G.A. Aiken Dragon Bundle: The Dragon Who Loved Me, What a Dragon Should Know, Last Dragon Standing & How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (89 page)

Fearghus the Destroyer, First Born to the Dragon Queen, Heir to the Dragon Queen’s Throne, Consort to Annwyl the Bloody, Father to the Demon Twins of Dark Plains, and suspicious, jealous male of Queen Annwyl’s court sat on the stairs leading to the Great Hall of his mate’s castle and watched Annwyl walk from behind one of the guard houses. Behind her trailed the two dogs given to her by her chief battle lord, Dagmar Reinholdt. Fearghus didn’t mind the two dogs, though they did make him hungry. But Annwyl adored the beasts nearly as much as she adored her horse and Fearghus wasn’t in the mood to fight with her if she found him using one of the dog’s leg bones to remove the other bits from between Fearghus’s fangs.

Eyes narrowing, Fearghus studied his mate. Although Annwyl had always trained hard since he’d met her, she’d been training even harder since a few months after their twins had been born. He knew what drove her, too. Fear. Not fear for herself, but fear for the safety of their twins. Fear that she couldn’t protect them. He didn’t know why she’d think that. She’d slaughtered an entire herd of Minotaur to protect their babes. But she seemed to think worse than Minotaurs was heading their way. That whatever this worse thing was, it—or they—was coming after the babes.

And maybe she was right. Although not quite two winters old, the twins were feared by many. Demons, abominations, unholy—all words used to describe the amazing creatures upstairs with their latest nanny. A position they couldn’t seem to keep filled for long periods of time. He’d known his offspring would be different. But not this different. Not this dangerous. And gods, for something so small, they were dangerous.

Picking sticks off the ground, Annwyl held them out for her dogs and then played tug with the beasts until they reached the Great Hall steps.

“Oy. Wench,” Fearghus said by way of greeting.

Annwyl looked up at him with those green eyes that still made his heart stumble a bit in his chest.

“Oy. Knight.”

“Where you’ve been?”

“Training.”

He could see that. Her body was covered in sweat, fresh bruises, and new nicks and cuts.

“Training with…?”

She shrugged, glanced down at her dogs, which were still fighting her for the sticks. “A few of the men.”

And he knew she lied.

“How did it go?” he asked, rather than accuse her of something he couldn’t yet prove.

“It went well.” He could see the truth in that. She was getting stronger every day. More powerful. Her muscles were well-defined, and her body bore no fat. Her own men feared her strength, which was why he knew she hadn’t been training with them. And his kin feared her as well. Dragons known for fighting anyone at any time gave Fearghus’s mate the widest berth possible when she searched for a sparring partner. But someone was helping her. Someone she wouldn’t tell him about.

“Brastias and Dagmar are looking for you,” he said

“Oh.” Annwyl blinked a few times and said, “I should check on the babes first, though, eh? I’ll track down Brastias and Dagmar later.”

There’d been a time when Annwyl would track down Brastias first. She’d search out fights, battles, wars, anything that hinted at a little bloodshed. But that had been before the twins. Now, she avoided her army’s general and her chief battle lord as if they brought news of the latest fashions from town. The twins, however, were merely the excuse the queen used to avoid what was closing in around her.

Yet how much longer did she think she could continue to do that? She was queen, one of the most powerful queens in a millennium, and there were many who relied on her. True, she could be like some monarchs—his mother included—who sent out troops and supplies while staying safely in their fortress homes. That, however, was not Annwyl. That would never be Annwyl. And watching her live like this was tearing him apart.

Annwyl made a strange clicking sound with her tongue, and the dogs released their sticks and charged up the stairs and into the Great Hall. Annwyl followed behind them, stopping beside Fearghus.

“You all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”
Paranoid, distrustful, and worried about you—but fine.

Annwyl crouched beside him. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping well for months, often leaving their bed before the two suns rose. It might be her dreams that drove her from their bed, for when she did sleep, she tossed and turned; Fearghus’s presence beside her not easing her as it usually did.

Annwyl leaned in, waiting until Fearghus turned his face toward her so she could kiss him. Her lips were soft and sweet, her tongue wicked and ruthless, her mouth warm and delicious. He knew he shouldn’t be so paranoid about what she was up to when she was off training, but he couldn’t help it. Something was going on with her and she wouldn’t tell him. She used to tell him everything.

She pulled back with a soft sigh. “I’ll see you later then?” And he heard the hopeful note in her tone.

