Authors: G. A. Aiken
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Romance, #dragons
Keita ignored her mother’s smirk and said, “I’ve done this sort of thing with Ren for years and—”
“That’s exactly the problem,” he cut in again. “He’s too close to you. Too close to the throne and your family.”
“He’s right, Keita.”
“Yes, but Ragnar’s an outsider.”
“But the foreigner isn’t?” Ragnar asked.
“Stop calling him that!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rhiannon said, raising her front claws to calm them. “It really doesn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because Lord Thunderclap is right. You and Ren
are
too close. Plus they know about the loyalty of the Eastland dragons to the throne and to me. They know Ren won’t risk his father’s wrath if he’s involved in betraying me. They won’t trust him.”
“Yes, but—”
“And, more importantly, this is Lord Ragnar’s problem too.”
Ragnar blinked. “It is?”
“It will be.”
“Threats again, my lady?”
“Not threats, my darling cyclone. But word has come to me that your cousin near the Ice Land borders has been approached.”
“My cousin? Do you mean Styrbjörn?”
“I thought he was dead,” Keita said.
“That’s Styrbjörn the Loathsome. His son, Styrbjörn the Revolting, has since taken over the Borderlands.”
“Such interesting names in the north,” Keita muttered.
“Who has Styrbjörn been approached by, my lady?”
And when her mother didn’t answer immediately, Keita focused on her. “Mother?”
Rhiannon cleared her throat. “I believe it is…Overlord Thracius.”
Keita dropped back on her haunches, her mind on that damn Sovereign necklace they’d found at Esyld’s. “The Irons?” Keita said, trying to sound disbelieving when she no longer knew what to believe. “You think the Irons are coming after your throne?”
“Why do you sound so shocked? The Irons have wanted this territory and the Northlands for centuries.”
“Then why haven’t they moved before now? What are they waiting for?”
“Thracius is not his father. He won’t make rash decisions. He wants everything in place before he moves. You on the throne, me dead or imprisoned, the Elders in his pocket. If he gets all that, he won’t have a massive war campaign to fight, he’ll have more of an insurgency to tamp down. Something much easier to manage.”
“And I’m sure revenge against Thracius for past offenses has nothing to do with this.”
“A war against Thracius won’t do me any favors.”
“But he killed your father, Mum. You’ve always wanted revenge for that.”
“I have, but protecting my throne is more important than getting even with that bastard. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You know I do.”
Her mother’s damn smirk returned. “The seal is fading from this cavern, daughter. So decide now. In or out, Keita?”
“You already know my answer, Mother.”
“I do. But I won’t lie, daughter. You’ll be on your own until this is done.”
Stating a simple truth, feeling neither anger nor pride, Keita admitted, “I’ve always been on my own.”
But then Ragnar, quietly standing next to her, said, “Until now.”
They heard the yelling seconds before a livid Keita stormed out of the throne room.
“I’m leaving!” she said, coming quickly down the stairs, with Ragnar behind her. “Give my siblings my love.”
“Oh, Keita—” Éibhear began, but his father caught hold of him and held him back.
“You’ll stay,” Éibhear’s mother said from behind Keita and Ragnar, “because I
insist
you stay.”
The thin tether that held Keita’s anger in check must have snapped, because she spun on her heel and hissed, “I’ll not stay, you overbearing harpy. And you’ll not order me to.”
“I’ll do any damn thing I want to. I am the queen.”
“You’re a broken-down old field horse with wings is what you are!”
In retaliation—and to Éibhear’s shock—Rhiannon raised her claw, flames shooting from her palm. But Ragnar stepped between the flames and Keita, raising his own claw. He drew the flames in and closed his talons into a fist. After a few moments, he opened his claw, and the flames the queen had thrown at Keita fell to the ground in bright-colored crystals.
Surprise flitted across his mother’s face before she mused, “My, my, we are
protective
, my little winter storm. Tell me, what did my innocent daughter do to make you so protective?”
