Authors: G. A. Aiken
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Romance, #dragons
“Put me down!” she ordered.
“Quiet!” the bastard snarled, already moving away from the block. “Just the sound of your voice irritates me.”
Keita raised her head and saw the Baron Lord’s guards charging forward. “Kill him!” she ordered them, causing them all to stop and stare at her. Humans. Although she found most of them quite entertaining, they could be a little on the slow side.
Using her chained hands, she gestured at the bastard who was walking off with her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. “Kill. Him,” she said again. “Now!”
Finally, swords were pulled, and the villagers made a run for it. The fight was on, but all Keita could do was sit there on this idiot’s shoulder, hoping the human soldiers could finish what she hadn’t two years before.
“Keita!” She heard the urgency and warning in her friend’s voice and looked back at the block she’d been dragged from.
The executioner, who’d stopped by her cell last night and promised to fuck her corpse when he was done stretching her neck—she sensed he had no interest in her while she was still moving…and warm—was off the block and heading toward her. With the barbarian busy fighting the guards in front of him, he had no clue the executioner was coming.
She saw the man smile under the black mask that covered everything to his nose, his hands stretching out for her throat. One good twist of her human neck and she’d be done. It was the risk they all took when they shifted to human—they were a little easier to kill. But there were some abilities Keita still had access to, no matter her form. So when she felt those big fingers against her neck, she unleashed the line of flame she’d been holding on to and turned the executioner into ash.
Of course, she also demolished the wooden executioner’s block behind him and set fire to several other nearby buildings, but that couldn’t be helped. Yet around her, everything froze, all eyes on her and Ragnar.
And in that moment, all Keita could think was,
Ooops.
Ragnar stopped, his eyes briefly closing in pure irritation. “Tell me you didn’t do what I think you just did.”
“It’s not like I had other options. I’m still chained!”
“You have to be the dumbest—”
“It’s not my fault!”
He sensed that would be her eternal mantra, which explained why he was already sick of hearing it.
“Kill them, you fools!” someone commanded from the tower gates.
Ragnar let out an annoyed sigh. “Thank you very much, princess. You just made this harder and probably upset that overly sensitive brother of yours.”
Rather than being concerned about their lives or anything else he’d said, the spoiled royal demanded, “Did…did you just call me princess or prince-
ass
?”
“Does it matter?”
Vigholf and Meinhard had their shields at the ready, their swords drawn. The Blue, however, stood between the dragons and the humans, his hands raised. “Wait, wait! This isn’t necessary. We can all work this out!”
The body Ragnar held shook.
“Are you laughing?”
“Isn’t he cute? Two years away with blood-thirsty brutes and he’s still as adorable as the day he was hatched. I was, in point of fact, the first face he ever saw when he hatched his way out of his shell. My mother had told me to tell her when it was happening, but I didn’t want to. I wanted him all to my—”
“Shut up.”
“Did you just tell me to shut up?”
“Yes.”
“You rude, self-centered, egotistical—”
That was when Ragnar tossed her off his shoulder.
Vigholf blinked. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’re leaving her. Finish the execution!” he called out. “She’s all yours.”
“We’re not leaving my sister!” the Blue protested.
“Then you can stay and be executed right along with her. I, however, am leaving.”
“How could you?” the princess wailed from her place on the ground. “To leave me here to die! Like an animal in the street! Will no one care for me?”
“Shut up.”
“Oy!” The Blue shoved him. “That’s my sister you’re speaking to!”
“Do that again, boy, and I’ll make you more like your sister than you’d like.”
From his crouched, battle-ready position, Meinhard asked, “Is this really the time for this argument?”
Vigholf pushed his shield forward to ward off the weapons aimed at him. “What do you want us to do, brother?”
The soldiers were getting bolder, starting to prod with their pikes, pushing at Vigholf’s and Meinhard’s shields.
True, there were many things they could do in this situation to save more than not, but Ragnar wasn’t in the mood to bother.
“Kill them all,” Ragnar ordered.
