“Did Ysolde disappear immediately after she re-formed the dragon heart, or did she vanish when Baltic died?”

Her dark eyes, rich as mahogany, and filled now with sadness, studied mine. “We don’t know. It’s . . . it was a confusing time, you must understand. Three things apparently happened at the same time: the black dragon heir killed his wyvern, Ysolde re-formed the heart and sharded it into their phylacteries, and the silver dragon wyvern disappeared.”

A few seconds of digging around in my memory pulled up a name. “Constantine Norka? Wasn’t he also supposed to be mated to Ysolde?”

She was silent a few moments, her fingers absently rubbing on the edge of the door. “No one knows for certain what happened. Until now, it was thought all were dead, but with Baltic having returned, perhaps he could clear it up and tell us what exactly did transpire.”

I almost snorted at the thought of Baltic doing anything but spouting mysterious, ambiguous comments. “I’m not going to hold my breath waiting for him to explain. So basically, the theory is that she was either Baltic’s mate or Constantine’s, and when they died, she died, too? Or was it the dragon heart that did her in?”

“We don’t know,” she said, looking even sadder. “Her diaries don’t say.”

I swallowed back my fear. “You’re a shaman, Kaawa. You see things that most people can’t even imagine exist. You can look into the shadows, look past time and space. What do you think happened?”

Her fingers tightened on the door. “That is not a wise question to ask, wintiki.”

“Unwise because you don’t wish to answer it, or because I won’t like what you have to say?”

“Perhaps both.”

I looked at my hands for a moment, absorbing what she hadn’t said. “You think the dragon heart killed Ysolde.”

“No.”

I glanced up.

“I think it used her up,” she said. “I think—I have no proof, mind you; this is all simply speculation—but I think that Constantine Norka tried to save her, and was destroyed along with her.”

“Would the dragon heart do that to dragons?” I asked, sick at the thought of risking Gabriel. I knew without the slightest doubt in my soul that he would sacrifice himself to save me.

“It has the power to destroy the entire weyr,” she said wearily. “Perhaps even the mortal world.”

“Agathos daimon,” I swore under my breath. I had always assumed that the dragon heart was a benign thing, a relic of the first dragon that represented everything dragonkin were and would be, something that encompassed the best parts of all the dragons. But what if it was a harbinger of the power dragons tapped into rather than a celebration of their abilities? What if it was, in fact, a curse, not a boon?

Now I understood why Kaawa had warned me repeatedly of its power.

“Do not look so grim, child. Ysolde de Bouchier’s path is not yours,” Kaawa said quietly.

“I don’t know what’s going to stop me from ending up like her,” I said, giving in to a moment of despair.

She came back into the room and kissed the top of my head before returning to the door. “Ysolde did not have what you have.”

“You?” I asked, grateful for her wisdom and insight, even if it did give me moments of terror.

“My son.” Her eyes glittered with humor for a moment. “His father trained him to be a warrior, a strong wyvern and protector of all silver dragons, but he learned much from me, too. Gabriel will not allow anything to happen to his miracle.”

I smiled at the word, a warm, comfortable feeling washing over me at her words. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps Gabriel and I together could get the better of the dragon heart. Ysolde had been alone, torn between two warring wyverns, but I had Gabriel’s strength to see me through anything.

I was about to say just that when Kaawa suddenly held up her hand, her expression abstracted. “Listen. Do you hear it?”

I stilled for a moment, then sighed. “It’s my twin. But I have no idea why she’s yelling, unless . . . oh, merciful spirits, tell me he didn’t show up, too.”

Chapter Nine

Kaawa stepped aside with nimble awareness as I dashed past her and down the stairs. I stopped just short of plowing into Kostya as he stood, legs braced apart, arms crossed over his chest, his face tight with anger as Cyrene harangued him.

“. . . and I don’t care if he is your brother—I was here first, and that means you have to find somewhere else to stay.”

I stepped aside to admire her form for a moment. Her eyes were lit with fury, her hands waving wildly as she threw accusations at Kostya.

“You followed me here! Admit it—you followed me here so you could be with me without apologizing.”

Kostya’s voice came out a growl. “I didn’t follow you here. I came to my brother’s house—my brother’s house—because I had no choice, you insane naiad, not because I was following you!”

“Well, you can just think twice about that, Konstantin Fekete,” Cyrene said, clearly on a roll and not about to stop for anything like a breath or conversational give-and-take, “because I said I was through with you, and so I am! It’s over, got that? Over!”

“I’m not here because I want to see you again!” Kostya’s grip on his temper, never very strong, snapped. He leaned forward and bellowed into Cyrene’s face, “In fact, if I never saw you again, I’d die a happy dragon!”

“You can’t die, you odious, fire-breathing beast,” Cyrene yelled back. “More’s the pity! If I had my way, I’d drown you in a—”

“I think that’s about enough, Cy,” I interrupted, taking her arm and pulling her back a few feet. “Whatever your relationship issues are, Kostya is right in that this is Drake’s house.”

“But—but—” she sputtered.

“And Drake has very kindly allowed us all to stay here, a fact I’d appreciate you to remember.”

She sputtered a bit more, but contented herself with looking daggers at Kostya when I asked, “What did you mean you didn’t have a choice? I thought you had a house in London?”

“He does,” Cyrene said, looking down her nose at him. “It’s not very nice, though.”