Light My Fire

by G. A. Aiken

  “Come. Join us.”

  Celyn jerked so brutally, he lost his balance and fell backward off the bed. He hit the floor hard, but that didn’t stop him from scrambling to his feet.

  “You know . . . I . . . yeah . . . no . . . thanks, though . . . but . . . uh . . . yeah . . . no . . . bye now.”

  He charged out the door, and slammed it shut behind him. He stood there a moment, panting hard, and wondering what the hell had just happened.

  Elina lifted her head and looked at her sister. “What happened?”

  “I have no idea. I thought Celyn wanted to nap, but when I suggested it, he panicked and ran out of the room like a frightened rabbit.”

  Elina studied the spot on the bed between her and Kachka, studied Kachka, then studied the door. After a moment, she laughed.

  “He thought you were suggesting we share him.”

  Kachka sat up, her eyes wide. “What? Daughters of the Steppes do not share their men. Ever.”

  “I know. I know. But when I was traveling here, I often heard Southland men say things that suggested they were more than happy to find themselves caught between two women like so much meat caught between two big hunks of bread. Do not worry,” she said, patting her sister’s arm. “I will explain to Celyn later.”

  Elina turned over, but her sister did not relax back into the bed. Instead, she noted, “He ran out of here.”

  “Yes. I know. I heard the door slam.”

  “But you said Southland men, or in Celyn’s case, Southland males like to share themselves with more than one woman.”

  “Yes. So?”

  “But he ran out of here.”

  Elina looked over her shoulder at her sister, but she couldn’t see her now that her eye on that side was gone. Instead of turning over completely, she snapped, “What is your point, sister?”

  “My point is he didn’t get naked and offer himself up to us like a deer to a witch’s sacrificial knife. He ran away. . . .” Then, to Elina’s horror, her sister’s voice turned singsong like it used to when they were children and Kachka relentlessly teased her. “Because he looooovvvess you.”

  “What?” Elina tried to flip over, but she got caught in the fur covering and the ridiculous robe. She was so thrown off by her missing eye, she ended up on the floor. “Gods-dammit!”

  “And you love him tooo-ooo.”

  “Shut up, demon female! I do not!”

  Dagmar, who never napped before a feast since she enjoyed the wonderful quiet so much, walked down the hall. She would make sure that everything was in place downstairs before King Gaius and his sister arrived for the festivities.

  But as she passed a room, she heard something crash inside. Worried it was her girls up to no good again, she stepped back and pushed the door open, freezing after taking only a few steps in.

  She watched the two Riders wrestling on the bed. Elina was snarling and barking something in her language, while Kachka was laughing hysterically while fighting her sister off and saying something that Dagmar also didn’t understand.

  Both women were nearly naked, their robes hanging off them as they tried to get each other in a choke hold.

  Dagmar stepped back out of the room and closed the door.

  “Perhaps it’s time I learn the language of the Outerplains, and their . . . sisterly . . . customs.”

  Elina held up clothes she found sitting on a chair. “I think Celyn left this for us.”

  “We have clothes.”

  “Nothing that is fancy.”

  “Why do we need fancy?” Kachka growled. “Are you ashamed of where you come from?”

  “Would you stop? You complain like angry old woman.”

  The bedroom door opened, and the annoying red-haired She-dragon swept into the room.

  “Look what I have for you, Elina,” she trilled annoyingly. Then she held up a dark red dress, complete with matching eye patch made of the same material. “Isn’t this lovely? And will look absolutely darling on you.”

  When Elina only stared at her, the She-dragon changed her focus to Kachka. “Don’t you agree . . . sister person, since I never bothered to learn your name?”

  Kachka moved forward, one hand reaching out to touch the dress. “It is lovely.”

  “Yes! See? Your sister agrees. So you should put it on.”

  That’s when Kachka reached over to the pile of dirty clothes she’d left on the table and pulled out her dagger. She then cut the dress from bodice to hem.