Growling, Keita tried to shoot past Ragnar, but he caught her and pulled her back while the Royal Guard moved into place around the queen.
Ragnar ignored the queen’s words and said, “This doesn’t have to get nasty, Your Majesty. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to stay for a little while.”
“I don’t—”
Silencing Keita with one glare, he reminded her, “Your kin have missed you. I’m sure they’d like to spend time with you before you head back out.”
“Och! Fine,” Keita told him. Then she sneered at their mother and stormed off.
Ragnar briefly bowed his head to the queen and followed after Éibhear’s sister.
“Bitch,” his mother growled, before she returned to her chamber.
“Go with your sister,” his father said.
“But Dad—”
“Did you learn nothing in the north about taking orders? Don’t argue with me. Just go.”
“All right.” Éibhear followed his sister, glancing back to see his father head up to the queen’s chamber. Maybe his dad would ease things. Keita had never gotten along with their mother, but it was time to put all that behind them, wasn’t it?
Rhiannon sat inside her private chamber, her mind turning.
“Well?” Bercelak asked, his claw taking hers. “Is it done?”
“It is.”
“Are you sure about this, Rhiannon?”
“No. She’s impulsive. Hot headed. I’ve always said so.” She glared at him. “What are you grinning at?”
“Nothing. Just the way you describe Keita sounds like someone else I know.”
Perplexed, Rhiannon asked, “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. But our Keita, she’s smart and well trained. She’s one of the best agents we have, and you know that.”
“Of course I know that. But this will be a dangerous game for her to play. Especially where your kin are concerned.”
“I could warn them—”
“No. Rumors will spread. They all talk too much, Bercelak. We’ll just have to let it play out. Keep it from them as you’ve kept it from me all these years.”
“You found out anyway.”
“Not found out—knew. There’s a difference.” She sighed. “Besides, it’s time for her to be truly tested.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I do.”
“But why? It clearly has you worried.”
“It must be her,” she said, feeling suddenly exhausted. “She needs to do this. She needs to meet this challenge.”
“Why, Rhiannon? Why Keita?”
Rhiannon stood and headed to her bedchamber. “Because,” she said simply, “one day she
will be
queen.”
With that, Rhiannon stepped out of the throne room, but went back when she realized Bercelak was not behind her. When she saw the expression on his face, she rolled her eyes and added, “I don’t mean
now
, low born. I’m talking
years
down the line.”
Bercelak let out a breath. “I thought you meant…and with the others a head of her…and her penchant for poisons…gods-dammit, Rhiannon!
You scared the life from me!
”
Realizing that Bercelak thought she’d seen her time—and apparently the times of their offspring—ending much sooner than she had any intention of tolerating, Rhiannon began laughing and couldn’t stop. Even when he caught hold of her and lifted her up, carrying her back to their bedchamber, snarling the entire time, she didn’t stop laughing.
The trip from Devenallt Mountain took them straight down to Dark Plains below. They landed about two miles away from Garbhán Isle, in the surrounding forests. What was strange, though, to Vigholf was that for the entire trip, Ragnar, Keita, and that foreigner argued. In hushed whispers, but it was arguing. Something that Vigholf rarely saw his brother do. Ragnar didn’t believe in arguing. He gave his orders, and he expected them to be carried out. If they weren’t, he gave the task to someone else, and he forgot the existence of the one who’d failed him. It may not sound like much, but it was enough. His brother’s coldness rivaled the icy mountaintops of their home.
Yet here Ragnar was. Arguing. First with Princess Keita alone. Then the foreigner joined in. They never raised their voices. Not like Vigholf and Meinhard were known to do, but still. It was an argument.
Vigholf shifted to human, put on his clothes, and watched the three continue to argue. He didn’t know what they were talking about, and he didn’t care. He was ready to go home. This place with all its greens and heat. Gods, it was warm here even though the Southlands were nearing their winter, the princess pulling out a fur to cover her long-sleeved gown illustrating the chill that at least
she
felt. Did they even have snow in this country?
