Page 36 of The Last Slayer
And of course I was still responsible, because I was supposed to be “in charge.”
“Fine.” I replaced my glass on the tray and stood up. “Can you take me back to Arlington? I need to get back to work.”
“I don’t believe that’s possible.”
I stopped. “Why not?”
“Ashera. Do you not understand? They want you dead.” He said it almost kindly.
“You said you would help me.”
“And so I shall.” Ramiel leaned back and gazed at me, his eyes a glittering arctic green. “But not by protecting you while you go about your mortal existence. How mundane and boring that would be.”
“Then how?”
“Your fate lies elsewhere, Ashera. You are to harvest three heartstones. You’re going to become a dragonlady. And you’re going to claim your rightful dragonhold.”
Heartstones? Okay, this was just getting too bizarre.
Most laypeople consider heartstones a kind of magic amplifier, but they are much more than that. Grown from bits of philosopher’s stones, heartstones hold a power greater than their seeds. If you aren’t skilled enough to control them, they will rip you to shreds.
I couldn’t imagine having even one. That is, if I could find one in the first place. And Ramiel was talking about three?
“Are they supposed to protect me from the Triumvirate?” I sat down again. I needed to sit down.
“They’ll help you to realize your true potential.”
“My true potential.” If I survive the harvesting. “Where am I going to get three heartstones?”
“From three supernaturals, of course.”
I started laughing because the other option was yelling.
“What is so amusing?”
“Everything,” I gasped. “I mean…three heartstones was already ludicrous enough, but from three supernaturals? How?” Before Ramiel could respond, I held up a hand. “To give someone a heartstone is to give them a part of your magic and possibly forfeit your life. You guys won’t even use your precious dragons as incubators. So why would anyone give me a heartstone? And ones from supernaturals are stronger than ones from mortals. There’s no way I could control three of them.” I took a long breath and collapsed against the high back of the chair. “So excuse my hilarity at your bullshit.”
It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say. Red slowly suffused the ivory perfection of Ramiel’s complexion. Hmm. I hadn’t known dragonlords could get blotchy. Of course, I didn’t mention it. Supernaturals are notoriously vain.
“You don’t need all three at the moment.” His lips barely moved as he spoke. “One will be sufficient to claim Eastvale.”
“Uh-huh. Won’t the current dragonlord of Eastvale have some objection to my just waltzing in and taking it from him?”
“There is no current dragonlord.”
“I’m sure he’ll just—What?”
“The hold has been vacant since the Twilight of Slayers. It should belong to you as you are the only demigod born—”
“I’m not a damn demi—”
“—in the last four centuries.”
“I don’t want lousy Eastvale. I want Besade.” I figured that would get his attention.
He raised his eyebrows mildly. “I hope you’ll be satisfied with Eastvale. It would be simpler than attempting to kill me to inherit Besade.”
Holy shit. I had no idea that was how succession worked among dragonlords, but it made sense. Why would anyone give up a dragonhold without a fight?
