Light My Fire

by G. A. Aiken

  “You ready?”

  Elina looked over at the black-haired dragon who spoke to her. He leaned back against one of the open doors, one leg bent at the knee, the foot braced against the wood.

  “Do I not look ready?”

  “Maybe the fur and spear are part of your nightclothes. And where did you get that spear anyway?”

  “From that wall.”

  “So you just stole it?”

  “It is not like anyone had use for it.”

  Elina headed toward the Great Hall front doors. “Come along, Dolt. I wish to see the mighty Steppes of my people.”

  “Aye. Because multiple little hills are just so fascinating.”

  Elina stopped and turned, her nose now only an inch or two from his chest. “Know that even your voice irritates me. But I made commitment to your queen and Queen Annwyl.”

  “All right—”

  “But do not push, Dolt.”

  He smirked and she wanted so badly to slap the expression off his face. “Or what?” he asked. “You’ll try to sneak up on me, get caught, and end up not killing me?”

  “Life and the land between here and the Steppes are filled with unfortunate accidents.”

  “And you’d be sad if something happened to me?”

  “No.” Elina threw her hands into the air, forcing the dragon back a few steps to avoid getting hit, and bellowed, “I would welcome your demise like the rising of the suns!” She rammed her forefinger into his chest, her voice low again. “But I am trying to do right thing by your queens and by my people. So do not piss me off.”

  “I can’t promise that,” Celyn told her with what seemed like honesty. “But I do promise not to try to piss you off.”

  Celyn led Elina to the stables and to the stallion his mother often used when she went into battle as human. The horse was from a line of large beasts bred specifically for their size, strength, speed, and ability not to become completely terrified at the mere scent of nearby dragons.

  He’d asked his mother the evening before if he could take her horse and, since she was sticking around for a bit, she’d said yes. She was also able to provide him with human-ready clothes, weapons, and equipment since Celyn rarely traveled far from his queen’s side. Unlike his sister, who fought so often with Annwyl’s human army that she now commanded her own human battalion.

  Holding onto the reins, Celyn led the horse out of the stables until he stood in front of Elina.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She’d been focusing on a shop across the square, so she turned to look at him and her eyes blinked wide.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  Surprised—he had always heard about the Outerplains people’s love of horses—Celyn replied, “He’s a . . . horse.”

  “He is mountain that runs on four legs. Why do you need something so . . . ridiculous?”

  “He’s not ridiculous. He’s bred to carry dragons in human form into battle. They’re fast. Smart. And loyal.”

  “How fast can he be with so much of him?”

  She walked around the horse, examining him closely, her lips curling in deep disapproval.

  “He is like moose with long legs,” she finally said. “You should be eating him, not riding him. Do you ride cow, too?” she suddenly demanded.

  Celyn was about to answer, then realized it was a stupid question.

  “Can we just go?”

  “We can try. If you get your travel-cow to move.”

  Celyn bit back an annoyed sigh and moved off, bringing his “travel-cow” with him.

  As they walked past the gates, Celyn saw his father and sister Brannie coming toward them in human form, both enjoying treats from the baker in town. True, they could get the same quality of treats from Annwyl’s castle baker, but going into town and chatting with the locals was how Celyn’s father made sure to always have access to the latest gossip. While Dagmar used coin and, when necessary, extortion to get the information she needed, Bram the Merciful had always used his pleasant disposition.

  “So you’re off?” Bram asked once he was near enough to Celyn and Elina that there was no need to shout.

  “Aye.” Grinning, Celyn carefully wiped away the cream his father had on his chin.

  Bram laughed. “Thank you. And, Celyn, remember. No need to always be so curious.”

  Confused by that comment, Celyn said, “I thought curiosity was a good thing.”

  “Not for you.”

  “I never saw it as an issue.”

  “I know, but trust me. You don’t go to many territories outside of the Southlands, and curiosity—”

  “Or just being plain nosy,” Brannie said around a mouthful of cream and pastry.