Not that it mattered. Once his brother stopped arguing, they’d take the pup and the princess to their kin and they’d be on their way.
“What’s going on?” Meinhard asked him.
“I have no idea.”
“We shouldn’t let them argue,” the pup said. He was always worried about everyone being upset, this one. He prided himself on all the arguments he stopped. Although it wasn’t his soothing words that halted fights among Vigholf’s kin. It was his size. Lightnings were well known for their size, although they had a tendency to be slower than the trimmer Fire Breathers. But the pup, he had the size of any Northlander, but the speed of his fire-breathing kin. Shame he wasn’t much of a fighter. Ragnar had already written him off and didn’t want him sent back to the Northlands anytime soon. Although Meinhard was quietly working to change that. He’d taken to the oversized hatchling, though Vigholf simply didn’t know why.
“I wouldn’t get in the middle of a Ragnar argument, if I were you.”
“We should do something.”
Seeing that he was going to debate this, Vigholf caught hold of the pup’s arm and dragged him from the trees to the road. “Let’s wait here until they’re done.”
Vigholf and Meinhard went through their travel bags while the pup paced from one side of the road to the other.
“Think we can get more supplies before we leave?” Meinhard asked. “Dried beef will help when we go through the Outerplains again.”
“The princess promised to replenish our supplies.”
“They’re still arguing!” The pup shook his head. “I can’t let this go on.”
“Wait—”
“Let him go, Meinhard,” Vigholf said, standing. “He’ll interrupt, Ragnar will slap him around, he’ll learn not to do it again.”
Meinhard stood, his gaze down the road.
“What?” Vigholf asked. Meinhard gestured with a nod of his head, and Vigholf followed.
It was a woman walking down the road, her hand holding on to the reins of an enormous black horse. She stopped and stared at them.
Smiling, wishing he’d remembered to put on his cape sooner—he hated explaining his purple hair to humans, all that horse shit about tragic curses and such—Vigholf waved. “Greetings!” he called out.
The woman, tall with long golden brown hair, released the reins of her horse and walked closer. Her eyes narrowed, her head dipping down.
“What is she doing?” Vigholf muttered to his cousin.
“I have no idea,” Meinhard muttered back. “Maybe she’s lost. Or scared.”
“Or crazed,” Vigholf added, seconds before the crazed bitch—he’d been right, by the gods!—unsheathed one of the swords she had tied to her back and silently charged.
“This is the way it is to be,” Keita said to Ren—again! She didn’t like having to repeat herself, and just because Ren was a noble in his own bloody country, didn’t mean he had any more right to ignore her than one of her mother’s subjects.
“I don’t like it. I don’t like him.” Ren glared at Ragnar. “He looks down on you, and he just hurt you again.”
“And that,” the Northlander said through clenched teeth, “is
still
none of your business.”
“What do you hope to gain from this, barbarian? Perhaps you and Keita’s mother have a plan that she knows nothing about. Perhaps you plan to betray her.”
Ragnar lifted his hand, sparks flicking off the tips of his fingers. Ren did the same, only it was flames that charged from his. Keita, used to much more physically reacting males, ordered, “Stop it! Both of you! This is ridiculous!”
“What’s going on?” Éibhear demanded, storming over to them. “Why are you all arguing?”
Keita glanced at the two other males, shrugged, and said sweetly, “We’re not arguing.”
“Keita!”
“A discussion does not an argument make, Éibhear.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” He looked from one to the other. “What’s Mum up to?”
“Nothing. She was just being herself. You should be used to that by now.”
“Don’t lie to me, Keita. You know you can’t lie to me.” He was right. She couldn’t lie to any of her brothers because none of them were distracted by a random touch or secret smile. “There’s something going on, and I want to know what.”
“Go back to Meinhard, boy,” Ragnar ordered.
Keita held up her hand. “Don’t order my brother around.”
