“Vigholf!” she ordered. “Close it!”
Vigholf turned, his eyes briefly widening at the size of the head he could see slithering forward, mouth gaping open to unleash more of that venom. Having no desire to experience that, he unleashed his lightning on the rocky area above. Boulders crashed down, blocking the cavern, but it didn’t stop the scream of rage that followed.
Panting, the pair looked at each other and then over to a nearby tree.
“You two,” Vigholf accused the horses. “Leaving us to die.
You couldn’t give us a little warning?
”
The female at least had the good graces to look away, but the male sneered at him. Again!
And Vigholf was marching over there, his fists raised to teach the rude bastard some manners, when Rhona caught his arm, pulled him back.
“Can we fight about this later? It’s not like those boulders are going to stop her for long, and I’d rather not be here when she finally digs her way out.”
“Yeah. All right.” But he pointed a warning finger at the stallion. “But this isn’t over!”
Rhona rolled her eyes before she mounted the mare. “I swear, the both of you—pathetic.”
The stallion allowed Vigholf to mount him, but Vigholf knew he wasn’t happy about it.
Even though it was still raining quite hard, they rode off, leaving the cave and that damn wyvern behind. But after about fifteen minutes the rain let up, then stopped completely. Soaking wet, but not minding too much because he was still alive and not covered in green venom, Vigholf rode alongside Rhona. After a while he had to admit to her, “You were amazing in there.”
“In where?”
“In the cave. With the wyvern. Have you fought them before?”
“No, but Mum has. So has my father. They have a lot of them in some of the caverns in the Black Mountains.”
“Well . . . you handled all that brilliantly.”
“You sound surprised.”
“We were trapped in a cave with an animal you never fought, that you’d only heard about from your parents, and yet you knew just what to do, and you knew quickly. That’s impressive, Rhona. I know I wouldn’t have handled it as well if you hadn’t been there.”
“I’ve seen you handle the unexpected, Vigholf. You would have done fine on your own.” She stopped the mare and Vigholf halted the stallion. “But your words mean much to me. Thank you.”
He shrugged, feeling a bit foolish. “I merely note what I see. Nothing more.”
“It’s more to me,” she said.
And, no longer feeling foolish, Vigholf moved the stallion closer until they were side by side.
Vigholf reached out and stroked Rhona’s cheek. She tensed, her eyes blinking wide in surprise. She’d had the same expression when she first saw the wyvern. A look of panic she was desperately trying to control.
He should stop. He should pull back and they should ride on. There was so much going on in their world, they didn’t have time for any of this.
But the honest truth of it was he couldn’t help himself. Not with those beautiful brown eyes watching him.
Vigholf slipped his hand behind Rhona’s neck and leaned in closer, the stallion beneath him surprisingly calm and unmoving. Holding the back of her neck loosely, Vigholf brought his face in a bit closer, brushing his forehead against her chin, her cheek; his fingers massaged her neck. When she didn’t pull away—or impale him with that damn spear—Vigholf pressed his lips against hers.
Her whole body immediately tensed, her fingers curling into fists gripping the mare’s mane tight.
Vigholf tipped his head to the side, his tongue gently sliding against her lips, trying to coax her into returning the kiss without seeming desperate.
And gods . . . he was desperate.
He’d wanted to do this for five years. Five long years of being stuck in the same cave with a female who told everyone he was a pest while swinging that damn tail at him.
Yet there was nothing from her or her lips. No response. No reaction except those tight fists.
Too fast. He was going too fast. Like she’d warned him their night together at Garbhán Isle, she wasn’t like her sisters or her cousins when it came to this sort of thing.
So he’d wait because, he knew, Rhona was a female worth waiting for.
Vigholf pulled back, but let the fingers that still rested on her neck linger as he sat up straight.
She watched him but said nothing, and he had no idea what to make of that. But he wouldn’t apologize for what he’d done. Not now. Not ever.