“You need a bath,” he told her, his gaze moving over the courtyard. “I can scrub your back, if you’d like.”

“I never can reach it,” she murmured, her fingers trailing to his neck and across his shoulders. Fearghus closed his eyes at the feel of her hand on his bare skin and through his chain-mail shirt. Of course, those fingers felt even better against his scales and wings. “So your help will be much appreciated.”

Then she was gone, into the Great Hall and up the stairs to see their twins.

And Fearghus was left alone a little longer to brood and wonder what the hell was going on with his mate.

Bare feet walked across ice; naked bodies knelt in the snow, uncaring of the violent snow and ice storm swirling around them while heads bowed in honor of the god before them. This was not all their number, merely those who would lead this mission. For their strength was not in their number, but in their power. In their rage. In their willingness to kill without question, without regret, without thought.

Because of what they were willing to do, all in the name of their gods, they were the most feared in the Ice Lands. The most despised. But none of them cared about the outsiders. Not when they had their weapons in their hands and spells on their lips.

Go
, the harsh winds roared around them, for this god would not speak directly to them. Not like the others. Instead, the Ice Land winds would give them their mission. The hard-packed snow and ice would enhance their strength and power for the long journey ahead. And the two suns would lead them to death or glory.

Go!
the winds ordered again. Then, the screeching winds whispered,
Annwyl.

“I have to admit I’m a bit surprised, Lord Ragnar. I thought you would have killed all those humans.”

Ragnar gulped several mouthfuls of water from his flask. They’d traveled deep into the thick forests of Outerplains, not stopping until they found a freshwater lake.

“And I thought you wouldn’t allow yourself to be executed. Guess we were both wrong.”

The royal rolled brown eyes. “Of course I wouldn’t allow myself to be executed.”

“Then what were you doing exactly?”

She shrugged and, without asking, took his flask from him rather than filling her own from the lake as he’d done. “Seeing if I could talk them out of it.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Why not?” She studied his flask before using a bit of her gown to wipe the mouth of it. He didn’t know which annoyed him more. The fact that she took his flask, the fact that she wiped it first before using it, or the fact that the gown she used was absolutely filthy.

“It’s all a game to you, isn’t it?” he asked.

After taking several gulps of water, she gave him that smile. She had many smiles, most of them as contrived as she was. But this one, where the left side of her mouth went up just a tad higher than the right and her eyes looked up at him through those thick lashes—this one was the true Keita. His brother and cousin refused to see this Keita.

“Why were they trying to execute you anyway, Keita?” the Blue asked his sister.

She handed the flask back to Ragnar. “They believed I’d killed Lord Bampour.”

“Oh, Keita,” the Blue whined. “You didn’t.”

“Actually, I didn’t.” When her brother raised a dark blue brow, she insisted, “I didn’t!”

“Then why did they charge you?” Ragnar asked.

“They found me in his room.”

“With the body?”

“Yes. But it wasn’t me.” Why did Ragnar feel there was a “this time” missing from that declaration?

“What were you doing in his room?”

She stared at Ragnar a moment, then replied, “Wishing him a good morning?”

“Is that an answer, princess, or a question?”

“Och!” She threw up her hands. “Does it matter? I didn’t kill him.” She pouted a little, her nose scrunching up—it looked vaguely adorable. “They wouldn’t even listen to me. Just kept insisting that I had to have done it, simply because they found me alone in his room, the body still warm, and carrying a vial of poison.”

The males all stared at her, but when no one else asked, Ragnar knew he must. “And why were you carrying a vial of poison?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m fairly certain…quite a bit.”

“No. It doesn’t. Because the point is—the vial was still full, which meant it hadn’t been used, which means I didn’t kill Bampour.”

Ragnar was willing to play along. “If you didn’t kill him…who did?”

“Some naked blond girl who was in his room when I got there.”

“I see. And what happened to her?”

“I threw her out the window.”

“Of course you did.”

“Don’t worry,” the foreigner tossed in. “I caught her and set her gently down.”

“See?” the female said.

“See what?”

“I rescued her. Saved her life. And yet they wanted to execute
me
. How is that fair?”

Ragnar nodded. “Let’s pretend you’re not lying.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure why you would rescue a murderess.”

“Well, she was only doing the rest of the world a favor.”

“I see.”

“He was not a nice person.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He had to die!”

“And why is that? Did he not give you enough…things?”

