Authors: G. A. Aiken
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Romance, #dragons
Ghleanna placed her hand on Izzy’s shoulder. “But about your mum…”
“Is she coming back for the celebration?” Keita asked, slowly pacing around the room with her niece still in her arms. The entire time the babe’s gaze never left Keita’s face.
“They all are. Ghleanna, Addolgar, all their offspring. Some of your father’s cousins who work the desert borders will hold the line in the west until after the celebration.” Talaith watched her for a moment, then asked, “I’m glad you came back, luv. If nothing else, I know Izzy will be overjoyed to see you. She writes about you often.”
Keita couldn’t help but smile. “Does she?”
Talaith snorted, rolled her eyes. “You are joking? She’s adored you since the first time you two met and you said in that cultured lilting voice of yours, which none of your other siblings have, ‘Well, by the gods, isn’t Briec’s daughter absolutely beautiful.’” Talaith sneered and added, “Suck up.”
“I wasn’t lying, your daughter is beautiful. Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”
They both laughed until Talaith’s youngest daughter suddenly focused her intense gaze on the door.
“Should I be flying her to safety?” Keita asked when all on the other side of the door remained quiet.
“No. It’s merely this incredible sense she’s had since birth to know when her cousins are nearby.”
As if on cue, the nursery door opened, and Fearghus walked in.
“You came to see Briec’s offspring before mine?”
“Her mother led the way.
You
, however, were too busy laughing at Gwenvael.”
He snorted. “Well, that was funny.”
“Where are they?” Keita asked, trying to see over and under his excessively wide shoulders by moving about. “With the nanny?”
Her brother snorted again. “They lost her hours ago. They tracked me down themselves.”
Fearghus looked over his shoulder and said, “Well, get up here. Meet your Aunt Keita.”
Keita watched as two sets of eyes—one a vibrant green, the other an endless black—peeked over their father’s shoulders.
So sweet
, she thought.
They’re shy.
At the sight of her, those green eyes rose, and a filthy little boy raised himself up, his hands firmly placed on Fearghus’s left shoulder. He sized Keita up with one long glance—and grinned.
Keita blinked, her gaze going to Fearghus, who quickly stated, “I won’t discuss it. I just won’t.”
“Yes, but—”
“Not discussing!” he barked.
And that’s when the child on the right launched herself at Keita, a small wooden training sword tight in her meaty little fist.
Thankfully, however, Fearghus was fast and caught hold of his equally filthy daughter by the back of her shirt.
“What have I told you about random attacks?” he asked the black-haired toddler. He sounded so bored by the question that Keita felt certain he’d had this discussion with her nearly every day since her birth. Disturbing enough, but the fact that the girl continued to swing her sword at Keita while snapping tiny baby teeth—definitely, much
more
disturbing.
“Is that normal, brother?”
“It’s about to get stranger still,” Talaith warned.
“And how is that possible?”
To answer the question, Talaith’s daughter reached out her tiny hand toward her cousin, then placed it against Keita’s chin. A moment later, Fearghus’s daughter instantly relaxed, her sword lowering to her side.
“She didn’t like you holding her cousin,” Talaith explained, “until she got her cousin’s approval, that is.”
Taking a step back, Keita asked, “What in all the hells has been going on here?”
“We don’t know,” Talaith said on a yawn. “Though we’ve all asked ourselves that question often enough.”
“But we had to stop,” Fearghus continued. “Because to be quite honest—”
“—we were getting a little bit terrified by it all.”
“But on the plus side,” Fearghus quickly added, “none of them has a tail.”
“Or scales.”
“So superficially they seem quite normal.”
Keita frowned. “And that’s fine with you?”
Fearghus and Talaith exchanged glances before answering together, “It could be worse.”
Branwen the Black was busy braiding her older brother Fal’s hair when she saw Izzy. She looked well enough, even though one of their cousins had tossed Iz into Branwen’s mum’s tent. Branwen knew it for the compliment it was—that the Cadwaladrs thought Izzy tough enough to stand the abuse they’d dole out to any young dragon—but that didn’t mean Iz liked being tossed about. Then again, Branwen didn’t like it much either, and she could fly.
“Izzy doesn’t seem to be in a very good mood,” Fal observed.
