"Father," Lucien said, anchoring an arm around Rowan's waist and hauling her up against his side, "I have returned with my bride."

Rowan shot him a look as Mordred leaned forward to peer at her, but his arm didn't budge. Already she had grown to loathe his touch. She wasn't sure how she would tolerate what was bound to come after this. The part where he took her back to his chamber and ... and ...

She inhaled deeply, trying to fight off the dizziness that threatened to take her down. She'd made it this far. She wasn't going to show weakness now. Rowan had already decided that she would just try to survive it, taking her mind far away from her body while Lucien did as he would. At this point there would be no fighting him, no deterring it. Too much was at stake. But he would take as little pleasure as possible from their joining. That, at least, she could make sure of. It was infuriating, that being a terrible mate was the only punishment she could inflict on the one who had left Gabriel to die among the daemon.

The very thought of it had Rowan fighting to keep her lips from trembling. She had no doubt Gabriel was dead. He would never have allowed himself to be taken, and she had heard his beautiful, terrible, final cry. High in the air, clutched in a dragon's claws, she had wept. But she would not cry here, in front of the Andrakkar. In front of the dragons who had taken from her all she'd ever had, and might have had.

Mordred arched one slim silver brow, thin tendrils of smoke coiling from his nostrils. His thin, brittle smile was the only indication Rowan had of his pleasure. That, and the way he rubbed his hands together as he regarded her, the dry hiss the motion produced scraping her nerves raw.

"So you've finally caught the Dyadd witch, have you?"

"I have," Lucien replied. "She has agreed to the marriage." He gave her a sidelong glance full of silent warning. "She won't escape again."

"Indeed," Mordred murmured. His gaze shifted to pin her where she stood, making her feel naked despite the layers of fabric. "You've caused a great deal of trouble, my girl. You should thank the Drak himself that we have such need of you here in my mountains. If there were another as well suited, you would burn where you stand." Rowan kept her spine straight, her gaze steady as Mordred gloated over the fact that she was, or would have been, the Dyana an Morgaine. It seemed that Lucien had inherited his habit of saying the most awful things in a calm, reasonable tone of voice from his father.

If one hadn't been paying attention, one would have thought he was complimenting her on something. Instead he spoke of wishing her dead. There was a soft, irritated growl from her side, and she knew Lucien didn't appreciate his father's sentiment.

It was a sad day when she would be the least bit thankful to have Lucien Andrakkar at her side, but when faced with the father, she would take Lucien's question-able defense.

"I'll have you know it was on your account I had to banish one of my best soldiers," Mordred continued, his tone smooth and pleasant. "On your account I have been punished by the Goddess Morgaine." He bared his teeth at Rowan in a grotesque parody of a smile, and they were sharp. "My wounds no longer heal, you wretched little Dyim. Does that please you?"

She looked again at Lucien, trying to gauge how truthful she could be with Mordred without some sort of retaliation on his part. But Lucien was utterly fixed on his father, looking as though he wanted to rip the elder Andrakkar's throat right out. And through her misery and fear, cold calculation slowly filtered in.

There was a rift here she could use, playing one against the other. And if she made her moves wisely, the Andrakkar's destruction might come without a wave of her own hand, or a drop of her own blood, though that she would gladly give.

These two were primed to kill each other. She must be strong enough, and wise enough, to push the right way. Rowan knew she could. It was the least she could do for her brother, her people. And for Gabriel.

"It does please me," Rowan finally said, drawing a surprised snarl from Mordred, even as she covered Lucien's hand with her own. From the corner of her eye, she saw his surprise, as well as a flash of pleasure. Good, she thought, and forced herself to begin thinking not just of survival, but of gaining justice. Her fate was, in large part, in Lucien's hands. If she fed his anger at his father, if he would allow it, he would be that much easier to use as a weapon.

She would learn the boundaries, Rowan decided. She would see just how far Lucien would let her go to have the pleasure of seeing Mordred cut by her words. She would let him think that she stood with him. And then, when the time was right, she would destroy him.

It was against her nature to be so cold. And yet with these Drakkyn it felt good. It felt right. She was not Elara's daughter for nothing ... her wrath, once unleashed, would carry the power of a thousand tempests. Emboldened by Lucien's silence, she continued.

"You broke faith with the wishes of the Drak himself, that the Drakkyn children coexist in peace."

Mordred's lip curled. "Foolish girl. There has never been true peace."