Rhona began to speak, stopped, frowned, and with a short shake of her head, turned her attention to the road ahead of them and spurred her horse into a gallop.
And, after letting out a soul-deep sigh, Vigholf followed.
Overlord Thracius walked by his soldiers, watching as they worked hard to ready everything.
“Any word from my daughter?” he asked his next in command, General Maecius.
“No, sir. I sent out scouts to see if they could find the messenger.”
“And?”
“They discovered his body beside a lake.”
Thracius stopped and faced the general. “Accident?”
“Signs of poisoning and his body showed signs of torture. He was killed.”
“So the message got to the Southlanders?”
“I would assume. But there’s been no retreat. No exodus of troops.”
“That’s fine. If the princes had left to save their spawn, I would have only had to kill them later anyway.” He walked on, but asked, gesturing at the work going on around him, “How far along are we?”
“Another two days. Maybe three.”
“Then start the siege tonight.”
“But my lord—”
“Tonight.
We start the siege and prepare everything else while they’re dealing with that. But”—he stopped again and faced the general, pointing his talon in his face—“the timing must be perfect, Maecius. Understand me?”
“I do, my lord. And it will be perfect.”
“Good.” He headed toward his private chambers deep inside Polycarp Mountains. “By the time we’re ready to strike . . . those idiots won’t see us coming.”
Chapter 18
They rode most of the day until they reached a town about another day’s ride outside of the Aricia Mountains. Crossing the mountains would be the challenge. Not only because of the terrain, but because of what lay on the other side. But until then, Rhona wasn’t going to think about it. Instead, she only wanted warm food and ale.
She knew the horses would never allow themselves to be placed in a stable for the night, so she left them about a mile outside of town near the river that cut through the mountains. And, if the horses were still there in the morning, they’d hopefully take them into the mountains the following day.
As soon as Rhona and Vigholf reached the town, they separated. He didn’t say why, and she didn’t ask. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since Vigholf had kissed her. He didn’t seem angry, which she appreciated, but she never saw that kiss coming. And when it did, it took her completely by surprise. So she’d ended up just sitting there, feeling confused and foolish and annoyingly warm. But . . . what else could she do? For five years the dragon had done nothing but obsess over her spear and get in her way. Now he was kissing her—while on horseback. Acting as if he meant that kiss. As if kissing her was the most important thing in the entire world . . .
No, no, no! She didn’t want to think about this. She was hungry and had things to do. So she went and replenished their supplies and eventually settled down at a busy pub for that hot meal.
A few bowls of stew later, the Northlander arrived. He wore the hood of his cape pulled down far on his head, hiding his purple hair. But he couldn’t hide his size. The males instantly fell into an uneasy silence and the women . . . well, no matter the species, Rhona could see lust miles away.
He sat down on the wood bench across from her and motioned to a barmaid. “Ale and stew. Some bread, too.”
The woman smiled sweetly at him before turning to Rhona. “
More
food for you?”
Rhona sucked her tongue against her teeth in warning and the barmaid walked off.
“Get what we need?” Vigholf asked, and she was quite relieved that he was finally talking to her.
“I got enough to last me at least two weeks. But with you along, I’m guessing we’ll need more food in another day or two.”
He shrugged and began eating the bread she had left.
“What have you been up to?”
“Tell you later,” he muttered, leaning back as food was placed in front of him.
“All right, but I was thinking we could—” Another bowl of stew was dropped in front of Rhona and it was filled to the brim.
“You seem so hungry,” the barmaid said by way of explanation.
Rhona’s eyes narrowed onto the bitchy little service worker, but Vigholf made her smile a little when he said around a mouthful of food, “I like a female with an appetite.”
Once the barmaid had gone off, Rhona asked, “Want me to get us a couple of rooms for the night? They have space upstairs.”
“No,” he replied, completely focused on his food.
“No?”
“No.”
“You want to spend another night outside when we have a perfectly acceptable pub? Why?”
