by G. A. Aiken
“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.”
Ren brushed his finger against Keita’s cheek, his teasing gone. “Are you all right, luv? Seeing him again?”
It had been Ren that Keita initially ran to when she’d left Ragnar the Cunning alone and bleeding in the forests outside Garbhán Isle. It had been Ren who listened to her rage until the cave walls around them shook. And it had been Ren who suggested that Keita go to Anubail Mountain to get some much-needed training in the fine art of fighting while human—the fact that that situation didn’t turn out well at all was, of course, not Ren’s fault. But that had been two years ago, and to be honest, Keita had sort of…well…
“You forgot about him, didn’t you?” Ren demanded.
“I had other things on my mind.”
“How do you do that? How do you just…let it go?”
Keita lifted her hands and dropped them. “What can I say? I’m much too beautiful and benevolent to hold grudges. Besides”—she took her friend’s arm—“isn’t being mad at a Northlander like being mad at a stampeding bull or a rabbit that keeps breeding or a startled bear that mauls?”
Ren gazed down at her. “Are you actually comparing a fellow dragon to dumb, mindless animals?”
Keita’s grin was wide as they headed back to the Northlanders. “Why yes, Ren. Yes, I am. And that’s what makes me so lovely—because I accept them despite their faults.”
“By the gods of thunder, Keita—you are giving.”
“I know!”
Chapter Five
Several hours later they landed in a dense forest in the Outerplains. An area Keita knew quite well. Too well. It was the place her aunt had chosen to live quietly and anonymously the last few centuries. The aunt her mother and court still considered a traitor.
Feeling a tinge of panic, she glanced at Ren, who could only shrug.
“Are we camping here for the night?” she asked the warlord while her baby brother went off in search of something warm and bloody for them all to eat. And, for the first time since they’d taken off from outside Bampour’s lands, Ragnar spoke to her. “Not unless we have to.”
“We’re just taking a break here then?”
“Yes.”
She waited for something more, but he ignored her after that, and began whispering to his brother. When he was done, Ragnar walked off, and Keita did not like the direction the Lightning went in.
Keita brushed up against Ren, appearing impossibly playful, her tail tugging with his. But as she giggled and teased, she leaned in and whispered, “Do you see where he’s headed?”
“Aye. I do.”
“I’ll kill him. You take care of the other two.” She started to follow after Ragnar, but Ren pulled her back.
“Are we still forced to have this conversation?”
“What would you suggest then, Duke No-Kill?”
“You delay King Big Head. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Fine.”
Ren kissed her cheek and backed away from her. He moved around until he caught the attention of the other two Lightnings. It wasn’t hard—they’d been watching Ren with something very close to fear since they’d first seen him. At least, as much fear as any Northlander was willing to show. All they knew was that Ren was different; and clearly different made them nervous.
While they watched, Ren leaned up against a small hill—and vanished.
“What the bloody—”
Knowing the Lightnings would spend ages searching for him, Keita followed after Ragnar.
Dagmar Reinholdt, also known as The Beast among her Northland kinsmen, went to the kennels to do a midday check on all the dogs. Her latest batch of puppies were doing well, and the men she’d handpicked to train and work the dogs during battle were better than she’d hoped.
Always thinking ahead, Dagmar planned to be prepared with strong battle dogs for the Southland Queen and her troops.
She ensured they had been fed, that all were looking healthy, and that they all had fresh water in their runs. Once she’d done all that, she walked down the line, speaking to each animal while noting any changes and thinking about their training.
But as she reached the last cage, the barking dogs, always so chatty when she was around, suddenly fell silent, and Dagmar felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up the slightest bit.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said after a moment.
“Do what?”
She faced the god behind her. Many gods enjoyed visiting her now, no matter how annoying Dagmar found their presence or how inane their conversation, but Eirianwen, human god and consort to dragon father god, Rhydderch Hael, liked to call Dagmar her “friend.” Which was strange since Dagmar still didn’t worship any god. They were simply too annoying to be worshipped. “Do not sneak up on me.”
“I’m a god, Dagmar. I don’t sneak up on anyone. It’s not my fault I can simply appear wherever I’d like.”
Dagmar’s head tilted to the side. “Where’s your arm?”
Eir examined her left shoulder. “Oh. Right. Lost it in a fight.” She shrugged with her right shoulder. “It’ll grow back.”
“How nice for you.”
Not the most pleasant thing to see before luncheon. Of course, it could be worse. A few months back, the god had shown up missing half her head. After Dagmar finished retching, though, they had a very nice conversation.
“So how goes it?” Eir asked.
“Well enough.”
“And your queen?”
Dagmar knew the sneaky cow wasn’t here merely to check up on her. “She’s fine.”
“Liar.”
“But you already knew that about me.”
“Excellent poin
t.” Eir walked over, a trail of shit and blood and mud left in her wake. She must have come right off a battlefield somewhere by the looks of her. “I thought I made it clear to you, my friend, that your queen needs to toughen up.”
Annoyed the god had the nerve to say that, Dagmar replied, “If she were any tougher, she’d be nothing but muscles, eyes, and a sword.”
“I don’t mean physically, and you know it.”
“She’s doing the best she can. You can’t actually blame her for worrying about her children. Not after what your consort did.”
“Don’t blame him.”
“Why not? This is his fault.”
“You still haven’t forgiven him, have you?”
“After throwing me to Minotaurs? You must be joking.”
“You humans take everything so damn personally.”
“When I’m thrown to Minotaurs—you’re right.”
“Fine. Be that way.” The door behind Dagmar opened, and Eir walked out, brushing past her.
Dagmar watched her and finally asked, “And where’s Nannulf?” She couldn’t think of a time that she’d seen the goddess without her loyal wolf-god companion.
“Off taking care of something.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Dagmar scowled. She didn’t like the sound of that whatsoever.
Ragnar tromped through the trees toward Esyld’s house. He hated doing this. He hated being the one to bring her back to Dark Plains. But he already had a plan.
Initially, he’d thought of telling Esyld to run and then reporting to Rhiannon that she wasn’t at her house. Yet he had a feeling the queen would never believe it and he still didn’t think the Horde was ready to get on her bad side. Plus, there was the risk that Esyld wouldn’t run. She had that air about her. As if she was determined to stand her ground. He admired that about her.
So his next option wasn’t perfect but better than nothing. He’d offer to argue her case before Rhiannon and the Southland Elders. He knew a bit of Fire Breather law, and with a good friend’s help—at least he hoped they were still friends—Ragnar felt certain he could build a solid case that would protect Esyld.
Yes, it seemed the most fair and logical thing to do, and all he needed was for Esyld not to worry. Not easy, he was sure, but he would do everything he could to keep her safe. Because if Rhiannon really did want her sister dead, she would have sent her mate’s kin to retrieve Esyld rather than him.
