Chapter 15
Brannie sat beside Celyn on the Garbhán Isle battlements, their legs hanging over the edge, their arms resting on the railing. And together they watched their father, the great Bram the Merciful, stop in the middle of the oversized courtyard. One second he was walking and the next, he was digging through that bag of his. Whenever he traveled more than a hundred feet from his home door, their father had that bag or he went back for it. But he seemed to spend more time going through it, or complaining about what wasn’t in it, than doing anything else.
Even now, a good two hours’ flight from his home, and what was he doing? Going through his damn bag!
Brother and sister looked at each other, then back at their father. Although Brannie—and Celyn for that matter—had very little in common with their father, she did adore him. Unlike most of the males among her kin, he was the kindest dragon she knew. And although all his hatchlings had followed the way of the Cadwaladrs rather than the way of Bram the Merciful, he never showed disappointment or envy of dragons who had offspring more comfortable in libraries or royal chambers than in battlefields.
Even better, he made their mother very happy. Still, after several centuries together. Unlike her Uncle Bercelak and Queen Rhiannon, however, Brannie’s parents kept their private lives, well . . . private. Occasionally she saw her mother on her father’s lap when they were human or their tails intertwined when they were dragon, but if their father ever chained up their mother, Brannie could say with great relief . . . she’d never walked in on that.
Shame her royal cousins could not say the same thing.
“What do you think he’s looking for?” Brannie asked.
“His sanity?”
She laughed and leaned over the railing. “Daddy,” she called out and her father stopped searching in his bag, but he didn’t move at all.
“Daddy,” she called again. And now her father looked around him, appearing a tad panicked. She looked at Celyn, but he could only shrug.
“Daddy! Look up!”
He did, but when he saw his youngest daughter and son, he let out a breath, his hand against his chest. “Gods, Branwen the Black! You scared me to death! I thought you were calling me from the Great Beyond.”
Brannie frowned. “Beyond what?”
Now her brother laughed and her father shook his head. “Brannie, my love, how I’ve missed you.”
She grinned. “I’ve missed you, too. But why are you here?”
“To talk to the queens. But”—and the bag digging began again—“I can’t find all the paperwork. Gods, I hate when this happens. I hate not having everything I need when I must see Queen Rhiannon.”
She didn’t ask why he didn’t worry about Queen Annwyl the same way. It wasn’t because he feared her less—he didn’t—but because Annwyl didn’t make it her business in life to torment poor Bram. It wasn’t vicious. In fact, it was Rhiannon’s way of showing how much she liked their father. Too bad Bram just saw it as pure torment.
“Do you want us to go get it for you?” Brannie asked. She didn’t like her father to travel as much as he used to. He was getting older, although it was hard to see since he was still so very handsome, and she worried about him. Especially since he traveled mostly on his own. Only on Queen’s orders would he allow for a protective guard. “We can be there and back by tomorrow, before your meeting.”
But a bony elbow rammed into her side.
“Ow!” she complained.
“I have plans tonight,” he whispered.
“Oh, by the gods,” she sighed. “Please don’t tell me you’re starting up again with Izzy.”
“No, I’m not starting up again with Izzy. And are you going to keep throwing that in my face any time I say I have plans?”
“Maybe!”
Disgusted, although she didn’t really know why, Brannie turned from her brother to finish talking to her father, but he was gone.
“Where’d he go?”
“Wandered off that way.” Celyn motioned toward the Great Hall doors.
“I don’t want him traveling so much, Celyn. He’s not getting any younger.”
“Neither are you, but we aren’t holding that against you.”
Fed up, Brannie caught her brother by his black hair, lifted him up while she stood and then hauled him over the railing, throwing him to the ground below.
“
You vicious cow!
” he screamed up at her.
She started to scream back at him, but something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she walked across the battlement to the other side. There she saw Izzy walking along with that ugly dog of hers. Brannie had been around Izzy for many years now. They’d been through battles and nights of too much drink and other nights of too much kin, and she knew when something was bothering her friend.
Worried it was Éibhear, she went down the battlement stairs, walked past her still-yelling brother, and out one of the side doors. She tracked down Izzy heading away from the castle and deep into the woods.
“Iz!”
Izzy stopped and turned, watching Brannie run up to her. She forced a smile. “Hi, there.”
Brannie halted in her tracks, glared. “Do you expect me to believe
that
smile?”
Realizing it was futile, Izzy let the smile go and her shoulders slump.
“What’s wrong?”
Izzy threw her arms out and announced to the trees, “Everything!”
Nodding, Brannie suggested, “Would you like a stage to make this speech?”
Izzy pursed her lips to stop from chuckling. “Bitch.”
Brannie slung her arm around Izzy’s shoulders. “I know, I know. It’s a flaw. Now tell me what’s wrong.”
Izzy did. She told her of her surprisingly short but incredibly painful conversation with her mother. While she talked, they walked, until they ended up at one of their favorite spots. A quiet lake surrounded by trees and boulders. It was too small for dragons in their true form, so it was mostly used in the evening by dragons with human mates. And during the day . . . by Izzy and Brannie.
Dropping onto a boulder, Izzy stared out over the calm lake. “I don’t trust that woman.”
“Your mum?”
“No. That bitch who bred her.”
“I can’t say that I blame you. Do you think your mother’s really going to send Rhi to her?”
“I do. But that’s madness. What if she turns her against us? Giving that evil bitch someone as powerful as my sister seems a foolish move.”