  The She-dragon gasped in outrage. “What have you done, barbarian female!”

  “No sister of mine will wear your ridiculous dress! She is a Daughter of the Steppes! Not some weak female who needs male to look out for her.” Kachka yanked the eye patch from the dragon. “But she will take this. It will look nice with her skin.”

  “I should burn you to ashes, foreign trash!”

  “You could try.” Kachka slammed her bare foot down on the She-dragon’s, causing the female’s yelp to ring out. Then she caught her by the shoulder, shoved her out into the hallway, and slammed the door closed.

  Grinning, Kachka tossed the eye patch to Elina and, by some miracle, Elina caught it.

  Éibhear was coming back from town after getting his friends out of the local jail. He didn’t know how they always managed to get in trouble, but they always did.

  Still, he was glad to see his old friends outside of the work they did as Mì-runach. And, thankfully, his friends got along well with Izzy. Although he was going to suggest that she start letting them win, at least once, when they arm-wrestled. It was really starting to crush their egos that they couldn’t beat her. Especially when they remembered that she was only human.

  As the oversized group of four made their way back to the castle and the awaiting feast, Aidan suddenly stopped and focused on a nearby lake.

  “What?” Éibhear asked.

  He pointed. “What’s that dragon doing?”

  Éibhear glanced over and saw his cousin Celyn slamming his head into a tree. As human. To do it as dragon was just an easy way to take down a tree. Éibhear did it all the time when he had to move trees in the Northlands. But as human . . . it was simply stupid.

  Éibhear debated walking away. He did not care about Celyn and his problems. But he could already hear Izzy yelling at him that, “Celyn is your cousin! So what if I fucked him once? Get over it already! He’s family and that’s what counts!”

  Unwilling to have that particular conversation yet again, Éibhear motioned to his three friends. “You lot go on ahead. I’ll be there in a bit.”

  They set off and Éibhear went over to his kin. He watched Celyn ram his head against the tree a few more times, allowing himself that moment of enjoyment, before he asked, “What are you doing?”

  Celyn stopped. “I’m banging my head into this tree.”

  Gods, did Fearghus and Briec really think Celyn was smarter than the rest of his brothers and sisters? Really?

  “I can see that. Why?”

  Celyn rested his back against the tree and stared off. He asked, “Do you ever think about sharing Izzy?”

  Éibhear took in a deep breath. Let it out. Announced, “I can have you skinned, dismembered, and spread from here to the Western Mountains before suns-up and I promise that no one but my dear aunt Ghleanna would ever miss you.”

  Celyn rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about with me, you idiot.”

  “You’re ramming your human head into a tree, but I’m the idiot?”

  “I just mean, if there was ever a beautiful female and she and Izzy were all, ‘Come here, big boy,’ would you—”

  “Stop.” Éibhear could see where this was going. Deciding to put the past he had with Celyn aside, he answered from the heart. “I could never and would never share Izzy with anyone. I would never bring anyone else, beautiful or otherwise, into our bed. She’s my mate. She’ll always be my mate. It’s that simple.”

  Celyn groaned and buried his head in his hands. And that’s when Éibh
ear realized this had nothing to do with Iseabail and their past together.

  “Is this about the Rider woman?”

  His groan turning into a bearlike growl, Celyn suddenly grabbed Éibhear’s chain-mail shirt and yanked him close. “You could finally get your revenge, cousin, and kill me now.”

  “I could . . . but I can assure you, cousin, this is much more fun.”

  “You’re an evil bastard,” Celyn hissed.

  “I know!”

  Elina finished pulling on her boot and looked over at her sister. “Did you hear that?” she asked.

  “I did. It’s some kind of . . . tapping.”

  The sisters went to the far wall and pressed their ears against it.

  “Perhaps,” Kachka whispered, “someone is in the queen’s dungeon and is trying to send us message.”

  “Perhaps there is reason Queen Annwyl put them in dungeon.”

