Authors: G. A. Aiken
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Romance, #dragons
Rather than ask him that—she’d tried to take his head, but she couldn’t be bothered to remember his name…tacky—she admitted, “No one else will train with me these days. Even the Southland dragons. Unless, of course, Northland dragons are too afraid of me to take the risk as well…”
Meinhard sneered around his food while the other’s purple brows peaked.
Knowing how to close this deal, she added, “Besides, wouldn’t you like a chance to get even over your hair?”
When she saw fang, she knew she had them both.
Keita skipped down the stairs to the Great Hall and hopped off the last step. So far only Gwenvael, Dagmar, Morfyd, and Talaith had made it down to breakfast. Keita, making sure her smile was exceedingly happy and bright, threw her arms wide, and said with no small amount of cheer, “Good morn, my lovely family!”
“You’re fucking Ragnar the Cunning?” Gwenvael barked at her.
Keita dropped her arms to her sides and glared at Dagmar, hoping to look appropriately betrayed. “You promised me you wouldn’t say anything.”
Gwenvael refocused his scowl onto his mate. “You knew?”
“I know lots of things.”
“
You knew?
”
“Don’t yell at me, Defiler.”
Keita was surprised the warlord’s daughter hadn’t said anything. But this was good. The rumor was spreading even faster than she’d thought it would, and Dagmar apparently could be trusted.
Excellent
.
“Is it beyond you”—Morfyd pushed her chair back and stood, stalking around the table—“to keep your legs closed, sister?”
“Beyond me? No. But why would I? He’s gorgeous.”
“He’s a Lightning,” Gwenvael reminded her. And Keita had to admit she was a little shocked. Of those she’d thought would be upset about this, she’d never imagined it would be Gwenvael. Who she fucked was not something her golden brother had ever cared much about unless a problem arose.
“Yes. He is. And so were those slags you fucked during the war that got you the name Defiler.”
“It’s
Ruiner
! And I never tried to hide what I’d done. Why are you?”
“I don’t have time for this.” Keita headed toward the Great Hall doors, which stood open, giving her a glimpse of early-morning freedom. But just as she stepped outside, Gwenvael caught her arm and swung her around.
At least, she
thought
it was Gwenvael. Gwenvael, who was much taller than Keita, so that when she swung her arm at him and slapped him with her hand, she would really only hit his side and do very little damage.
Too bad, though, it wasn’t Gwenvael but Morfyd who’d grabbed her. And Morfyd’s face was right in line with Keita’s open palm.
The sound ricocheted around the courtyard, and Morfyd’s cheek turned red where Keita’s hand had collided with it.
A moment of stunned silence from both of them followed, poor Dagmar rushing up to them yelling, “
No, no, no
—”
But it was too late. Much too late. Screeching, they grabbed onto each other’s hair and stumbled down the steps while trying to kick the other while trying to yank every strand from the other’s head.
Dagmar tried desperately to separate them, the human guards wisely deciding not to intervene between two She-dragons who could shift at a moment’s thought and crush them in the process.
“Stop it!” Dagmar yelled, her tiny little human hands trying to pry them apart. “Stop it right now!”
It was strange, in the middle of a sister free-for-all as Gwenvael always called it, that Keita could hear anything but her own yells and Morfyd’s, but she did hear it. A familiar voice coming from across the courtyard and heading their way.
“Wait!” that voice begged. “Would you just wait? Please!”
Keita wanted to pull away from her sister to see what was going on, but Morfyd wasn’t letting go.
But then they had no choice in the matter because something incredibly strong—and, she was guessing, incredibly pissed off—yanked the pair apart with one pull and shoved them in opposite directions before walking on through.
Keita looked down at the strands of white hair she still had in her fists, then she gazed up, mouth dropping open, when she saw all the red ones in Morfyd’s.
Raging, Keita yelled, “You big-handed—”
“Izzy! Please wait!”
The plea cut off Keita’s words, and she could only stare as Keita’s young cousin Branwen shot past them while desperately pulling clothes over her human form.
“By all reason—” Dagmar began.
“—
that
was Izzy?” Keita finished.
“It’s been two years since we’ve last seen her,” Morfyd said, “but…”
The trio gazed at each other a moment longer before Keita and Morfyd dropped each other’s hair and charged up the stairs, Dagmar Reinholdt pushing past them both and beating them inside.