"And never has there been a slaughter of an entire tribe by fellow Drakkyn," she snapped. She was not going to stand here and be lectured by the one who bore the responsibility for the carnage. "You deserve to bleed as you do. To wither away into dust."

She had reached that first boundary. Rowan could feel Lucien's claws biting into her side now, but she didn't care, keeping the warm pressure of her hand on his. To vent even a little of her fury at Mordred was a gift she would treasure.

Mordred looked angrily at his son. "You will need to learn to control your woman, Lucien. If her tongue remains this sharp, I would suggest cutting it out." Then he chuckled nastily, a thick sound that caused a thin rivulet of black to leak from beneath the binding on his neck. "After all, it isn't her tongue you'll be needing."

She could feel Lucien's temper rising as they stood there, pouring from him in venomous waves. His eyes glittered like twin amethysts as he watched his father stagger to his feet, throwing off the hands of the attendants who sought to help him rise. Still, he said nothing, moved not a muscle. So much for defending my honor, she thought, thoroughly disgusted. She knew she was only here to be used for breeding. She would rather not have had the fact wielded to humiliate her publicly. Nor would she forget the insult of Lucien's silence.

Rowan wished the two of them would just kill each other now and be done with it, saving her a great deal of double, but she doubted it. She was bone weary, emotionally exhausted, and in no mood to continue this distasteful exchange, much less plot death when she'd had enough of it to last several lifetimes. Unfortunately, Mordred descended the steps slowly but without incident, though he nearly lost his footing several times Finally he came to stand in front of them, and in his bearing was a shadow of the great and terrible king In-had once been.

"So this is where you've been," Mordred purred, reaching out his hand and extending one long, black claw to run down her cheek. Rowan held still, knowing that to flinch would just be encouraging more of the same. "Shirking your duties, vanishing at all hours." His eyes, slightly darker than Lucien's and infinitely colder, shifted to his son. "Meeting with daemon behind my back." An uneasy murmur ran through the crowd. Rowan found it interesting. It seemed that even the daemon's allies didn't trust them. From all she had ever heard of them, that didn't come as a surprise. Still, the dragon kingdom seemed to be on less sure footing than anyone had known.

Rowan felt Lucien stiffen a little, and guessed he'd thought his machinations had escaped Mordred's notice Mordred smiled, pleased to have caught his son off guard.

"Yes, Jagrin has told me of your efforts to scour the Carith Noor to find our wayward new Dyana." He nodded approvingly, missing, Rowan was sure, the relief that flickered briefly over Lucien's face. "Very industrious of you. I had hoped you would take the initiative to drag this creature back here. I've had quite enough to do, keeping watch over the scouts I've sent through." His eyes went far away for an instant, and in them Rowan saw the beginnings of madness. "Such riches. Such potential. I have seen wonders through the crystal beyond imagining."

"If you're speaking of the valuable warriors who were lucky enough to make it to Earth after you had them tossed into the abyss of the Tunnels, I don't suppose you've figured out how to bring them back out?" Lucien sneered. "Or have our young and able-bodied become so expendable to you in your rush to open the borders of Earth?"

It gave her a start, hearing that. She had only heard whispered tales of the Cavern of the Tunnels, always claiming that such a place couldn't be real. Endless openings, endless worlds, all in a maelstrom of uncontrollable magic that could tear a person apart, or cast them into the farthest reaches of the universe. If Mordred was insane enough to try to use power so violently unpredictable to return to Earth, what would he do if he ever learned of her brother's ability? Rowan's stomach began to hurt. Lucien had been right. She could not afford to be anything but perfectly acquiescent. She also began to understand that Mordred's days had been numbered before she ever arrived.

She vowed to make them shorter still. The MacInnes Pack had no idea that even now dragons walked the Earth. With luck, they would pose no threat once Mordred was deposed, but dragons were notoriously greedy. There were no guarantees, no matter what happened.

Rowan thought of Iargail, of the men who cared enough to guard the gateway stone, and wished there were a way to warn them to be on their guard. Obviously, there were other, albeit less reliable, ways in. And they'd been used.

"We rushed in too quickly the last time," Mordred said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The three who lived have been taking their time, collecting information We will understand how to conceal ourselves, how to live among these humans and best exploit them before we take the arukhin's Stone."

"The promise of wealth and women will not hold our people forever, Father," Lucien rasped in a voice so soft only Rowan and Mordred could hear. "Better to rebuild the glory that was Coracin, land of our gods, than to die in a world we do not understand and cannot control."