  Kachka glanced back at her. “What is happening to you?”

  Together they moved along the wall, their ears still pressed to it, until they reached the door.

  The knock came again, this time much louder, and they both jumped back.

  Kachka pulled the dagger she had tucked into her boot and pushed Elina back. After a few seconds, the door opened slightly, and Queen Annwyl peered around the corner. She seemed surprised to see them.

  “You are here.” She stepped inside. “Why didn’t you answer the door?”

  “Answer the door?” Kachka repeated.

  “When I knocked.”

  “Is that what you were doing?”

  Elina moved around her sister, reaching back to slap her hand, which still held the dagger defensively. “You will have to forgive us, Queen Annwyl. We do not have doors on Steppes.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “And the red-haired She-dragon did not knock. She simply walked in.”

  “Yeah.” Annwyl closed the door behind her. “Royal dragons aren’t good with the knocking.”

  “Is something wrong, Queen Annwyl?” Elina asked when the royal simply stood there, saying nothing else.

  “First off, don’t call me Queen Annwyl. My name is Annwyl. Just call me Annwyl.”

  “Good,” Kachka said. “I do not like titles.”

  “Neither do I. They make me uncomfortable.”

  “What is wrong?” Elina asked her. “You look upset.”

  “I haven’t had time to apologize to you for what happened. With”—the queen cleared her throat and cracked her neck—“your mother.”

  Elina glanced at her sister, but Kachka just shrugged.

  “We do not understand. What are you apologizing for?”

  “For sending you back there.”

  “I lived there. They were my tribe, my people. What happened between me and my mother had nothing to do with you.”

  “By asking you to talk to the Anne Atli—”

  “My mother has hated me since . . . since when, Kachka?”

  “Since you stopped growing.”

  The queen blinked. “You’re nearly as tall as me.”

  “She’d think you were small, too. But your skills in battle would eventually charm her. That’s what worked for Kachka.”

  “Although she just tolerated me. Like dog that keeps showing up every night for food and shelter.”

  “What we are saying, Annwyl, is that this was coming for long time.”

  “She doesn’t deserve daughters like you.”

  “It does not matter. She has twenty-three other children to replace us with.”

  Eyes wide in horror, the queen took a step back, her hand immediately resting on her stomach. “Twenty-three?”

  “Some have more,” Elina said with a shrug. “Some have less. Kachka and I are youngest and I am biggest disappointment. But you and your request had nothing to do with that.”

  “Well—” Annwyl scratched her head, and she seemed more . . . out of sorts than when Elina had first met her. Especially when the simple scratch with one finger turned into both hands digging into her hair and scratching like she was digging for gems. When she stopped, her hair covered her eyes and most of her face, but she didn’t bother to move it out of her way. She simply gazed at them through it.

  “How do you think I’d look bald?” she abruptly asked.

  The question so shocked Elina, she didn’t have an answer. But, sadly, her sister did.

  “You could not pull off. Your face too full in cheeks.”

  Elina glared at her sister. “Kachka!”

  “What? She asked question.”

  “I did. And I like honest people. Plus she’s right. I can’t pull off bald with this face. Keita can. Then again, she can pull off anything. I hate her for that sometimes. Not even human and she’s prettier than any human can even dream of being.”

  “Annwyl—”

  “Are you both coming to the feast?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Good. You should. You deserve a feast after what you’ve been through.”

  “Yes,” Kachka said. “A good feast always makes up for loss of eye.”

  Elina stamped her foot. “Kachka!”

  “What?” her sister asked. “I am serious. The buffalo I killed today, I killed in your name. Like offering to your lost eye.”

  Elina rubbed her head, trying to avoid the eye patch. “She is serious,” she explained to Annwyl.

  “I know,” the queen said. “That’s why I like her. And you.” She looked off through all that hair. “But your mother,” she said, her voice low. “Your mother . . .”