Izzy was scowling so hard, she almost looked like Uncle Bercelak, which was strange since none of them were actually related to Izzy by blood. It didn’t matter, though. They were all kin now. And after two years and countless battles, Branwen had grown impossibly close to Izzy. She was nicer than any of Branwen’s sisters and more understanding than any of her brothers. True, they were more than six decades apart in age, and Iz was tragically human, but it wasn’t something that mattered. Not to them.
Branwen released her brother’s hair and stepped over the log he sat on. “Izzy?”
Izzy stopped, faced her cousin. “Did you know?”
“Did I know what?”
“You mean about your mother?” Fal asked, looking all sorts of bored. He shrugged. “I knew.”
“You knew what?” Branwen demanded of her brother, but he never got a chance to answer. Izzy picked up one of the logs they used for sitting and with one good swing, knocked Fal up and back into their brother Celyn, who’d come up behind him to find out what was going on. Both dragons hit the ground hard, and Izzy tossed the log down, the ground shaking a bit from the weight of it.
“Can you take me back to Dark Plains?” Izzy asked her.
“Aye, but—”
“General Ghleanna wants me to give something to my queen as soon as possible, so it’ll be faster this way.”
“Anything, Iz, but—”
“Five minutes then?” And not bothering to wait for Branwen’s answer, Izzy walked off.
Celyn stood next to Branwen now, both ignoring their groaning brother with the broken jaw. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
“I’ll take her back to Dark Plains,” Celyn offered.
“Like hell you will.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Don’t be stupid,” she whispered and motioned to poor Fal. “Take care of our brother. I think his jaw’s broken.”
“Then maybe he should have kept his mouth shut for once.”
“There she is!” Briec walked into the room, and for a moment, Keita actually believed he spoke of her. She was wrong. “There’s my perfect, perfect daughter.” He removed the child from Keita’s arms without asking permission. As always, her brother was rude!
“Isn’t she perfect, Keita?” He motioned to Fearghus and his offspring. “Unlike those two.”
In response, Fearghus’s little girl pulled back her arm to toss her wooden blade at her uncle’s head, but Fearghus yanked it away from her before she could carry through.
The baby clung to Briec, small arms wrapped around his neck. But, for the first time, Keita noticed that she didn’t smile.
“Does she not smile?” Keita asked, and she knew it was the wrong question when both Talaith and Fearghus winced and Briec snapped, “She’ll smile when she’s gods-damn ready!”
“Don’t bark at me!” Keita snapped back. “It was a simple question.”
“Well, if you’d been here, you wouldn’t have to ask those bloody questions!”
“Bring that up one more time, Briec, and I’m—”
“Flouncing back to your cave?” Fearghus asked.
“Oh, shut up!”
“You know what we haven’t told her?” Talaith suddenly asked, a big grin on her face as she jumped to her feet. “The children’s names.” Talaith stroked her hand down Fearghus’s girl’s black hair. “This is Talwyn.” Then she tickled the boy’s cheek. “This is Talan.” She held up her hands and, as if she were offering something for sale, she announced, “And this…this is Rhianwen.”
Keita’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped away from her safe window, barely noticing Fearghus’s twins were crawling away from her until they again hid behind their father’s shoulders. “Rhianwen?” Keita all but roared. “You named her Rhianwen?”
Briec raised a silver brow. “Is there a problem with that, sister?”
“Why not just curse her with the name Despair? Or Bringer of Misery?”
“I happen to
like
the name Rhianwen. And before you say it, Rhianwen is not
that
similar to Mother’s name.”
“You’re pathetic!” Keita accused her brother. “Always sucking up to that she-cow! At least Fearghus had some backbone with his naming!”
Briec turned on her. “Well, when you breed some hatchlings of your own, Mistress Whine, you can name them what you’d like! But as far as I’m concerned, any perfect offspring that are sprung from
my
loins deserves a majestic name—
and that majestic name is Rhianwen!
”
Disgusted beyond all reckoning, Keita stormed out of the room and down the hallway to the stairs. She was cutting through the Great Hall when Ren caught up to her.
“You look ready to roast an entire town. What’s wrong?”
“Rhianwen!” she exclaimed. “That suck-up named his daughter Rhianwen!”