  “—is not welcome everywhere. Understand?”

  “No,” Celyn admitted since he’d never understood why a few questions irritated so many so quickly. Especially his Cadwaladr kin. They really hated his questions, but Celyn had no idea why. How could one hate questions? You couldn’t get to the bottom of things without asking questions.

  And Celyn loved questions.

  “I don’t understand,” he went on to his father. “But I’ll do as you say for this trip.”

  “That’s all I ask, my dearest son.”

  Elina, who’d been standing silently beside father and son, finally announced, “I still do not see it. How can such a dolt be the son of such a fine dragon? She,” Elina went on, pointing at a startled Brannie, “has her father’s wit and intelligence. But you . . .” She gave a sad shake of her head. “I see nothing but thick skull and dazed, stupid eyes. Like your travel-cow.”

  Celyn looked at his father, but the old bastard was too busy grinning to give any sympathy to his poor son, who would be trapped with this female for days and days.

  “It was good to meet you, Bram the Merciful,” Elina said, her hand reaching up to land on Bram’s shoulder. “I hope death finds you well for many more centuries.”

  “Safe travels to you, Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains.”

  Celyn glanced at his wide-eyed sister before asking his father, “How do you remember that ridiculously long name?”

  Before Bram could respond, Elina pointed at Bram and snapped, “Brilliant.” Pointed at Celyn. “Dolt. Do math!”

  With what some might call a cordial smile—of course, Celyn wasn’t one of those beings—Elina walked down the road.

  “I love her,” Brannie sighed. “Like the suns and good ale.”

  “Do you have no concern for your own brother?” Celyn demanded of his sister.

  “Because you are a pathetic puppy, sheltered by our parents in a sad job that makes you feel like you’re in charge when you’re not?”

  “No. Because I’ve got to put up with”—he gestured at Elina’s retreating form with a weak wave of his hand—“that until I can dump her on her people.”

  “Don’t be so hard on her,” Bram warned around his own laughter. “Life on the Steppes is not for the faint of heart. I’m sure she’s been through much more than any of us can imagine.”

  “And you did forget about her,” Brannie needlessly reminded him. “Females of all species take that sort of thing quite badly. I’d have cut your head off meself if you’d done that to me. And I’m your sister.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “Travel safe,” his father told him. “And remember that you do this for our queen and for Annwyl. So be your most charming.”

  “That should be easy for you since it is your name,” his sister teased sweetly, which was why he shoved the rest of her cream-filled treat, and not his fist, into her face.

  While Brannie cursed the day Celyn was hatched, Celyn walked quickly to catch up with Elina, bringing his mother’s horse with him.

  Elina had turned off the road and was now cutting through the woods. She stopped a few times, her blue-eyed gaze looking far off before she started walking again. He
had no idea where she was going, so he asked.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Are you not aware of our travel plans?”

  “This is not the road to take. In fact, we’re going in the opposite direction. Are you planning to take a roundabout way to your people? One I’m not aware of?”

  “Can you not be patient? Wait until things unfold?”

  “I could. But I’d be more patient if I knew where we were going right now. Can’t you give me a hint? A tiny idea? Just a—”

  Elina stopped and spun on him so fast, Celyn immediately closed his mouth.

  “Why do you keep talking?” she asked.

  “I’m just asking questions.”

  “Do not.”

  “But if you gave me complete answers to my first questions, I wouldn’t need to ask follow-ups.”

  “You are still talking.”

  “You still haven’t answered my questions.”

  Growling a little, she stalked off and Celyn followed. He went along for about five minutes in silence until he asked, “Is there a reason I need to be quiet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if you told me that reason I could easily be quiet. But when you don’t tell me anything, then all I can do is—”

  “Quiet, Dolt.”

