He gritted his teeth. Talking to Pia was so much easier.
He growled, “If you are inclined to take the position, you should consider. I was not easy on Rune. He bore the brunt of my temper often, and when he started to show strain, I did not take notice or change any part of what I did. When he asked for me to pause and listen to him, I did not. I issued orders.”
He had specifically ordered Rune to return to New York and abandon Carling, who had at that time been an ally to the Wyr. The Elder tribunal had put Carling under a kill order. While normally Dragos might have involved himself in the issue, last summer the Wyr demesne had been facing border tensions with the Elves, and had been too deeply entrenched in the Dark Fae problems for too long. Overextended, understaffed and short on political tolerance, he had decided, to use a fisherman’s term, to cut bait.
It had been the right decision, goddammit, and one Rune might have agreed with, if he hadn’t become so deeply invested in Carling. Hell, probably even Carling would have agreed with it. She knew the necessity of doing what was politically expedient in order to survive.
If Dragos had it to do all over with the same information he’d had at the time, he would make the same decision again. But it had been the right decision delivered badly, and he had not given Rune a chance to weigh in on the subject and change his mind. Then it had been Rune who had cut bait in favor of his mate.
Graydon’s thoughts must have followed in a similar vein, because he said, “You all went crazy when you mated. I may want a mate, but I don’t want to go crazy.”
Dragos smiled wryly. “I may remind you of that someday.”
“Yeah well.” Then the other male said, wistfully, “Don’t suppose you could tell Rune all this and apologize.”
“Things cannot return to what they were, Gray,” he said. “Even if I were to apologize—even if Rune apologized for his part in creating what happened—we cannot go back. Maybe we can find a new definition, but he will not ever be my First again. That time is done.”
“Well,” said Graydon. “Suppose I had to ask.” He sounded disappointed but not surprised. “Do you mind saying—why me?”
Dragos considered. “Because not only do I trust you but Pia does too. It matters to me that she loves you, and that you’re close to her. I want you to talk to her if you ever feel the need. I know she’s young, and she may not have experience with administrative shit, but she has more understanding and compassion for people than I will ever have. I think that may lend us a stability that Rune and I didn’t achieve in the end.” He smiled. “She won’t let me be too hard on you.”
His rugged face sober, Graydon said, “Thank you for telling me.”
Dragos nodded to him. “Let me know when you’ve decided.”
“I’ve decided,” Graydon told him. “I’ll do it.”
They talked for a few more moments, then the gryphon took his leave, and with that Dragos reached his limit on meaningful talks for the day. He needed out. Out of the crowded complex that was filled with so many vulnerable creatures and such a strong scent of blood. Out of the crowded city.
He left the building and launched into flight, and let the burn of the icy winter air take him until solitude gave him a measure of balance. He would stay in the air until darkness covered the land. Then he could hope to find peace with Pia, in a dream.
He supposed this was love. The thing of it was, he had seen examples of love that were twisted, small-minded and unhappy, so he wasn’t quite sure. The immensity of experience he had with Pia was so much more than that.
When they came together, he felt a deep knowledge in massive bones that were as old as the Earth. The knowing was a vibration that altered the fabric of his existence. It became the sound that mystics claimed was the absolute reality in the universe. Having never, ever embraced mysticism, he thought he must have gone more than a little mad.
She was his, his only true treasure and one possession, and part of what created that trueness was that she chose it too, and she claimed him, and he was hers. What existed between them was active and passionate and elemental, a hinge upon which everything else pivoted.
A Prime, indivisible. That pure, that strong, that essential.
Without this, he had nothing. Everything else might cease and pass away, but this one thing would never fail. And the rest of his life became as if seen through a glass, darkly.
? ? ?
Since he knew Pia’s true Name, bringing her into a dream was easy. Still, he took time with this one and worked to get the details right, brushing them into place with his mind like an artist putting the finishing touches on a painting. Then he cast it out, an invisible net woven with Power, and he went to sleep himself and waited.