Page 89 of Dragon’s Ending

Then I saw the visitor. As he talked to Josh and Megan in the crowded hall, there was a space around him as if there were a radioactive zone that no one dared cross. Abimelech Mortimer was of an age where most dragons would want to put their feet up and snooze the day away while watching cricket. Not him. His banking empire seemed to grow by the day, and all his coordinating with Evelyn made it very clear he was planning something. But as that something had brought me here, had brought me Dominic, I found I couldn’t resent Mortimer too much.

I looked at Dominic and couldn’t help smiling. He squeezed my hand before letting it go. “Once more unto the breach,” he murmured into my ear.

As we made our way down the last few stairs, into the throng below, my casual glance over the crowd stuttered and promptly got stuck. Mortimer’s pale grey eyes were on us, assessing. I broke his gaze immediately, pretending I hadn’t noticed, but cold snakes were coiling in my belly. My dragon had reared up, somewhere deep inside, wings extended in alarm and threat.

Mortimer was dangerous. And he’d been watching us.

I dared finally to glance back in his direction and found he was now talking to some different Bedwyrs, who were laughing too hard at something he’d said. Although to all outward appearances, he was concentrating on them, I noticed the way his eyes flicked to us. No, not to us—to Dominic.

He was far too polished a social performer for his interest to be obvious, but as someone who spent his time tracking where Dominic was in a room, I recognised it in someone else.

While I was concentrating on Mortimer, Dominic’s attention had evidently been elsewhere. He handed me a glass of sherry.

“Thanks,” I said, then watched in horror as he threw his own glassful back in one gulp.

“You’re not supposed to neck sherry,” I told him, and he looked deeply unrepentant.

“I have to get through supper somehow.” Leaning in, he added in a murmur, “When there’s somewhere I’d far rather be.”

I shivered at his low voice against my ear, and I wanted to say fuck supper, before seizing him by the hand and dragging him back to his room.

“Dominic.” A low, emotionless voice intruded, and I knew before I turned round. Those snakes were slithering in my belly and my dragon was insistent this was a threat.

Dominic gave a tight smile. “Good evening.”

Mortimer tilted his head very slightly to one side, studying Dominic for a moment. “You still don’t trust me.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow. “And there I was, thinking I was hiding it better this time.”

My jaw dropped. But I didn’t have time to dwell on Dominic’s audacity, because Mortimer’s attention was now on me, and it was as if there was a very old, very powerful, cunning presence behind his eyes.

“Ben,” he said. “I understand you’ve spent your time here buried in the records room.” His eyes flicked to Dominic, very briefly. “For the most part.”

“I’ve been cataloguing the archives,” I said cautiously.

“Yes, Rhodri mentioned as much.” His gaze sharpened. “And? Have you discovered Camelot yet?”

“Afraid not,” I said. “Unless Camelot consisted primarily of quarrels with the neighbours and depressingly repetitive Arthurs.”

To my surprise, Mortimer smiled slightly. It made him look considerably more dangerous.

“The curse of Welsh medieval genealogy,” he said. “Every nobleman appears to have shared his name with his father, his son, and several of his brothers.”

“I’ve noticed,” I admitted.

“It’s always interesting to see which names endure,” he continued. “Particularly in the oldest families. People preserve what matters to them however they can, whether it be a bloodline, stories, or memories of power.”

“Or claims to legitimacy,” Dominic said beside me, and I almost hyperventilated, remembering our conspiracy theory about Mortimer and Mordred. God, Dominic, do not poke the dragon.

Mortimer’s pale eyes rested on him. “That sounds very specific.”

“Not necessarily,” Dominic said lightly. “Ben and I have spent too long looking at medieval genealogy. It makes every family tree look like a succession crisis.”

Dominic! We’re not supposed to let him know that we know what he’s up to. But sadly, in human form, I still couldn’t speak into Dominic’s mind no matter how loudly I thought at him. I considered stamping on his foot instead, but that would be a little obvious.

“I was unaware you had a particular interest in history,” Mortimer said mildly.

“Oh, I don’t,” Dominic agreed cheerfully. “Historians on the other hand…”