“Rhianwen?” Ren exclaimed back. “Why not just call her Misery or She Who Despairs?”
Keita stopped, turned, and threw her arms around Ren, hugging him tight. “This is why I’ll always love you, my friend.”
Laughing, he patted her back. “I know, old friend. I know.”
Talaith shook her head. “That went well.”
“She started it,” Briec stated before holding his “perfect” daughter out to Talaith and announcing, “She looks to need nourishment. Unleash your breasts for her.”
“Would you stop saying that!” she yelped over Fearghus’s laugh. “I hate when you say that!”
“Do you? I hadn’t noticed.”
Talaith snatched her child from her mate. “You do realize that when I’m finally forced to kill you, no one will blame me for it?”
“I know I won’t,” Fearghus tossed in, busy holding his children upside down by one leg each, grinning when they laughed and squealed. Although neither of his children spoke. They never spoke. Except to each other and only in whispers…and in a language no one understood. The family had finally admitted it to each other when the twins were about one and the truth could no longer be avoided. But again, there were worse things that could happen with them, but it was still strange. The twins were strange.
Talaith walked across the room and sat in a rocking chair Briec had made for her right before Rhianwen had been born.
“Whatever you two do, please don’t scare off your sister before Izzy arrives in a few days. You know she’ll want to see Keita.” And, Talaith hoped, Keita might be the one being who could defuse Izzy’s rage when she found out the truth about Rhianwen.
Talaith hadn’t been lying to Keita when she’d told her no moment seemed to be right to tell Izzy about her sister. There was so much going on in the west, and the last thing Talaith wanted was for Izzy’s mind not being on her task. She didn’t want to send a letter with all the information, only to find out her daughter was ambushed a day later by barbarians because she wasn’t paying attention. Because she was worrying about her mum. That was how it felt in the beginning; then after the baby was born, it just seemed wrong to tell her in a letter. But Talaith had thought Izzy would have been home by now. That she would have told her by now.
But when Izzy got home in the next few days, it would be the first thing Talaith did. She’d make sure of that.
“We’re not going to scare her off,” Briec informed Talaith. “We’re simply making it clear that what she did was unacceptable and will not be tolerated again.”
“And how well that has worked for you in the past, eh?”
“Don’t try to tell me how to raise my baby sister.”
“Raise her? She’s nearly two hundred years old.”
“Not yet she’s not.”
“Och!” Keita barked, stepping out of the Great Hall and into the late-day suns. “I simply can’t believe Briec named his poor hatchling after that slithering pond scum!”
“Shouldn’t you just call her Mum when we’re on her territory?”
“Only when she’s directly in earshot.”
Keita watched as Ragnar returned with Gwenvael and some servant. “There you are! You can’t just go wandering off, warlord. Unless, of course, you were hoping for a haircut so you can match your brother.”
“Is it my imagination or is that concern in your voice?” the warlord asked.
“Hardly. More like annoyance.” She continued down the steps and grabbed Ragnar’s forearm. “Come. We need to talk.”
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t question me, Gwenvael.”
“But Keita—”
“Later. I need to talk to Ragnar.” Keita stopped by the servant. “Please ensure our Northland guests have all they need. I believe they were taken to the third floor. Make sure they have food. My sister has a tendency to forget that sort of thing.” She glanced at what stood behind the servant, a large bone held in its mouth. She’d seen a lot of those around the territory. More than she’d seen before.
Must be an overpopulation issue.
Something she could help with. “Dog might do. Roasted. Not heavy on the salt.” She sighed longingly. “Roasted dog. Yum.” She pressed her hand to her stomach and realized how hungry she was. “Send some up to my room as well. We’ll be back in a bit.”
Keita hopped off the last step and looked back at Ragnar. Shocked at the warlord, she could only ask over his laughter, “What’s so funny?”
“Keita—” her brother said.
“What?”
Gwenvael put his arm around the servant, and Keita sighed softly in exasperation. Why her brother felt the need to protect every female, especially now when he had some barbarian warlord mate of his own, was beyond Keita’s reckoning. It wasn’t as if she’d battered the female into submission or something. She’d given her simple orders to follow. That was her job, wasn’t it?
“I’d like you to meet Dagmar Reinholdt,” Gwenvael said.