by G. A. Aiken
“Don’t take them far,” Fearghus stated. “Annwyl will want to see them as soon as she’s done.”
“Of course.” Ebba smiled at him. “It’s good to have you back, my lord.”
“Thank you, Ebba.”
Once they were as alone as possible in a busy courtyard with a battle going on right outside the castle gates, Rhiannon nodded at her son.
“All right. Tell me everything.”
The battle barely lasted an hour. The few Tribesmen left made a fast retreat with only a few of Annwyl’s men in pursuit. Everyone was so tired and happy to be back that the Tribesmen who remained were of little consequence to any of them. Especially after fighting the Sovereigns and Irons for the last five years.
With her swords tied to her back, Annwyl walked back to her home, an arm thrown over Izzy’s shoulder. They didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. Not between them. They’d been through too much together, seen too much . . . gods, they’d done too much to worry about what to say.
They entered the castle gates and Annwyl wasn’t surprised to see Talaith and Briec well in the middle of an argument. It was like they had to make up for the last five years of no proper fighting. But as soon as Talaith saw her daughter, tears sprang to her eyes and she ran to her, Izzy moving away from Annwyl to meet her mum. They threw their arms around each other, both women sobbing and laughing, holding on to each other.
Annwyl winked at Briec, his smile warm as he watched the women he loved, and she patted his shoulder, stopping a moment to kiss sweet Rhian on the cheek. But Annwyl was nearly knocked on her ass when Gwenvael stormed past her, shifting from dragon to human in seconds, not bothering to put on leggings or even a robe.
Dagmar already stood on the Great Hall steps, but the welcoming smile faded from her lips when she saw Gwenvael, her eyes growing wide with a panic she rarely showed anyone.
Gwenvael took the stairs three at a time, picking Dagmar up along the way and dumping her over his shoulder like a sack of so much grain before he disappeared into the Great Hall.
Annwyl glanced up at Briec, but the Silver shook his head. “I won’t discuss it. But let’s hope it makes him less of a bastard. Because he’s been a right bastard.”
Shaking her head, Annwyl headed toward the Great Hall, but she slowly came to a stop when she saw them walk out the doors. She swallowed, feeling such a jumble of emotions at the moment, she simply couldn’t suss one out from the next.
Unlike Fearghus, Annwyl had not been home since the day she’d headed into the west with her army. Then, her children had just turned two. They’d been cute and impossible, and she’d adored them like the suns.
But now they were five years older and scowling at her from the stairs, her daughter looking more like her grandfather now than any of them would want to admit and her son looking like . . . well, like Annwyl.
When neither moved, Annwyl did the only thing she could think of. She crouched down and opened her arms and, to her great relief, both her children ran to her, throwing themselves into her arms as if pitched by a catapult. She caught them and pulled them tight into her body, hugging them with all her strength. They put their arms around her shoulder and buried their faces into each side of her neck.
The twins had grown into a right pair of little brawlers, just like their mum. Strong arms held Annwyl, little scars from fights and hard play littered any exposed flesh she could see. They were dirty and probably even worse nightmares to deal with than they had been.
And they were hers. They were hers.
Annwyl didn’t even realize she’d begun to cry until Fearghus’s thumb wiped the tears from her cheeks. He now crouched in front of her and smiled at her with such love, she didn’t know what to do, what to say. All she knew was that she was home, she was safe, she had her family, and the heads of Overlord Thracius and Lord Laudaricus had been planted on spikes outside her gates. Although that was temporary, since the troops she’d be sending off to help the Rebel King Gaius claim his empire would bring those two heads with them.
Standing, Fearghus took Talwyn and Annwyl kept Talan. Together, they carried their children inside their home and Annwyl knew that finally, she could get some sleep.
Chapter 37
Rhona wrapped her arms around her father and hugged him tight. “Hello, Daddy.”