“Fine then. We’ll let him stay.”
“Don’t get that tone with me, warlord. I can handle my own brother without any help from you.”
“Handle me? You need to handle me?” Éibhear repeated.
Her patience waning, Keita said, “Stop. Everyone just…” She frowned, her head tilting to the side. “Ren? What’s wrong?”
He pointed at something behind Keita. “Don’t we know that horse?”
Keita glanced over her shoulder. “Looks like Annwyl’s horse,” she said, scratching her ear.
A moment later, she froze at the sound of steel against steel.
“Gods,” she said, turning to her brother.
Together they shot off, heading for the nearby road. They ran past the trees, and Keita squealed, falling back onto her rear, the blade of a sword nearly taking off what she’d always considered her very precious nose.
Hands lifted her from the ground and put her back on her feet. “You all right?” She expected it to be Ren, but it was Ragnar who stared down at her with concern.
“I’m fine. We need to stop them.”
“My brother would never kill a woman.”
“That’s not a woman,” Keita said. “Not specifically.”
Meinhard raised his shield, and the bitch’s blade slammed into it, pushing him back. Gods! What strength she had.
And yet she was human.
He lowered his shield to see that the woman had her back to him, busy now with his cousin. Meinhard thrust his sword forward, aiming for her side. His intent to wound, incapacitate. Not kill. But she turned at the last second, his blade moving past her. Meinhard stumbled forward. That’s when she slammed her elbow into his face, shattering his nose.
He barked, and she went low, her foot slamming into his calf. To Meinhard’s shock, he heard bone break, felt something go “pop” in his leg, and he went down hard on one knee.
The pain would be tolerated. The break would heal. But the humiliation—that would not be borne!
Meinhard watched his cousin force the woman back toward him. She was less than a foot away when he swiped his shield at her back. It hit her on the side, sending her flying into a close-by tree. She crashed into the trunk hard, bounced away from it and onto the ground, rolled to her feet, and went at Vigholf once more.
Vigholf swung his blade, but she went up and on his back, her short sword raised high.
“
Annwyl, no!
” Princess Keita screamed while Éibhear caught the vile woman and yanked her off Vigholf from behind. At the same time Ragnar caught hold of Vigholf and pulled him back.
Keita stood in the midst of them all, her hands raised. “Everyone calm down!”
“Calm down?” Vigholf demanded. “That crazed bitch attacked us!”
Meinhard felt hands on him and looked up into the strange face of the foreign dragon. Without a word said between them, Meinhard allowed Ren to help him to his one good foot.
“My Lord Vigholf,” Keita said soothingly. She turned to face him. “Please accept my…”
Eyes wide, she stared at Vigholf, and Meinhard quickly followed her gaze, terrified that he was about to see his cousin bleeding to death from a wound they hadn’t noticed. But it was worse than that. Far worse.
Keita covered her mouth with her hand, her brown eyes wide. Unsure what he’d find, Ragnar looked at his brother—and released him.
“Oh.”
“What?” Vigholf asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh…uh…”
Poor deformed Vigholf looked down at himself. “What are you all looking at?”
“Perhaps,” said a cold female voice, “they search for this.”
Vigholf raised his head as the human female held up the long, single braid of thick purple hair that once belonged to him.
“Sorry about that,” the woman said, grinning. “I was trying for your entire head. But you move much faster than your oxlike size would suggest.”
“
Oxlike?
”
“Don’t worry.” She swung the braid back and forth. “This will look amazing in my helm when I ride into battle. Purple’s never been my color, but I think it’ll work just fine.”
“
You mad cow!
” Vigholf screamed, and Ragnar caught hold of his shoulders, barely managing to hold his raging brother back. Not that he blamed him.
“Come,” the human laughingly challenged. “Let’s finish this,
Lightning
.”
Keita moved closer to the woman and slammed her hands against her shoulders. “Stop this right now!”