“Because you’d rather sleep under the stars.”
“What?”
“You’re just as happy on the ground, looking up at the sky. Right?”
It took a moment for Rhona to understand what he was talking about, but then she laughed. “You’re throwing my drunken words back at me?”
“Only when I like them. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all.” Rhona had never really liked staying in pubs or inns. She always felt trapped by the walls, but her kin had always felt completely different on that point.
Rhona watched the dragon eat. Although it was more like inhaling than an actual act of putting food in one’s mouth and chewing. Yet it seemed to work for him. And, knowing that one serving would never satisfy Vigholf, Rhona pushed her bowl of stew across the table and let him devour that as well.
Once Vigholf finished eating, they headed back to where they had left the horses. Separating from Rhona for a bit had been a good idea. It had allowed him to get his reason back. Although he didn’t regret kissing Rhona, he now realized he’d have to handle this with much more finesse. Something he knew he could manage . . . with a lot of effort. But, still . . . manageable.
“So what did you do in town?” Rhona asked once they were well on the road.
“Got information,” he said, finally able to pull the hood of his cape off his head. It had begun to annoy him.
“Information? I thought you’d never been to this town before.”
“I haven’t, but you can always find out information. You just need to know the kind of places to go and the kind of people to ask.”
“I’m impressed. I always seem to be the last one anyone sends out for information.”
“Because you’re such a soldier that you can’t help but look like you’re interrogating someone.”
She laughed. “Thank you very much!”
He bumped her with his elbow. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”
“You
didn’t
mean that I’m a villainous soldier that terrifies the poor townsfolk with my intimidating demeanor?”
“Well . . . you’re not villainous.”
“So what did you find out?” she asked, surprised that hadn’t been the first question out of her mouth. Gods, who knew the Northlander could be so bloody distracting? Especially when all she wanted to do was demand to know what the hells that kiss had been about.
“We’re on the right track. Three females were seen coming through town, dressed as travelers, on foot, but they sounded so large and well armed, they had to be Annwyl, Izzy, and Branwen.”
She laughed. “When the Cadwaladrs don’t breed them big, they mate with the big ones. Usually.” She adjusted the pack she carried. “How long since they went through?”
“Three days, give or take a day.”
“Shit. They’re way ahead of us.”
“We’ll find them.”
“Because we have horses?”
“No. Because those three will find trouble, no matter how they’re dressed or what they do to be ignored. Trust me. . . . We’ll find them.”
“Anything else?”
“It seems that more Sovereign soldiers have been seen around as well. More than the townsfolk are used to since the war began. And even more in the last few days.”
“They causing any problems?”
“Not so far, but we should be careful.”
To Rhona’s surprise, the horses were where she’d left them, grazing on grass and nuzzling each other.
Rhona pulled out a burlap bag filled with fruit she’d picked up in town, but Vigholf took it from her. “I’ll feed them.”
“You will?”
“I think they like me.”
“No, they don’t.”
“The stallion lets me ride him.”
“Only because he’s keeping an eye on the mare. He couldn’t care less about you.”
“I don’t agree.” And off he went.
“You can’t be that oblivious,” she told his back, but she realized that not only could he be that oblivious . . . he
was
that oblivious.
Shaking her head, Rhona walked over to a nice spot and pulled out her bedroll. She spread it out and sat down, letting out a weary sigh.
She placed the palms of her hands flat behind her, propping her up, and stretched out her legs.
But she wasn’t surprised when she heard, “Oaf!” seconds before Vigholf flipped over her legs and slammed into a nearby tree.
“I told you they don’t—”
“Quiet,” the Lightning barked at her, getting himself up and stepping over her to march right back over there.
Two seconds later, he came flying back again.
“What is wrong with you?”
Vigholf demanded of the stallion.
“He doesn’t like you and he doesn’t want you around his female,” Rhona explained.
