“You lie!” Parnassia hissed.
“Yet you admitted to me that the ice dragons have not returned to your territory since the deal was struck. In spite of the obvious benefits a relationship with the harpies of Beggar’s Hole could have provided them.”
The harpy wriggled out from under me, and I relaxed my claws, allowing her to thrash and flail to a stand. Though her eyes were heavy with bitterness, it was obvious that she was no threat, and might become a temporary ally. After all—she knew where Nell was. She had been the last creature to interact with my wife. Perhaps it would behoove me to show the harpy some kindness. This was the difference between an ice and a fire dragon, elements aside. I would not threaten her. It was one of the reasons that the fire kingdom had endured so long; we were capable of maintaining relations with the neighboring countries.
“Are you being sarcastic?” Parnassia sneered, fluffing her wings to dry them in the breeze coming off the ocean.
“Of course not,” I replied. “Do the ice dragons not know the worth of the portal in Beggar’s Lake?”
Parnassia narrowed her eyes. “They must,” she hissed. “It is the wonder of our world. There is no other portal in existence which mirrors it.”
“The ice dragons, you may find, are not the most studious or attentive of breeds,” I said. “To be honest, I am surprised that they were aware you inhabited the zone they call Maine.”
I stared at her contemplatively as the sun rose behind us, illuminating the distant horizon, blue with ocean, white with the snow of Everwinter. The unique portal which rested in the vortex of Beggar’s Lake—some distance away from the rocky islet portal that led to The Hearthlands— was a mystery and a marvel to the people of our world as it was a mystery and a marvel to the people of Earth. Where they saw that the whirlpool ingested boats, and swimmers, and anything which drifted too close to the undertow, we saw the mystical gate into which such things were pulled… and from whence they could never return.
It was a portal the likes of which we had never before seen. A portal which only opened from one direction. A portal to a dimension with no exits.
And I considered for the first time since discovering the insurgence of the ice dragons that perhaps my arrival in Beggar’s Hole had been fate after all, and the oracle, Pythia, had been right.
Perhaps my arrival in Beggar’s Hole had had nothing to do with Penelope O’Hara.
Theon
As a show of good faith, I shifted from dragon to man in front of Parnassia, and even bowed my head to her, becoming the most vulnerable I could possibly be without getting on my knees. She could never kill me—even in human form, it would be a fair fight between us, considering my strength—but I did not want her to be intimidated. Much like the birds of Earth, harpies were defensive and skittish. I wanted to gain her trust.
“My fair Parnassia,” I began, “might I consort with you, as the ice dragons and my own wife have now done?”
I glanced up to gauge her reaction. She raised her chin and eyed me with shrewdness.
“These deals have not repaid me in kind, Theon,” Parnassia sneered. “They are poor examples for you to choose. You have led me to doubt the authenticity of the ice prince, as well as the authenticity of your human mate.”
“I apologize for their shadiness,” I said. “In all fairness, I believe it would have been sharp of you to see your end of the bargain before agreeing to it. After all, there were no nests prepared for you on the mountains of Everwinter. There was no child awaiting you in the womb of my beloved—at least, none of which you have any evidence. It was all promises. But I can give you something which is solid. You can see it right now. You can touch it right now.”
The harpy glowered at me. “Oh?”
“Come to where I have set up camp; in my satchel, I have some items both useful and fantastic from which you may choose. For one of these items, Parnassia, I’d like a favor in return: help me to infiltrate the Everwinter palace one more time. The prince—who has been made king now—will remember and welcome you through the gates. Harbor me in secret, stowed away, and I will give you treasures. Treasures of my people. Treasures from the oracle, Pythia.”
It was the mention of Pythia’s name which brought Parnassia’s wandering eyes to swivel and snap back onto me. “Pythia? The oracle of Thundercliff?”
I supposed it was ignorant of me to assume that the harpies would not be acquainted with the oracle who inhabited their mountain. I had heard her call, even from the Pacific island.
“Yes,” I answered, uncertain of how exactly to proceed. I gestured Parnassia forward, and we picked our way across the camp, filled with slumbering fire dragons. They would rise soon to greet the dawn, and I hoped to have the harpy removed from their sight by then. “Do you know her?”