  “There’s no need to get that nasty tone. I’m merely trying to—”

  The female abruptly stopped again, faced Celyn, went up on her toes, and stretched her arm out so she could silence Celyn by slapping her hand over his mouth. “Quiet,” she whispered.

  When she seemed sure that he wouldn’t speak again, she slowly lowered her hand. With her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere in the forest, she silently walked backward until she reached an old tree. There she crouched down and began digging through a mass of dead leaves. That’s when she pulled out a curved composite bow and a quiver of arrows.

  She had her bow nocked and was getting to her full height when Celyn heard a roar and turned in time to see a flash of fangs and claws coming right at him.

  Elina loosed her arrow, her aim—as always—true. But when it hit the big jungle cat in the chest, right in the heart, both arrow and cat were engulfed in flames.

  Rage moved through her veins as she faced the idiot dragon who’d nearly set the surrounding woods on fire.

  He was grinning at her. Grinning like the dolt he was.

  “Why,” she tried her best to ask calmly, “did you do that?”

  “To protect you from one of the famous Southland cats. Trust me. They may not be incredibly big, but I’ve seen them tear the faces off humans before they can even pull their sword.”

  “I was not using sword. I used bow.”

  “Aye. You did. And you’re a surprisingly good shot. I don’t know why you didn’t have your bow with you when you came up Devenallt Mountain. That could have worked nicely on either queen.”

  “Are you now telling me how to kill your queen?” Elina snapped.

  He frowned. “Oh . . . I think I was. But logic-wise—”

  “Shut up!”

  “Why are you yelling at me? I just saved you from a disfigured face.”

  “I’m yelling because that cat was mine!”

  “They’re not good to eat. Trust me . . . I’ve tried. Not a delicacy.”

  “Not for food, you fool! For Glebovicha. We do not have cats like these on the Steppes. I bring one with me, perhaps I can absolve shame of not killing your queen.”

  “Oh.” He nodded. “Now I understand. And if you’d just told me that at the—”

  “Shut up!”

  “Still yelling at me.” He shook his head as if it all confused him so. Perhaps it did. He was a dolt, after all. “And who is Glebovicha again?”

  “She is head of my tribe and the one who sent me here. The one I need to go through in order to get time with Anne Atli.”

  “Again, if you’d told me all that in the beginning—”

  “Och!” Elina roared, unwilling to listen to another moment of the dragon’s incessant babbling!

  Elina secured her bow to her back and grabbed her quiver of arrows. Then, without even looking at the dragon, she walked on until she reached a clearing with a large herd of wild horses.

  “Are you going to break a wild horse?” the dragon asked.

  “I cannot believe you are still talking.”

  “I didn’t know I had to stop.”

  Shaking her head, Elina called over the horse she’d ridden from her homeland. And, as soon as it stopped in front of her, she heard the dragon behind her—laughing.

  “What?” she asked him.

  “You call that a horse?” he asked around his laughter. “I wouldn’t even eat that, it’s so small. It’s barely a snack.”

  “This is a Steppes horse. Its speed, power, and endurance unparalleled. Do not let size fool you, Dolt. You do not have to be big to be strong. To be feared.”

  “But it helps.”

  “Your shoulders may be wide, but your mind is very small. Like peanut.”

  “You don’t even know me yet.”

  “I have seen enough.” She moved over to where she’d buried the rest of her things.

  After a few minutes, she unearthed her saddle and travel bag, and brought them over to the horse.

  “What is its name?” the dragon asked.

  “I do not know. He has not told me.”

  “He hasn’t told. . . . You speak to animals?”

  “No. That is why he has not told me.”

  The dragon frowned, his eyes briefly gazing at the sky.

  Finally, he asked, “Why didn’t you just name him yourself?”

  “He is not mine to name. He belongs to the land and the people of the Steppes belong to the land—so we are kin in our hearts. We cannot survive without the land or the horse. We do not own the horse. It allows us to use it. We do not own the land, the gods merely allow us to use it for our survival. Do you understand?”