“My girl. I’m so glad to see you. I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Me, too” She sighed. “But . . .” She pushed her father back from the flap and farther into his tent. “Mum’s on her way in. She’s not happy.”
“This isn’t the Dragonwarrior thing again, is it? Because I won’t listen to any of that centaur shit yet again.”
“No, no.” She looked away from her father’s dark gaze.
Sulien chuckled. “Let me guess. It has something to do with that Lightning.”
“He says he loves me.”
“Of course he does. You couldn’t tell?”
“Well—”
“Forget I ask. As bad as your mother.” He kissed her forehead. “Well, you know I’ll have to terrify him at least a little.”
“I know. I think he’s expecting it.”
“That takes the fun out of it.”
“Daddy,” she laughed.
Her mother walked into the tent and Rhona stammered, “Well . . . uh . . . must go.”
“Like a rat from a sinking ship!” her mum yelled after her.
“Made a run for it?” Vigholf asked. He stood next to the tent, patiently waiting for her.
“I didn’t want to hear it.” Especially since she’d heard “it” all the way back from Euphrasia Valley until Ghleanna had finally barked, “Pack it in already, Bradana! We’re sick of hearing about it!”
Gods, she loved her Aunt Ghleanna.
“You know what?” Vigholf asked.
“You’re hungry?”
“Starving.”
She took his hand in hers. “Then let’s go feed you, yeah? Before you starve to death.”
“You’re okay with this?” Bradana asked her mate.
“I don’t have a problem with Lightnings. Of course, my people didn’t try to systematically wipe them out either.”
Bradana shrugged. “It wasn’t systematic.”
“And in answer to your question . . . yes. I’m okay with this. He makes her happy, he cares about her, and the dragon can wield a mighty warhammer.”
“He’ll take her back to the north, you know? To live with that Horde of his.”
“So? I came with you, I’m no more the worse for wear.”
Bradana examined the blades her mate had hanging from a rope. “You don’t think she’s leaving just so . . .”
“She can get away from you?”
She shrugged again. “I know I pushed her a bit. Expected more from her than the others. Maybe she’s just doing this to get out from under, yeah?”
Sulien slipped his hand around the back of Bradana’s neck and pulled her close, kissing her cheek. “If there’s one thing we both know about our oldest girl is that she’d never leave her siblings except for a dragon she loved. If she goes with him, it’s because she wants to. Because she loves him. Not to get away from you or anyone else.”
Bradana hugged Sulien tight, dropping her head against his shoulder. “I’ll miss her when she’s gone—the impossible little cow.”
“Of course you will. Who will you complain about if she’s not here? Ow! That was unnecessary, female!”
Ragnar stopped walking and sighed. Loudly.
“What are you doing?” he asked the She-dragon he loved, who’d wrapped her arms around his shoulder.
“Pummeling you into submission!”
“You’re not very good at it.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.” She released his neck and dropped to the ground. Ragnar faced her and marveled at the fact that being caught in the middle of this siege on Garbhán Isle had not affected Princess Keita’s dress code. Her blue dress glittered, her jewel-enc
rusted gold jewelry sparkled, and she still wore no damn shoes! Why wouldn’t the female wear shoes when she was in her human form? Was there a moral reason? A fashion one? What was her problem with shoes?
“Why are you staring at my feet?” She raised a brow. “Do they arouse you?”
“Keita—”
“They do, don’t they?” Pushing the toes of her right foot into the ground and raising the heel a bit, she said, “They are quite adorable. Just like me!”
“I missed you, Keita,” Ragnar told her, all teasing aside. “Very much.”
“Oh? That’s nice to hear.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say? What do you think I should say?”
“I don’t think you should say anything. I was just asking.”
“Well . . . all right. I’m going to see my brothers.” She nodded, walked away, but she was heading away from the castle, so she stopped and turned, heading back. She walked by, got about ten feet, stopped.
Then Keita the Viper spun around and ran into his arms, hugging him tight. “This is all your fault!” she accused.