The woman frowned, staring at Keita. For a moment, Ragnar feared for the royal’s safety until the woman asked, “Keita?” Then she smiled, pushing the Blue’s hands off her waist. “Keita!” The woman dropped her blade—if not the braid—threw her arms around Keita, and hugged her tight. “Gods! I’m so glad to see you!”
Keita let out a breath, gave a small nod to Ragnar. “And I you, sister.”
“It’s been too long.”
“And what about me? Do I not get a hug?”
The woman spun around and faced the Blue. “Éibhear!” She threw herself at him, wrapping long legs around his waist and arms around his neck. “Oh, Éibhear!”
Laughing, the Blue hugged her back. “That’s the welcome I was hoping for.”
“She mutilated me,” Vigholf said to him. And he wasn’t far off. Although no Northland male would ever wear his hair as long as the Southlanders did, they still prided themselves on what they did have. Before any major battles, related females or mates would put the Dragonwarrior’s hair into war braids. When the battle or war was over and had been won, another ritual took place where the braids were taken apart and the long single plait was returned. It was a simple, unadorned thing, but meant much to many.
But the truth of it was that they were in dangerous and foreign territory. Retribution for the damage this female had done could not happen. “Not here, brother. Not now,” Ragnar whispered.
“Then when?”
“Whenever you like, Lightning,” the woman offered, finally crawling off the Blue. “Now, if you so choose.”
Vigholf snarled, but Ragnar held him back with his hands against his shoulders. “Calm down.”
“Don’t hold him back. Unleash him so I can finish what I started and then”—the human female pointed a finger at Ragnar—“I can finish the rest of you.”
“What is wrong with you?” Keita demanded of the human. “Why are you acting like this?”
“You don’t think I know? That I hadn’t heard what they did to you?” Green eyes glared at them from under uncombed hair. “They kidnapped you, Keita. Trying to force a female into what they want. And for that”—the woman bent her head from one side to the other, the sound of bones cracking radiating across the road—“they lose their heads.”
She pressed forward, and Ragnar turned so he faced her. Not willing to let anything happen to Vigholf, Ragnar prepared to unleash a spell, but again Keita got between Ragnar and his kin and this crazed human female.
“No! You’re wrong. That’s not what happened.”
Keeping her eyes on Ragnar, the human asked, “Then what did happen?”
Keita cleared her throat. “These were the ones who rescued me from Olgeir.”
“Bullshit.”
“Do you think I’d really protect anyone who had a hand in my kidnapping?”
“It wasn’t them?”
“I assure you, Annwyl, it wasn’t—”
“Annwyl?” Ragnar repeated, suddenly remembering that Keita had said the same name before they’d burst out of the woods. “This is Annwyl?” Ragnar looked the woman over, from her absurdly large feet to the top of her unkempt head. “
This?
”
This human who had more muscles than seemed necessary for any royal and watched him and his kin with what he could only term as the mad eyes of a diseased animal.
Keita lifted her hand to silence him, her intense gaze warning him. He noticed that she made no large moves, kept her voice even and controlled. “Queen Annwyl of the Dark Plains, please allow me to introduce you to Ragnar the Cunning, his brother, Vigholf the Abhorrent, and their cousin Meinhard the Savage. My lords…this is Queen Annwyl, human ruler of these lands and my eldest brother’s mate. Now, before we go any further, just let me say—”
The human held up her hand. “Wait. I’m sorry. Your name is…Vigholf the
Abhorrent?
”
“Annwyl—”
“Why don’t we have names like that in the Southlands?”
“It used to be Vigholf the Vicious,” the Blue decided to add for some unknown reason, “but in the last war it became Vigholf the Abhorrent.”
“Now see, I’m just Annwyl the Bloody. That’s bloody boring is what that is. But Annwyl the Abhorrent? Now that has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Annwyl.” Keita pressed her hand to the woman’s forearm. “Lord Ragnar and his kin are here under my and Éibhear’s protection.”