“I don’t care.” Vigholf stepped over her legs, heading over to the stallion again, but Rhona reached up and grabbed his arm. “You of all dragons should understand his position. Now sit.” When Vigholf only glared at the horse, Rhona insisted, “Sit down. Now!”
“Fine!” Vigholf threw the bag of fruit in the horses’ direction. “Here, you bastard!”
Rhona bit the inside of her mouth to stop from laughing and was pleasantly relieved that everything seemed back to normal again.
She pulled on his arm until he finally sat beside her. “You take things so personally.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do, but you need to let it go. For your sake.” She released his arm and brushed the growing welt on his forehead. “Before that mean bastard cracks your skull open.”
“I thought we could bond over the fruit.”
“You’re not going to bond with that one. Just be glad they’ve stayed with us this long.”
“Bastard,” he muttered while rubbing his abused forehead. “Just a mean bastard.”
“You should be used to mean bastards.”
“Don’t talk about my kin like that.”
“Actually,” she told him, “I was speaking of my own.”
“Oh. Then you have a point.”
Rhona took another look at Vigholf’s head. “That’s swelling. I better get a compress for it.” She leaned over Vigholf to get a cloth from her bag. That’s when she felt him bury his nose against her neck and take a deep breath.
Rhona froze. “Are you smelling me?”
“No,” the Lightning replied, but the word was muffled by all the hair he had his face buried in.
“All right then.”
She pulled a clean cloth from her bag and, after easing away from Vigholf, went to the river, and plunged the material into the cold water.
Looking around for some snow or, even better, a bit of ice, Rhona stood and turned—only to find Vigholf standing right behind her. She took a step back, startled to find him so close and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“What’s that look on your face?”
“What look?”
“Like you’re starving.” Rhona briefly closed her eyes, exasperated, immediately realizing this had nothing at all to do with her. This dragon was a bottomless pit! “Gods of death, you cannot be hungry again. You just
ate.
”
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you have your hungry face.”
“My hungry face?”
“I guess you never noticed it because you never look in a mirror, but you have this . . . hungry face. Like you’re a starving man ain’t seen a good stew in years.”
“Well, I don’t have that look for stew.”
Rhona panicked a little and desperately whispered, “This isn’t about the horses, is it? You can’t go around eating our transportation.”
Vigholf snatched the compress from her hand, inexplicably aggravated. “I have no intention of eating our transportation.” He pressed the cloth to his head. She was guessing he had a headache. His own fault really, trying to feed the horses.
“You can’t lie to me, Vigholf. You clearly want something to eat, but you’re not getting it. Not tonight. We need to economize with our supplies.”
“I’m not hungry,” Vigholf growled.
“You need to find a way to control your appetite.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“We’re going into enemy territory,” Rhona felt the need to explain as she would to one of her cousins or siblings. “I don’t know how regularly we’ll be able to get you food. So you’ll really need to—”
“I’m not hungry!” he yelled at her.
Rhona slammed her finger into his chest. “Don’t yell at me, you Northland bastard.
I’m
not the one who looks like he hasn’t had a meal in years.”
“You want me to be honest with you?” Vigholf snapped. “You want me to tell you why I have my hungry face as you call it? Because of you. Because I’m hungry for you. If there’s anything I want to eat—it’s
you
.”
Rhona stepped back, hands on hips, and accused, “You cannibalistic bastard!”
And that was when the mare charged Rhona and shoved her into the river.
Vigholf nodded at the mare. “Thank you for that. Because I’d been moments from doing it myself.” Because no one could possibly be
that
oblivious. No one!
Gasping and desperately trying to push wet hair out of her eyes, Rhona got to her feet.
“What was that for?” she demanded, pulling herself out of the river.
“Because,” Vigholf answered for both him and the mare, “sometimes you ain’t half a dimwitted twit.”
“Me?” she nearly screeched. “Me?
I’m
the dimwitted twit, O Great Feeder of the Horses?”