“What is?”
“How much I missed you! And I was shockingly worried about you. I actually cared if you were hurt or had been damaged in some way.” She leaned back, squinted up at him. “You weren’t, were you? Damaged?”
“Not so that I won’t heal.”
“Good.” She rested her head on his chest. “Believe it or not, I don’t know what I’d have done if something happened to you.”
Keita abruptly pulled back from him and punched him in the chest. “What have you done to me, foreigner? Well, let me make it plain that you’ll not trap me in your evil web of amazing sex and unconditional love! I’m stronger than that!”
And Ragnar sighed . . . loudly.
Rhiannon sat down beside her youngest offspring on the hill that overlooked the castle of Garbhán Isle and the surrounding grounds.
She’d known since his hatching that this time would come. For Fearghus and Briec it had come quite early. For Morfyd it had come quite late. And for Gwenvael and Keita . . . well, it had never been. It was that point in a young dragon’s life when he was no longer a hatchling, a babe. Yet being a full adult was still a few years out of reach. For most of them it wasn’t a hard transition. They simply went from being filled with wonder to cynical pains in the ass seemingly overnight. But Éibhear had always been different. A little smarter. A whole lot sweeter. She’d always feared that the transition for him would not be an easy one.
And, based on what Fearghus had told her, it wouldn’t be. Not for her sweet Éibhear. Not now that he blamed himself for something that could have happened to any of them. And, in some ways, had. As royals they all had to make decisions, had to do things that didn’t always feel good or even right, but were necessary. Austell’s death, while tragic, was the way of war. As a soldier in Rhiannon’s army, that was the risk Éibhear took. The risk Rhiannon took by allowing her offspring to involve themselves in war, to risk their lives picking up a sword, an ax, a hammer and set off after her enemies. To keep her throne safe, her kingdom safe.
Really, what could she say to her son now that would make him feel better? What words of wisdom could she impart that would make him say, “Oh? Well, if it was to be . . .”
No. There was nothing to say. Nothing she could say or do that would make her son feel any better.
In fact, Rhiannon knew only one thing at the moment. She knew that she’d already lost the sweet hatchling she adored since she’d seen his handsome face grin at her after tumbling out of his egg, head first. And what dragon would replace that blue-scaled hatchling? Rhiannon still didn’t know.
So with no words to ease what Éibhear was going through, Rhiannon simply placed her arm around him and tugged until he rested his head on her shoulder. And there they sat, on that hill, staring off at the bodies of Tribesmen not yet cleaned up, wishing things could go back to the way they were, but knowing that would never happen.
Chapter 38
For five full days Queen Annwyl slept, and Izzy had never been so grateful. Annwyl had needed that sleep more than anyone could possibly know. At first, everyone tried to tiptoe around, Fearghus snarling at anyone making too much noise. But what Izzy knew and what everyone else eventually realized was that nothing could wake Annwyl. But when she finally did emerge, bounding down the stairs into the Great Hall, her long, light brown hair washed and a clean pair of black leggings, black boots, and one of her favored sleeveless chain-mail shirts on, Izzy couldn’t help but grin. This . . . this was the Annwyl she knew. And gods, was she glad to see her again.
“Morning, Iz.”
“Morning.”
Annwyl dropped hard into a chair catty-corner from Izzy and put her feet up on the table. Izzy handed her a round loaf of bread.
“Sleep well?” she asked Annwyl.
“Like the dead. It felt wonderful.” Annwyl tore off chunks of bread and ate while looking around the room. “Where is everyone?” she asked between bites.
“Have no idea. Everyone’s been rather scarce since our return. I think they’re all shagging.”
Annwyl laughed, her humor back, eyes bright. “I think you’re probably right.” She glanced around and whispered, “And you?”
“And me what?”
Annwyl made her eyebrows dance a bit.
“Gods, Annwyl!”
“Oh, come on. You’ve got both here.”