“Oh, but he did.” She touched the necklace around her throat. “He gave me this.” She touched the bracelet on her wrist. “And this.” She touched the earrings. “And these…oh, wait. No. He didn’t. That son of his did. Shame the little blonde didn’t get a chance to deal with that one too.”

Ragnar gestured to the jewelry. “I’m surprised they let you keep all that.”

“I don’t think they’d planned to. But after I ate the dog, they refused to come near me except to put on the chains.”

“Keita!” the Blue blurted out while the foreigner laughed.

“I was hungry! I hadn’t had first meal, they wouldn’t give me anything to eat, and…and that dog tried to bite me! It was very close to self-defense!”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“You,” she said to Ragnar, “can just be quiet.”

“All right, all right, all right,” the Blue cut in. “Let’s forget all that. The important thing is, you’re safe.” The princess smiled at that until her brother added, “And you can travel with us back to Garbhán Isle.”

“Oh.”

Ragnar leaned back against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, and watched Her Royal Majesty try to work her way out of this. Because he knew, just by the look of panic in her eyes, she was desperately trying to work her way out of this.

“Garbhán Isle. That’s an option.” She glanced at her foreign friend, but he didn’t seem to be in the mood to help her either. “And…why don’t I meet you there? At some point.”

“Meet us there? Why can’t you come back now?” her brother asked.

“I have something to do?”

“Is that a question or an answer?” Ragnar asked again, and the glare he received would have lacerated a lesser male.

“But what about the feast?”

“Feast?” She shrugged. “There’s always a feast, Éibhear. Our family does love a feast.”

“But it’s to celebrate the twins’ birthday. I mean, I missed the first one because I was in the heat of battle—”

Ragnar briefly but quickly moved his gaze to the ground after he heard Vigholf snort.

“—so I can’t miss this one. But I guess since you did go to the first one, I could explain it away to the family.”

Perhaps Ragnar was watching her too closely, but the way her face became perfectly blank, her brown eyes wide as if she was afraid the truth could be read there, had him asking, “Why don’t you tell us about that first feast, my lady? All the details. Down to the last dessert.”

“I don’t really—”

“Oh, come on. You must remember something. And I’ve always wondered what a Southland celebration is like. For instance, what was the human queen’s gown like?”

“Gown? I doubt she wore—”

“Doubt?” Ragnar asked. “Don’t you know?”

Gods. Did she just hiss at me? Yes! I think she just hissed at me!

“You didn’t go?” the Blue asked.

“Éibhear, I was quite busy. I didn’t have time.”

The Blue’s eyes narrowed, and he studied his sister for a long, painful moment. “When was the last time you were home?”

“The Southlands are my home, Éibhear. And I’m always—”

“Don’t play with me, Keita. When was the last time you were at Garbhán Isle or Devenallt Mountain?”

“When you look at how long we live, time is such a transient thing.”

Ragnar began to have an uneasy feeling, clearly remembering the look on the princess’s face when he’d released her. Not when she’d stabbed him with her tail—although that moment was etched into his memory until his last breath—but before that. When he’d told her the queen had offered nothing for her daughter’s safe return. True, royal anger eventually took over everything, but before that, he’d seen pain on her face. Acute pain.

Having grown up with a father who enjoyed picking his other sons over “that weak, strange one” for important Horde business, Ragnar knew how much a careless action from a parent could hurt their offspring. He’d realized later that the queen had said such things because she’d known, as only a true witch could know, that Ragnar would never harm her daughter. He’d never drag Keita off against her will. Not after what had happened to his own mother. Not after watching her trapped in a life she’d never wanted with only one wing and a dragon mate she detested. Ragnar had grown up under his mother’s avid protection, his father deciding early on that he loathed the hatchling who spent most of his days in books and learning. She’d watched over Ragnar, raised him to think and reason while teaching him the Magickal arts and, finding a caring soul in Meinhard’s father, had asked the warrior to train her son without Olgeir’s knowledge. Ragnar owed his mother so much and was grateful to her for the very air he breathed, because without her, he wasn’t sure he’d have survived into his twentieth winter.

And although Ragnar used to think about going off by himself and living the life of a hermit dragon deep in the mountains near the Ice Lands, his mother’s words always stopped him. “You can’t live alone in this world, my son. You need your family. And one day, they will realize how much they need you.”

As always with his mother’s wisdom, her words were true for him, but they were even truer for Princess Keita. She adored her kin and had talked about them incessantly when they were bringing her back to the Southlands. Mostly, she spoke of what her brothers would do to him when they got their claws on him, but Ragnar knew love when he heard it.