  “I do.” He nodded. “But—”

  “No,” Elina cut in, her voice practically begging. “No more questions. Decades could pass with your questions before we get on road.”

  “I know. I know. It’s just—”

  “No.” She placed her hand against his chest. “No.”

  “Can I ask you questions later? Like during a break for food?”

  He sounded so hopeful. Did the other dragons not speak to him? Was his curiosity as painful to them as it was to her?

  Elina didn’t know. But she did know that her weakness sickened her when she replied, “Yes. I can answer questions then.”

  His grin was very wide. He didn’t seem smug so much as simply excited at the prospect of asking even more questions.

  By the horse gods, what had she gotten herself into?

  Chapter Twelve

  They rode for bloody hours. Celyn hadn’t thought any human could go so long without taking any breaks, but he’d been wrong.

  Elina kept her horse moving at a brisk pace, not stopping to eat or drink. Instead, she had food in convenient pockets sewn into her deerskin leggings. She had a canister of water tied to the pommel of her saddle, which she sipped from throughout the day.

  It wasn’t until Celyn was sure his horse was about to toss him off that he insisted on stopping near a stream.

  Elina led her horse to the stream before slipping off the animal’s back and disappearing into some nearby trees. When she returned about ten minutes later, adjusting her leggings and swatting at some annoying flies, she barely looked at him.

  “How are you holding up?” Celyn asked, sitting down on the ground.

  “What?”

  Assuming she didn’t understand him, he repeated his question. “How are you holding up?”

  “Holding up?”

  “Aye. We’ve been riding hard all day.”

  “Do I look weak to you? As if I cannot handle a simple ride?”

  “This is a simple ride? Then why is my ass killing me?”

  “You need to
ride more.”

  “I’m a dragon. . . . I normally fly everywhere I need to go.”

  “And your wings do not get tired?”

  “No.”

  She stared at him with that disappointed expression she always seemed to wear before saying, “It must be nice to fly.”

  “Is that sarcasm?”

  “No. If I could fly, I would live in tree. Stare down at everyone . . . quietly hating them all.”

  Afraid he’d laugh or say something to insult her, Celyn instead handed Elina dried beef from the small bag he had tied to his sword belt. She nodded her thanks and sat down. Her horse nuzzled the back of her head, and Elina reached up, stroking the animal’s muzzle.

  “So,” she suddenly said, “your family does not trust you to do anything but look pretty and stand near queen?”

  Celyn nearly choked on the beef he’d just eaten. “What?” he snapped around his sputtering.

  “Is it not true?”

  “It’s not true.”

  “Then why so many cautions from Bram the Merciful? He looked ready to come with us, or to replace you entirely with ten-year-old boy who cannot stand his golden-haired father.”

  “My father—my parents—respect the work I do.”

  “The work you do? You mean looking pretty? Because you are very pretty when human.”

  “I don’t just look pretty. I have a sacred, honored duty to protect our queen.”

  “She is nearly size of mountain she lives in when she is dragon. I doubt Queen Rhiannon needs anyone’s protection. Least of all from pretty but chatty dragon.”

  “It’s an honor to serve the Dragon Queen. One I was awarded after cutting my fangs in battle as dragon and human.”

  “I notice you did not get any scars on your pretty face. Even Annwyl the Bloody has scars on face.”

  “Because at one time she used to be so busy destroying everything around her, it never occurred to her to protect her face. But I, personally, prefer having my face in one piece and my brain still in my skull.”

  “I do not know why you get so angry. There is no shame for male to have pretty face. It is better for you. Warrior female will notice you and make you one of her husbands one day.”

  “What?”

  “No warrior wants to come home to hut full of ugly husbands. Yes, a few ugly ones who can hunt, protect children and weaker, older tribesmen, and make sure everything runs smoothly. But the rest should be pretty. So a warrior is glad to be home after day of hacking and killing.”