“Yeah, right. Éibhear’s sitting outside, staring pensively off into the distance—who knows what’s going on with him—and Celyn’s been avoiding me like I might fuck him right here on this table during morning meal. Tell me, my wise queen . . . why do we bother with any of them?”
“We both like cock.”
Mortified, Izzy still laughed. Out of everyone, Annwyl remained the one being who wasn’t Brannie who could make Izzy feel like everything—eventually—would be all right.
“So what do I need to know?” Annwyl asked her.
“Violence is back and safe. I put him up in his stables, got him a couple of sexy mares to keep him company. I think he’s a wee pissed at you that you went off without him, though.”
“He always gets that way when I leave him for too long. He’ll get over it. I’ll go see him after I eat.”
“Are you going to take him out? Because I haven’t had a chance to clean your saddle yet and it’s absolutely caked in blood—”
“Ralphie will take care of it.”
“Ralphie?” Izzy lowered her spoon into her bowl of porridge, her heart plunging. “Your old squire?”
“He’s still fat, but Violence likes him.”
“But—”
“Now don’t get upset. But honestly I don’t really need a fit, fighting squire right now. I’m taking some time off. Going to be a proper queen for a bit and order others to kill for me. Just like your grandmum.”
Izzy sat back in her chair. “So it’s back to formation then? Just like that?” Gods! Where was the loyalty for duty served?
“Now don’t pout. And don’t whine. Besides,” the queen added, dropping her feet on the floor as a servant placed a steaming bowl of porridge on the table in front of her, “I don’t know any squire that has a rank of corporal. It would be unseemly. Nor do corporals go stomping around in formation, either.”
“Corporal?” Izzy sat up straight, eyes wide. “I’m . . . I’m a corporal?”
“You are now. Promotion effective immediately.”
“Brannie—”
“Her, too, but your grandfather is telling her. It’s all that Dragonwarrior stuff. And keep in mind, they’ll probably be sending her off to Anubail Mountain for that training of theirs in the next few years. You’ll need to make some other allies for when she’s gone. Brastias will let you know what your orders are in the next day or two.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m pretty sure, though, you’re going to be named team leader of one of the four-man
units going east in another month or two. But let Brastias tell you that and make sure to look surprised.” Her voice returned to normal. “And don’t worry about your mum. She’ll blame me anyway, and now that I’ve had some sleep, I think I’m up for a good, old-fashioned, verbal argument that doesn’t end with me taking anyone’s head.” She glanced off. “It’ll be a nice change.”
Izzy scrambled out of her chair and dived at Annwyl, almost knocking them both over, hugging her tight.
“Thank you, Annwyl!”
“You’ve earned this, Izzy.” She pushed Izzy back until she crouched in front of her. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, especially these last couple of years. You protected me, protected your comrades, and fought like one of the gods of war. You stuck with me when everyone else thought I’d completely gone round the bend and made sure I got back here alive and well to my children . . . to Fearghus. So thank you, Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith and Briec. Thank you for everything.”
“Annwyl—”
Brannie screaming Izzy’s name out in the courtyard cut off her next words and her queen grinned at her. “Go on. I’m sure your grandfather’s spoken to Brannie, and I know you two have some girlish squealing to do that will only manage to set my nerves on edge.”
Izzy nodded, then reached over and hugged Annwyl again, whispering, “I’m loyal to you until my last breath, my queen.”
“Gods, let’s hope that’s not for a very long time or I’ll never hear the end of it from your mother!”
Izzy laughed and Annwyl pushed her away. “Go. See Brannie before she pees her leggings in excitement.”
With a nod, Izzy ran out the Great Hall doors, stopping at the top of the stairs. Brannie stood at the bottom, the pair staring at each other. They’d been through much together and Izzy knew that over the next few years they’d be separated, sent off on different assignments, different missions. But they’d been a team that no one could touch and nothing would ever take away all they’d gone through.