Talaith had heard all the yelling and screeching, but she’d learned not to get into the middle of a Morfyd–Keita fight long ago. Even Gwenvael—surprisingly annoyed since he didn’t seem to get annoyed by much, but especially not by anything Keita did, or who she fucked for that matter—had walked out the back door of the hall.
“Aren’t you going to help?” she’d asked him as he passed her.
“They’ll wear themselves out eventually,” he’d replied and was gone.
Perhaps they would, too. Yet unlike Dagmar, Talaith wasn’t about to abandon her breakfast to find out the truth of that. She would stop the brothers from fighting when necessary, but she wasn’t about to get between sisters. She’d grown up with women, and she above all knew exactly how mean they could be.
Talaith heard someone coming down the steps and smiled when she saw her mate. He might be able to get his sisters to stop fighting without her getting a black eye in the process. Yet he stopped midway down, his gaze locked on the entrance to the Great Hall. His mouth dropped open, his eyes widened, and a look of shock crossed that perpetually bored dragon’s face.
Concerned his sisters had finally really harmed themselves, Talaith followed his gaze. But those angry light brown eyes glaring at her from across the hall belonged to no dragon.
“By the gods…” Talaith breathed out, slowly pushing herself to her feet. “Izzy?”
Her daughter. Iseabail. Back, alive and well, among her own after two very long years, and with all her important parts still attached. But Talaith’s Izzy had…matured. She’d developed curvy hips, and breasts that had nearly doubled in size, proving Izzy was a late bloomer like her mother. But that was only part of what had happened to Izzy since Talaith had last seen her.
There also wasn’t an ounce of fat on Talaith’s daughter, but she was far from skinny. Instead Izzy was layered in hard-edged muscles rippling powerfully under a short-sleeve tunic and brown leggings. She was also taller—even taller than Annwyl—and her shoulders were strong, wide, and powerful, making Talaith feel puny and weak. It seemed that Izzy had taken after her birth father’s people more than Talaith would have ever thought. Now Izzy was built like the warrior women of Alsandair. Tall and broad and oh-so-very strong.
Even more dangerous, Izzy had become quite beautiful. Beautiful and, if Talaith was a gambling woman, she’d say completely oblivious to it. Izzy got that from her father, too. He’d been stunningly handsome but had no idea about it and to the day of his death always seemed shocked Talaith could love him as much as she did. He had never believed himself worthy.
“Forgot me already then?” Izzy slammed her hands flat on the table, leaned in, and with a bellow that rocked the castle walls, accused, “
Because you’ve replaced me with another?
”
That bellow snapped Talaith out of her shock. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You didn’t even bother telling me! Do I mean so little to this family?”
Talaith cringed when she realized why her daughter was so angry, and looked to her mate. But he’d turned around and was heading back up the stairs.
Deserting bastard!
“You never said a word,” Izzy went on, ranting and pacing, her cousin Branwen standing behind her, looking unusually distraught. “You all conspired to lie to me!”
“Izzy, you don’t understand—”
“Don’t interrupt me!”
Insulted—she was still this ungrateful brat’s mother—Talaith stormed around the table and over to her daughter. “Don’t you
dare
talk to me like that! I’m still your mother!”
“Barely!” Izzy crossed her arms over her chest. “Were you hoping I wouldn’t come back?” Izzy asked, haughty. “So you could pretend you never had me? Was I such a burden?”
Enraged the brat would even suggest such a thing, Talaith exploded.
“How dare you say such a thing to me!”
“How dare
you
not tell me the truth!”
“
I see being away hasn’t made you any less impossible!
” Talaith screamed.
“
Like mother, like daughter, it seems!
” Izzy screamed back.
“Izzy?” Briec said from the bottom of the stairs, Rhianwen in his arms. “Don’t you want to say hello to your sister before you say good-bye to us all?”
Izzy faced her father, cleared her throat. “No. I don’t.”
“You’re being impossible,” Talaith snapped.
“
I’m
being impossible?”
Briec had walked around until he stood beside Izzy and Talaith.
And for the first time that Talaith could ever remember, their younger daughter didn’t seem to be content in her father’s arms. Instead she reached for Izzy with both hands, fighting to be held by her.
