Lord's Fall (Elder Races #5)(35)

He watched realization dawn, and the Elf’s face went ashen. Her gaze darted to the scenery passing by outside the limousine’s windows. Madison Square Garden was several blocks southwest of the Plaza Hotel, and they were nowhere near the vicinity. The Councillor whispered hoarsely, “You do not want to do this.”

“Do I not?” He settled himself more comfortably. “Since we are talking, perhaps you can tell me why Numenlaurians have decided to visit Calondir.”

Sidhiel made a sharp gesture. “No one knows the answer to that except the Numenlaurians.”

“Speculate,” Dragos said.

“That would be pointless and irresponsible,” she bit out.

“Very well, if you won’t, I will,” he said softly. “I can think of one reason why Numenlaur would contact Calondir after silence for all these years. It’s the same reason that drove you to war in the first place when you fools discovered the Deus Machinae, and you thought you could control them.”

The Deus Machinae. The God Machines, items of Power that the seven Elder Races gods had cast to Earth at the time of creation in order to enact their will. The Elder Races had many myths of the Deus Machinae. At times the items appeared to be weapons or pieces of armor, and at other times jewelry or a tool. Their forms did not remain fixed. Their real nature was something infinitely more Powerful.

The Elf shifted in a sudden movement, her body oddly graceless, and a haunted expression entered her large, blue eyes. “We didn’t know then what we know now,” she said. “We thought the Deus Machinae had been given to us to use. We didn’t realize the Machinae would use us.”

“You thought they were yours to use as you saw fit, just as you thought you had the right to reshape the Earth,” he said, his quiet tone scathing. “You were ever arrogant that way.”

He had long held a fascination with the underlying patterns in the world—magic systems, science, the ever-shifting reality of economics and politics—and in the back of his mind, he was constantly piecing and repiecing together bits of information, like working on a gigantic puzzle of the universe.

Several pieces of information snicked into place, and another potential pattern came together in his head.

These things were set in motion at the beginning, along with the laws of the universe and of Time itself.

That voice from the Oracle’s prophecy. Numenlaur. The Deus Machinae, the seven items from the seven gods of the Elder Races, thrown to Earth at the beginning and working the will of the gods as they tumbled through history. Pure and primal, not form but Form, indivisible.

The world was not just filled with prophecy and predators, but it was filled with Power too. So much of the drama that played out on the modern-day stage came from the first things and the first creatures. First among those creatures were the gods themselves.

It was clear he would get no more out of the Elf. Once her usefulness to him ended, he lost interest in her.

The limousine pulled smoothly up to the curb at Cuelebre Tower. As the vehicle rolled to a stop, a young Wyr male ran out of the Starbucks on the ground floor, wearing a green apron and carrying a covered cup. As the Starbucks employee reached the limo, Dragos opened the door and climbed out.

He took the cup and bent in the open door to hand it to Sidhiel, who took it cautiously as though she expected it to explode in her face. “Here is your coffee, Councillor,” said Dragos. He met her gaze. “Don’t try to leave New York until I know for sure my mate is free and safe. I don’t think the journey would go well for you. Enjoy the games today.”

Color washed her pale features, and her pale gaze glittered with equal parts fear and fury. He stood back and watched the limo pull away from the curb. Then he pulled out his iPhone and hit speed dial.

Bayne answered on the first ring. “Yup, got two people following the limo now.”

Dragos said, “She can do anything she wants as long as she doesn’t leave town. If she does try to leave, call and let me know.”

“You got it.”

He clicked his phone off. Sidhiel would make sure that there were repercussions for him frightening her and issuing threats, but that was an issue to face on another day.

A slicing winter wind whistled down the tall corridors created by the skyscrapers, stinging his skin. He ignored it and turned to face south while logic and instinct clashed inside, building pressure. These days there was always more pressure.

Logic said that Pia was all right, that the Wood’s influence was just as Sidhiel said it was, and that it interfered with spells cast from the outside. While he had sensed a great deal of hate in Sidhiel, at that point in the conversation she had spoken plainly and he had not sensed any insincerity in what she had told him.

Logic also reminded him that Pia had five days left of the week they had agreed upon. Five days was a very short amount of time, despite the Powers that were active and moving through the world. In the meantime, he knew Pia was also awake and thinking about their missed dream date. He should give her time to send him a message, at least a day and perhaps two.

But instinct was a much more simple and overriding imperative. It drove him unmercifully and roared that she was gone, gone.

And the fact of the matter was, he was not actually needed at the games today. The contestants would fight each other, and half of them would lose, and tonight there would be twenty-eight left. And Kris could shoulder for the short term whatever business crisis hit, just as he always did when Dragos had to travel. Bayne and the other sentinels would call if they needed to get in touch with him. Dragos’s presence wasn’t essential until the final round of combat, the day after tomorrow.