“Or we can run,” the Blue threw in desperately, still trying to save the humans.
“Run? Away?” Vigholf shook his head, disgusted.
“If you try to harm anyone”—the Blue swallowed—“you’ll force me to defend them.”
Ragnar, unable to help himself, snorted at that “threat.”
The Blue frowned. “Now what does that mean?”
The ground beneath their feet rumbled, and Ragnar looked down, watching dirt and stone pop up as something moved under them.
The commanding officers of the guards ordered their men back as the ground in front of Ragnar and his kin exploded around them, and something he’d only read about in books burst into the open air.
“What,” Vigholf demanded without backing down, “in all the battle-fucks is that thing?”
Unlike Ragnar, Vigholf didn’t read many books. So to see something that was as long as Ragnar was in dragon form, but not as wide, gold scales glistening in the two suns and a mane of black and gold fur trailing from the top of its head down its spine to its tail did nothing but confuse him. Plus the creature had no horns but antlers; no talons but fur-covered striped claws like Ragnar had seen on big jungle cats. It had fewer fangs and more chewing teeth than either the Horde dragons or the Fire Breathers; and no wings, yet it floated on the air as easily as any winged dragon could. In other words, a being that would not only horrify Vigholf with its oddness but Meinhard as well.
Yet it wasn’t something that unusual, if Ragnar remembered his readings correctly. It was simply an Eastland dragon.
Circling over them without any wings, the foreigner unleashed flame. What was strange was that although the flame covered everything within a hundred feet, no one was harmed.
Ragnar raised his hand and ran it through the flame. He felt no heat, no pain. And yet it wasn’t an illusion. He felt the strength of the flame blowing against his hand. Strange. Just…strange. No wings, no sharpened tail, and no bite to his flame.
What a weak kitten, this dragon.
The flames stopped, and they were now all alone, the streets completely deserted.
The foreigner shifted while he still hovered in the air, and, with a shocking amount of skill, his human form floated to the ground, bare feet lightly landing on the cobble-stoned street. The Eastlander paused a moment to shake out his straight black hair, the tips appearing as if dipped in gold.
“Everyone all right?” he asked.
“Ren! Thank the gods!” the princess cried out, making Ragnar snarl, just a little. “You’ve come to rescue me!”
Laughing, the foreigner walked over to her.
“Honestly, Keita,” the Eastlander lightly chastised. “Your lack of subtlety with flame is something you have to work on.”
He removed the metal cuffs, and the princess rubbed her wrists.
“I was in fear for my life and trapped by Lord Low-Brow over there.” She shrugged. “I just…reacted.”
“Liar.”
“Oh, whatever. The important question is did you like my speech?”
He helped her to her feet. “A little wordy. The looking up at the sky with the tear-filled eyes was a nice touch, though.”
“I thought so. I’ll have to use that again.”
The rest of her chains hit the ground, and the foreigner walked around the group and retrieved his clothes a few feet away.
While Vigholf and Meinhard watched the foreigner closely, their weapons still drawn, Ragnar focused on the princess. She glared first. He glared in return. There might have also been some sneering. Then she suddenly charged past him and into the arms of the big blue ox standing behind him.
“Keita!”
Her baby brother lifted Keita into his arms and swung her around. Keita marveled at how much he’d grown. At this point, he might be even bigger than their father…and grandfather. He was massive! And that was as human. She couldn’t wait to see what he looked like when he shifted.
Keita wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck and squeezed him tight. “I’m so happy to see you, Éibhear!”
“And I you. Has it been two years?”
“Oh, yes.” She kissed his cheek and hugged him again. “Too long! Now put me down. I want to get a good look at you.”
He placed her on the ground, and Keita stepped back. Actually, she took several steps back so she could see
all
of him.
“By the gods of mayhem, Éibhear. Look at the size of you!”
“It’s not that bad,” he said self-consciously. “I haven’t grown any in a few months.”
She didn’t know how to tell him he probably wasn’t done growing yet, so she decided not to tell him at all. He’d figure it out when he needed new leggings.