“I don’t think it’s me she wants,” he said softly.
Izzy rubbed the palms of her hands against her thighs and took a step back. As stubborn as always—Talaith had no idea where her daughter got that from—Izzy silently refused to touch her own sister. And if the surprise and hurt on her father’s face didn’t knock some sense into her, Talaith was at a loss as to what would.
“Tell her the name,” Keita suddenly piped in.
Briec scowled at his sister. “Are you still on that?”
“I’ll be on
that
until the end of time. You might as well have cursed the poor child. Rhianwen he named her. Can you believe it, Izzy? Trying to get in your grandmum’s good graces by selling the babe’s soul.”
“The names aren’t even that close,” he argued. “And leave off, already.”
“Leave off?” Keita came forward, yanking Rhianwen out of her brother’s arms and shoving her at Izzy, giving the stubborn girl no choice but to grab hold of her sister or let her drop to the floor. “I’ll not ‘leave off,’ as you so eloquently put it. But what I will do is call you the suck-up that you truly are. It’s like you have no shame.”
“Me? You’re calling me a suck-up?”
While the siblings argued, Izzy held her sister away from her. But Rhianwen wasn’t having it. She continued to reach for Izzy, little hands grasping desperately.
Holding her breath, Talaith watched her two daughters. She could live with Izzy being mad at her, but not at her sister. Rhianwen had done nothing wrong except be born into a very strange situation.
“My daddy adores me!” Keita was yelling at her brother. “And your jealousy over that bores me!”
“You bore me, and yet I tolerate you well enough!”
“The world bores you, Briec, because you think you’re better than everyone else!”
“I
know
I’m better than everyone else. If you’d only admit it, you’d be so much happier with your inferiority!”
Frustrated she couldn’t reach her sister, Rhianwen began to cry, and Talaith was a moment away from taking her daughter back.
“Shh-shh-shh,” Izzy soothed, pulling the babe to her. “It’s all right. Don’t cry.” Izzy began to walk in small circles, bouncing her sister in her arms. “And you two,” Izzy said to her father and aunt, “pack it in. You’re upsetting the baby.”
The arguing stopped instantly, and the siblings glanced at Izzy, then at each other. Keita winked at her brother and smiled at Talaith.
Thank you
, Talaith mouthed at the dragoness.
The crying subsided, and Rhianwen leaned her head back so she could do to Izzy what she did to everyone: study her with that almost painfully intense gaze. What did her little one see, Talaith always wondered—and worried—when she looked so closely at others?
Whatever Rhianwen saw this time, however, it was more than enough. In fact, it was as powerful as Izzy’s shoulders. Because, for the first time since her birth, Rhianwen did something she’d never done before.
She smiled.
A smile so bright and happy that Talaith felt it like a punch to her chest. Even Briec had to take a step back, his gaze searching out Talaith’s.
Izzy grinned in return, completely unaware of what she’d managed to do in thirty seconds that no one else had been able to do since Rhianwen’s first breath in this world.
“She’s gorgeous,” Branwen offered, moving up behind Izzy to get a closer look.
“Of course she is,” Izzy snapped back, sounding more like her adoptive father every day.
The horror.
“She’s
my
sister.”
“Och! I love the little human ones.” Branwen reached around Izzy. “Let me hold her now.”
“Back off.” Izzy turned so her cousin couldn’t touch her sister. “Your hands are dirty.”
“No dirtier than yours.”
“I had gloves on for the trip.”
“Just let me hold her for a second,” Branwen begged, and Talaith felt bad for the young dragoness.
Especially when Izzy bellowed back, “Unclean!”
“Fine! I’ll wash me hands then.”
“You need a bath. You’re filthy.”
“You ungrateful little—”
“Why don’t I make this easy for all?” Dagmar cut in. She gestured with a crook of her forefinger and Fanny, who was still in charge of the servants but had somehow become Dagmar’s personal assistant, suddenly appeared.
“Yes, Lady Dagmar?”
“Fanny, could you get these two settled? A hot bath for both, and food.”
“Of course, my lady.” Fanny smiled at the pair. “Welcome home, Lady Iseabail and Lady Branwen. Please follow me.”