So the thought that Keita had cut herself off from her kin all this time because of that last discussion did not sit well with Ragnar at all.

Even now, she was still trying to wiggle out of returning to Dark Plains with them, and the Blue seemed to be buying into her half-truths. The boy simply didn’t know how to ask a direct question, which was a problem since his sister seemed quiet adept at sidestepping anything but direct questions.

So Ragnar asked the direct question himself, knowing he’d make her angry and not much caring since this would all be over soon enough, and he’d never see her again anyway. “Have you even seen your niece and nephew, Princess Keita?”

Grateful she had no real Magickal skills that could kill him at a distance, Ragnar met her glare and held it.

As he realized the truth, the Blue’s giant human head nearly exploded. “
You haven’t seen the twins?
”

“Éibhear—”

“
At all?
”

“You’re being un—”

“What about Talaith’s daughter? Have you not seen her either?”

The fight seemed to go out of her, her hatred for Ragnar alone, Keita stated, “I was planning to see them soon—when I have time.”

“You have time now.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Make some.”

“And if I don’t want to come home?”

“What does what you want have to do with family?”

“Oh, well, when you put it like that—”

“Good!”

“I was actually being sarcas—”

“Because I’d hate to drag you back there by your hair.”

“—tic,” she finished.

“So we’re all settled then?”

She let out a long, weary sigh. “It would seem so.”

“Good.” He suddenly walked off into the woods. “I’ll be right back.”

Dark brown eyes seared Ragnar where he stood; then she marched off in the opposite direction from her brother.

Ragnar caught Vigholf’s attention and motioned for him to check the area. Meinhard went about getting more water for their trip, leaving Ragnar and the foreigner.

He faced the Eastlander, completely unclear on the relationship this strange-looking dragon had with the royal.

The foreigner’s smile was small when he said, “I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive you for that, Northlander.” His smile widened a little bit when he added, “But perhaps that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Appearing to be following after the princess, the Eastlander stopped in front of Ragnar and pointed at him, asking, “Do you need some ointment for that?”

Ragnar curled his fingers in and pulled his hand away from his chest and that damn scar he’d been scratching—again! “No.”

The foreigner shrugged. “As you like.”

As he’d like? Somehow Ragnar doubted he’d have what he’d like for at least the next few days.

“Keita, wait.”

“Go away, Ren. Let me seethe in peace.” Keita spotted a squirrel not far from her and opened her mouth to unleash a line of flame. But a hand covered her mouth and her friend shook his head.

“Must you take your anger out on that poor squirrel?”

She slapped his hand off. “I’d take it out on you, but you’d only enjoy it. And what’s the good of that when I want to make something miserable?”

“Your suffering doesn’t give you the right to make others suffer.”

Keita rolled her eyes. “You with your deep philosophical ramblings.”

“You like my deep philosophical ramblings.”

“Not when they interfere with my ridiculous rages. It’s extremely hard to flounce away with any dignity when you’re so busy rationalizing.”

“No one can flounce anywhere with dignity. It’s a law.”

Keita pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. This was why she adored Ren. Because no matter the situation, no matter how annoying or brutal or horrible things might be, he always made her laugh.

He put his arm around her shoulders. “My dearest, loveliest Keita.”

“I like when you add the ‘loveliest’ part.”

“You are the loveliest.”

“Adore. You.”

“So what’s really bothering you, my friend?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“Is it the current width of your brother’s neck?”

“No. Although that is disconcerting.” She leaned her head back, and looked up at her friend. “I’d like to know why those Lightnings are taking my brother back to Dark Plains.”

“To ensure he gets home safely, I’d assume.”

“Well, of course, as a royal he’d need an escort. I’m not questioning that. But Ragnar the Cunning? Current Dragonlord Chief?
And
his second in command, Vigholf? Meinhard and a few of their warriors would have ensured the same thing.”

“I see your point. Your mother then?”

“Most likely, which makes me nervous. Mother doesn’t call on foreign dragons for no reason.”

“Think Éibhear will know the answer?”

Keita smiled and petted Ren’s cheek. “That’s so cute you’d think that.”

Ren laughed. “Not one for questioning the obvious, is our Éibhear?”

“Hardly. He still thinks the best of everyone.” Keita stepped away from Ren and smoothed her dress down. “I’ll need to find out the answer myself. And since I’m forced to endure that bastard barbarian’s presence until we get back to Devenallt Mountain, I might as well get what information I can.”