“You look as handsome as ever,” she told him instead, enjoying his shy smile. Ahh, she’d missed him so. The youngest of her siblings, Éibhear was the one she mothered. Some days she couldn’t do enough for him, and she enjoyed being that way because he never took it for granted. Fearghus and Briec, her oldest siblings, were the classic big brothers. Always protective and caring, they watched out for her when they could. And then there was Gwenvael. She was closest to Gwenvael in age and in temperament. Gwenvael was more like a best friend than a brother; the two of them getting into lots of trouble as they’d matured in their mother’s court. But that was more than a century ago and times had changed.
Just like the size of Éibhear’s neck.
Gods! Look at that thing.
“So what brings you here, brother?”
“Can we have this discussion some other time?” asked that voice. That voice she’d worked for several days—maybe even a whole week!—to get out of her head. That voice that made her want to tear its owner’s face off with her talons—preferably while singing something jaunty.
“You can go,” she told
that voice
without looking at that voice’s owner. “But as you can see, I’m in the middle of a conversation.”
“We need to move out. Now.”
He spoke to her like one of his barbarian Dragonwarriors. Without a bit of reverence for the fact that she was of royal blood and, more importantly, not afraid to tear his face off while singing something jaunty!
Keita, feeling particularly difficult this day, pointedly ignored the rude bastard, but then she heard another voice.
“Please, my lady. We should leave before those human soldiers manage to find their manhood and return.”
Ahhh. The brother.
She remembered the brother. And the cousin. She’d forgotten they’d been standing right there beside her for several minutes.
Two years ago, Keita had easily charmed the two barbarians and their younger kin while they’d traveled from the Northlands to the South. Only the barbarian bastard had managed to ignore her. Something that bothered her much more than it should have.
Curling her lips into an appropriate—and quite seductive—smile, Keita turned and faced the other two Lightnings.
“By the gods,” she said, her hands to her chest. “It
is
you!” She quickly recalled their names and tried to place which was which. Not easy when they both looked quite similar. Both had purple hair braided into a single plait that reached to the middle of their backs, both were wide of shoulder and long of height, both had scars. So, how did she tell them apart before…?
“Vigholf!” She hugged the one with the grey eyes and the brutal scar across his jaw. “Meinhard!” She then hugged the one with the green eyes and the brutal scar that cut from his hairline to below his eye. “How wonderful it is to see you both again.”
She grabbed a hand from each and held them tightly. “I hope you’ve both been doing wonderfully.”
“We have, my lady, thank you,” Vigholf said. He’d always been the more confident one when it came to speaking. Meinhard always looked cornered when she asked him a direct question, before muttering a response. Although she’d found in time that Meinhard said much with his eyes without speaking a word. A lovely trait—rare with most males.
“And I see you’ve been taking excellent care of my brother. Thank you both for that. I don’t know what I’d do if something horrible happened to him.”
“Meinhard’s my mentor,” Éibhear filled in.
“And I know my brother’s learned so much from you, dear Meinhard.” She gave her most dazzling smile, and poor Meinhard appeared ready to crumple at her feet.
That’s before the rude one stepped between them, prying her hands from his kin.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” she asked him.
“Moving this along.”
“Well, if you’d bothered to ask me nicely—oh!” she gasped when he again lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder like so much trash. “How dare you!”
“Move out!” he ordered.
“Are you going to let him do this?” she demanded of Ren. For many, many years they’d been traveling companions and dearest friends. He made her laugh the way Gwenvael always did but, unlike her dear brother, Ren was much more reliable. Gwenvael was a lot of things, but unfortunately, she could never call him reliable.
“He seems quite determined,” Ren explained, his lips curled into a small smile. “Can’t you just relax until he’s done?”
“I want you never again to ask
that
question of any female for as long as you live, Ren of the Chosen!” she ordered.
Yet with no one willing to help her, Keita was forced to settle down and wait this out. Although she did use every opportunity to bring up her foot so she kicked Ragnar the Bastard in the nose with her heel.
If nothing else, she did find that quite entertaining.