“But keeping your sister here with no way to control her power seems more foolish. At least if she destroys everything around her, she’ll be safely in the south and far from us.”
Izzy gawked at her cousin, and Brannie added, “Not that I don’t care about the Desert Land people. I’m just saying it won’t be
our
problem.”
Looking back at the lake, Izzy wondered what would be the best decision. Trusting her mother was making the best decision about a woman who’d tossed her out while pregnant and barely sixteen?
“What do you need, Iz?”
Yeah, that was Brannie’s way. If she didn’t have an answer, then she wanted to know what she could do for you to help you get through whatever your problem was. An important trait in an ally during battle. An invaluable trait to have in a friend.
“I need time to think. This isn’t some battle I’m going into. This is my sister’s life. But trying to find time to think with this family . . . the twins will want me in the training ring, Rhi will want to talk dresses—although Keita’s here, so she may help with that—and my mother will keep staring at me, waiting for me to talk to her about it.”
“I’ve got the perfect thing,” Bran said excitedly. “Go to me da’s place.”
“Why?”
“He’s here to meet with Annwyl and Rhiannon tomorrow. The place is empty except for his assistant. And that one’s quiet as a mouse. You’ll just need to bring back one of Da’s all important papers.”
Izzy finally smiled. “I love your father. He’s so nice.”
“Isn’t he?”
“And yet none of his children—”
“Yes,” Brannie cut in. “We know. We know.”
Disgusted, Éibhear walked on, his hand around Frederik’s small shoulders.
“We don’t know why you’re mad,” Aidan argued from behind them. “It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”
“But to involve the boy—”
“We didn’t involve the boy. You did. You sent him.”
“To drag you lot off the floor of a pub. Not get you from the jail.”
“Still don’t see how that’s our fault,” Cas complained.
“And he didn’t have enough money for all three of us.”
Éibhear stopped walking, faced the dragons behind him. “What do you mean he didn’t have enough?” he asked Uther, who’d made the statement.
“He didn’t.”
“Then how did he get all three of you . . .” Éibhear briefly closed his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t”—and he covered the boy’s ears with his hands, although it was more like he wrapped his hands around the boy’s entire head because the area was so small—“kill the jailer!”
“Of course we didn’t. Wait.” Uther thought a moment. “Could we have? I thought that wasn’t okay here.”
“If you didn’t kill the jailer, how did you get out?”
“The boy convinced him,” Cas admitted.
“And he was good, too.” Aidan smiled at the boy. “Could talk his way out of anything, I think.”
Now impressed, Éibhear patted the boy on the back, the slight youth stumbling a bit. “Excellent job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The boy walked on and that’s when Aidan added, “Didn’t have to pay a gold farthing.” The boy stopped walking. “Got us out for nothing.”
Before Éibhear could
not
ask where the money he’d given Frederik was—he didn’t really care—the boy faced him, light grey eyes wide as he said sadly, “I just wanted to help you, my lord. You and your friends. It’s so hard,” he added sadly, his eyes now downcast, “to find out you’re not wanted. But maybe I can make myself useful here. Perhaps.”
Then, with a sad sigh, he turned and walked off.
“Oh,” Éibhear reasoned, “he’ll do well here.”
“Gods, that was brilliant,” Aidan laughed. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”
“Isn’t that your Iseabail?”
“She’s not my any—” Éibhear cut himself off, watching as Izzy slipped out of the forest from farther down the well-traveled road and joined the mass of people walking toward the nearby town. “Where’s she off to then?”
“Crazy thought . . . into town?”
Éibhear glared at Aidan before refocusing on Izzy. “With her horse and that damn, disgusting dog? And dressed for travel?”
“There’s Branwen.” Aidan pointed at Éibhear’s cousin, who was on the road back to Garbhán Isle. “I’m sure if you ask her nicely she might—”
“Oy! Branwen!”
Aidan sighed. “That doesn’t sound nice, idiot.”
Éibhear caught up to his cousin.
“What?” she snapped.
“Where’s Izzy off to?”
“No idea,” she lied. And he knew she was lying. So he handled it like he used to when they were still hatchlings. He grabbed his cousin by her legs and flipped her upside down, shaking her.
“You going to answer me now?”
“Piss off!”
“Still not nice,” Aidan complained.
“Quiet,” he snapped at his friend. “Tell me where she’s going,” he ordered his cousin.
“I’ll tell you nothing, bastard! Now let me up!”
“I’ll let you up when you tell me what I want to know.”
“Do you know who I am?” Brannie demanded. “I’m a captain of the Dragon Queen’s army! You’ll do as I say, Mì-runach scum, or face my—”
Éibhear slammed his cousin into the ground head first, holding on to her leg so he could yank her up again. “What was that?” he asked . . . nicely.
Aidan sighed, shook his head. “Branwen, dear, you had to know that was not the best way to come at a Mì-runach . . . I mean,
really
.”
She was on the road for about an hour when Macsen suddenly stopped in his tracks, his gaze moving up, his long tail sticking out straight, hackles up.
Izzy quickly dismounted Dai and pulled her sword.
It was a mistake made by many warriors who’d never fought with or against dragons before. But staying mounted on your horse when fighting dragons—the idea being the warrior could ride away quickly if necessary—was a foolish thing because for a dragon, catching horses was like catching chickens for a fox. They did it for a meal or sometimes just a treat. So when facing dragons she didn’t know, she always dismounted and pulled her weapon—and waited.
The air around her stirred, trees beginning to sway, and she knew large wings were flapping her way.