.

Returning to the Black Dragon, to give it true life.

At last.