“Come on, Rhi,” Izzy said to her sister, “you’ll come with us.” She started off behind Fanny and Branwen, but stopped and glared at her parents. “And don’t think you two are off the hook.”
Talaith opened her mouth to tell her spoiled brat of a daughter what she could do with her “hook,” but Keita, Dagmar, Briec, and Morfyd all covered her mouth with their hands. She stamped her foot, but they refused to take their hands away until Izzy and her cousin disappeared up the stairs and down the hallway.
“Brat!” she yelled once they released her.
“She was hurt,” Briec said. “I warned you—”
“Shut. Up.”
“And normally I’d be fine with her being mad at you—but she’s mad at me too. That’s not acceptable. My daughters adore me. I won’t have that ruined by you.”
Keita gazed up at her brother. “Do you really think this is helping?”
“Helping? I’m supposed to be helping?”
“She’s so stubborn!” Talaith snarled, pacing. “I don’t know where she gets it from.”
Now they all stared at her.
“I can’t believe you had the nerve to say that out loud,” Briec remarked.
“And what’s that supposed to—”
They all jumped, the sound of squealing young females reaching them moments before Izzy and Branwen shot back down the stairs, over the dining table, and right out the Great Hall doors.
“Gods!” Talaith exclaimed. “Where’s the—”
“Rhianwen is fine,” Fanny called out. A few seconds later, she appeared at the top of the stairs, a giggling Rhianwen in her arms. “I’ve got her.”
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t know. They looked out the window of their room, tossed, uh,
handed
me the baby, and ran for the door.”
“What in all the—”
Gwenvael ran into the hall. He was so overwhelmed with whatever was going on, he couldn’t even speak. He just kept pointing.
Dagmar placed her hands on her hips. “What is
wrong
with you?”
Gwenvael took a breath, then spit out, “In the main training ring. Outside. Annwyl…and the Lightnings.” He held up two fingers. “Two of ’em. She’s taking on
two
of them.”
There was a moment of stunned silence as they all glanced back and forth at each other; then everyone ran for the door, leaving Talaith and Dagmar behind.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Dagmar yelled. The group of them stopped and faced her. “You have to stop them,” she ordered.
Briec snorted first and charged out the door, the rest of them following while Talaith went to check on Rhianwen.
Ragnar sat under a tree and stared off across the tall grass. He had a book open on his lap, but he’d barely glanced at it since he’d sat down. He had far greater things on his mind at the moment.
He couldn’t get the looks on Dagmar’s and Queen Annwyl’s faces out of his mind. Not because they thought he’d bedded Keita. That was part of her grand plan, after all.
No, Ragnar was upset because Keita then had to face the rest of her immediate kin on her own. Of course, it hadn’t been his choice to walk away. She’d made it clear that was how this all had to be played, but that didn’t mean it felt right to him. And although he could pretend his desire to protect Keita was something instinctual among all Northland male dragons, he knew better. He knew there was more to his feelings for her than mere instinct.
Still, Keita understood her kin better than he ever could, but even knowing that didn’t ease his concern.
Dagmar charged up to him, skidding to a stop. She was out of breath, and she’d obviously
run
to get here.
Dagmar? Running?
“Ragnar—” she began, but her gaze snagged on the small tornado spinning in the middle of the field. “By all reason, what is that?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Ragnar unleashed the winds he’d called to him, and the tornado quickly ended.
“You did that?”
“It’s nothing. It just helps me think.”
“Yes, but—”
“Is there something you need, Dagmar?”
She blinked hard behind her spectacles, one hand pressing against her chest. “Uh…yes. Yes.” She took a breath, calmed her nerves. When she spoke again she was in control once more. “Your brother and cousin are in the training ring with Annwyl.”
“Doing what?” he asked.
One brow rose over cold grey eyes and plain steel-framed spectacles and Ragnar could only sigh, “It’s as if they want me to flay the scales from their bones.”
Keita had always loved a good fight. She avoided fighting herself, but she did love to watch it. And this…this was good fighting.
Using only one shield and one sword, Annwyl had managed to keep both Lightnings at bay while landing in a few good shots here and there. All three were bleeding, but nothing major had been cut, torn, or removed. Besides, that was the rule in the training rings on Annwyl’s territory. They were for training only, not killing.