A Destiny of Dragons (Tales From Verania #2)(86)

“I have issues? Oh, do we even need to go over the veritable laundry list that is the psychotic psychosis of the dragon named—”

“You’re not coming with me,” I said.

“Yes, we are,” they all said at the same time.

And that was that.




“HOLY BALLS,” Gary said as we crested the sand dune.

“That’s… not what I expected,” Kevin said.

“No more sand,” Tiggy said, sounding giddy.

“Is that…?” Ryan started, eyes wide as he took in what lay before us.

Rising out of an oasis in the middle of the desert, surrounded by a forest of palm trees, was a city built upon a desert lake that shimmered in the heat of the sun. It looked cool and inviting, but I couldn’t help but feel unease at the sight of it. I knew what waited for us there. I knew what waited just beyond the city in a cave that led underneath the desert.

“Mashallaha,” I said. “The gypsy city.”

“What does it mean?” Ryan asked. “The name.”

“As the gods will,” I said, trying not to focus on that part at all. “Come on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go home.”




“DON’T FORGET your Grimoire,” a voice said behind me. I cursed under my breath, sure I’d come into the labs undetected. Which, in all honesty, was probably my first mistake. Undoubtedly, he had the entire castle warded so he knew who was where at any given time. He’d told me once that of course that was ridiculous, being such an invasion of privacy, but I wasn’t feeling very charitable toward Morgan of Shadows right then.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said airily, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. Mean and petty, sure, but I was more than a little annoyed.

I took my Grimoire down from its place next to his on the shelf. My fingers brushed against the binding on his book, and I felt his magic jolt through me, sweet and familiar. I realized he’d never told me what his Grimoire was bound with, telling me I’d know when the time was right. I wondered what else he’d kept from me. What other secrets he had. Where was Myrin’s Grimoire? Had he even had one?

I pushed the thoughts away. There was still much I had to do and a short time with which to do it. I shoved my Grimoire into my pack and hoisted it on my shoulder. I turned and gave him a nod, trying to keep the surprise off my face to see him by himself, no Randall in sight.

Morgan himself had a carefully blank expression, betraying nothing. I’d seen him with the same look when dealing with unruly heads of state, knowing his countenance didn’t give away just how much of a dumbass he thought they were. Whether or not he was thinking the same thing about me, I didn’t care. I needed to leave. I was angry at him. Very angry. It was deeply unsettling, because I’d never been that way with him before.

I forced myself to meet his gaze before heading for the door. Part of me screamed to turn around, to get everything off my chest, to never say goodbye without actually saying goodbye, but I didn’t. I reached the door. It felt like I was vibrating. I put my hand on the knob. I turned it. The lock clicked and— “He wasn’t always bad,” Morgan said quietly. “My brother.”

I stopped. Tried to breathe through it.

“He was… smart. Strong willed. Vibrant. A sense of humor like you wouldn’t believe. Everyone was charmed by him. He wasn’t afraid to step on people if it meant getting what he wanted, but he would always make sure to apologize for doing so. And the difference between him and others is that he would be sincere about it. If he did you wrong, he was genuinely sorry about it.”

I let go of the door but didn’t turn around.

“He was older than me,” Morgan continued. “By centuries. Our parents were… difficult, to say the least. More obsessed with furthering their magic than caring about their sons. They regretted us, I think. Or, rather, they were indifferent toward us. I don’t believe they meant for Myrin to happen. They certainly didn’t mean for me to happen, but sometimes, fate and magic have minds of their own, and when they intertwine, the results can be… unexpected.”

“How is he Randall’s cornerstone?” I asked begrudgingly. I didn’t want to acknowledge any of it, but that question had been bugging me almost as much as why Morgan had kept what he did from me and what had happened to Myrin in the first place.

“Randall’s… different.”

“No shit.”

“Like you’re different.”

I whirled around at that. “Are you comparing me to him?” I suppose it could have been a compliment to anyone else, but it was Randall. This was not a compliment to me.

He shrugged, face still blank. “It’s not an off comparison. A wizard builds, Sam. That’s what magic is. That’s what the cornerstone is for. But even before you can build, you must design. You can’t just start putting the blocks together without a coherent plan to do so. The results could be…. Well. That’s what the Darks are. People who will not invest the time needed to follow the true path of magic. They are impatient. Cut corners. They burn out parts of their hearts and soul just to have a taste of magic on their tongue.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with Randall. Or me.”

He drummed his fingers along the countertop. “Of course you don’t. Because you don’t see the big picture. You think of here. Of now. Not decades down the road.”