  Then the queen opened the door and walked out.

  “Annwyl?” Elina began to go after her, but Kachka called her back.

  “Leave her be.”

  “But—”

  “Yes, sister. She is mad. But a good monarch is always a little mad.”

  “That is your logic? That good monarchs are mad?”

  “There are three types of rulers in this world. Mad ones, evil ones, and combination of both. Be glad she is only mad.”

  Celyn walked into the Great Hall and searched the already packed room until he saw Elina. He immediately went to her side and grabbed her hand, turning to lead her back outside so they could talk. But Kachka was standing there, smiling up at him.

  “Celyn,” she purred. “I hope death finds you well this evening.”

  “What? I mean . . . oh, yes. You, too.”

  “You know, Celyn.” Kachka placed her hand on his chest. “You scurried away so fast earlier, we could not talk about—”

  “Excuse us!”

  Celyn pushed past Kachka and dragged Elina out of the Great Hall and down the steps. When he reached the end of the courtyard, he tried to keep going right through the gates, but Elina dug her heels into the dirt and she managed to stop him in his tracks.

  When he faced her, she said, “You need to calm down.”

  “I will not service your sister,” he told her flatly, unable to think of anything else to say.

  Elina laughed. “She does not want servicing. At least not from you.”

  “But when I came into your room earlier—”

  “It gets cold on Steppes. We share beds. We share food. We do not share cocks. There is no cock sharing among the Daughters of the Steppes. That is disgusting.”

  “So then earlier . . .”

  “She was inviting you to nap with us, like our brothers and cousins sometimes do. But not fuck.”

  “Oh.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “No. Just depressingly relieved.”

  “What?”

  “Beautiful sisters invite me to bed—I usually dive in headfirst. A little time away with you and suddenly I’m . . . my father.”

  “I like your father. Now he is charming. You are dolt with ineffective travel-cow and cousin that keeps trying to dress me like doll.”

  “Is that where you got that eye patch from?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a nice color on you.”<
br />
  Elina shook her head. “Can we go back to feast now? I have not eaten and naked fight with my sister earlier made me very hungry.”

  “Um . . . uh . . . naked fight?”

  “She started it.”

  “Yeah, but . . . uh . . .”

  “Come,” she ordered, pulling him back toward the Great Hall. “There is food and drink to be had. Why would you ever make me live without either?”

  Once most of the food was eaten, the tables were moved back, the music began, and the dancing started.

  Dagmar had never been one for dancing, so instead, she found a comfortable corner and watched. It was one of her favorite things to do, and a pleasure she didn’t have nearly enough time to indulge in these days.

  But tonight, she was enjoying her favorite pastime less and less as she watched Annwyl. For years and years, she’d been helping to groom the queen into a sane-appearing monarch. And a few days ago, she’d thought she’d done an admirable job. Then the Rider had returned without her eye, and things had been going downhill ever since.

  Even worse, Dagmar was not the only one worried. She knew that when Morfyd and Briec suddenly appeared next to her, each holding chalices of wine.

  “That crazy cow is about to snap,” Briec softly announced.

  Morfyd closed her eyes and shook her head. “Briec.”

  “What? Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “I didn’t say you were. But there has to be a better way to say something like that.”

  “And what special way is that?”

  “It can’t be just the Rider’s return, Dagmar.”

  “Maybe the Rider woman said something to her,” Briec suggested. “Cried about how bad she feels.”

  “Cried? A Steppes Rider?” Dagmar shook her head. “Not likely.”

  “Besides,” Morfyd said, “look at her.”

  They did, focusing on the outsider. She and her pale-haired sister had eaten and drunk enough for a small army, just between the two of them. Then, when the music began, it was the two of them who immediately got in the middle of the dance floor, clasped hands, and began to show everyone the dances of their people. It wasn’t that the moves were especially complicated so much as they were physically challenging. They required incredibly strong legs and stamina. Something that both females seemed to have an abundance of.