by G. A. Aiken
The Red tried again to pass Ragnar, his rage exploding when Ragnar shoved him back, determined to keep him away from Keita.
The Red swung his fist at Ragnar, but a black-scaled claw closed around it before it could connect, black talons engulfing red ones and squeezing.
The sound of cracking and breaking bones echoed through the now-silent hall. Having met the black dragon once before, Ragnar recognized the Queen’s consort and Keita’s father. Bercelak the Great, as he was known in the South—in the North he was still called Bercelak the Vengeful and Bercelak the Murdering Rat Bastard Scum—did not warn others off. It simply wasn’t in his nature, although Ragnar guessed that was especially true when it came to Bercelak’s daughters.
The older dragon, without saying a word, kept up the pressure on that red claw until he’d completely crushed it, leaving the Red weeping like a babe on the fur-covered floor. The Fire Breather’s gaze moved from the sobbing noble to Ragnar. He studied him closely with those cold black eyes before motioning to a set of stairs. “My Queen waits for you, Lightning. She doesn’t like to wait.”
Now Ragnar remembered why striking directly at Queen Rhiannon’s court was something even his father had avoided. Not because of the nobles—they seemed relatively worthless—but because of their battle dogs: Lord Bercelak and the Cadwaladr Clan.
The nobles should be grateful for the presence of the low-born dragons, because they were the only ones who kept the wolves from the door, to use a common human phrase.
Ragnar moved around the Queen’s consort and walked up another set of stairs. At the top stood the Blue and Keita. She waited until Ragnar was in front of her and her brother entered the next chamber.
“He seemed attached, that Red,” Ragnar observed, looking over his shoulder to see the Queen’s consort eyeing everyone until they looked away.
“Don’t blame me,” Keita contested. “I promised neither him nor DeLaval anything and was very honest from the beginning about what they would get from me.” She reached up and brushed her claws against Ragnar’s shoulders as if she was wiping away lint on clothes he wasn’t wearing. “Most appreciate my honesty, but there are some who think they can get around that, that they can change my mind.” She looked up at him through her lashes, and he knew this was more about him than that idiot Red or DeLaval.
“Some of us at least have to try, my lady. But there’s a definite line between being determined and just being a pushy prat.”
Keita laughed and headed into the next chamber. “I’m glad to see that you apparently know the difference.”
Keita stepped into the chamber. This one had a few nobles but many more of her father’s Clan in attendance, which, in her mind, always explained the presence of more weapons and guards and less high-priced royal trappings.
Instantly, Keita saw her mother at the other end of the hall. The queen had her arms around Éibhear, hugging him to her.
“My sweet, sweet hatchling,” Rhiannon crooned. “I’m so glad to have you home, safe and alive.”
“I missed you, Mum.”
“And I missed you.” For the first time with any of her offspring, Queen Rhiannon raised herself on the tips of her talons in order to reach Éibhear’s forehead and kiss it. Then she kissed each cheek before pulling back and looking him over. “By the gods, son. You’ve gotten huge! You’re looking more and more like your grandfather every day.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
Crystal blue eyes focused past Éibhear and onto Keita. Mother and daughter’s gazes locked, the same way they had—rumor had it—when Keita broke out of her shell at hatching. It was said that although Keita had no fire at the time, she sent a ball of smoke at her mother’s head. Something Queen Rhiannon had yet to forgive her second-hatched daughter for.
As always, Keita braced herself for what was about to happen, which was the same thing that happened every time mother and daughter met. The same horrifying, ridiculous display that, if unleashed, could destroy the innocent minds of an entire countryside of peasants.
“Remember, warlord,” she softly warned Ragnar, watching her mother step around Éibhear and move toward her, “that no matter what you see here, I am no more or less than what you thought of me before.”
“What in all the hells does that mean?”
Keita let out a breath. “You’ll see.”
Rhiannon, still safely across the hall, lifted her mighty white head, pulled her lips back over bright white fangs, opened her arms, and cried out, “Keita! My lovely daughter!”
Keita opened her arms and shouted back, “Mumsy!”
Ragnar watched in fascination as the two females moved across the hall and made what seemed to be an attempt to hug each other but then not quite bothering. Instead they kept their arms held out and kissed the air around each other’s heads rather than cheeks.
Rhiannon stepped back and, looking her daughter over, said, “Keita. Look at you. You look absolutely…” Ragnar waited for the queen to finish that compliment, but instead she finished with, “You!”
“Mumsy,” Keita replied, the queen’s eye twitching the tiniest bit. “Look at all that beautiful gray in your hair. It really does fit your face…now.”
“And you, my sweetest daughter. With all that fiery red hair! Like a blessing from the gods!” She lowered her voice—a little. “It seems they even blessed your chin a bit.”
“Nothing that can’t be plucked away! Like you do with your chest!”
Smiles still firmly in place, the two females looked at each other and said as one, “You!”
“Don’t I get a hug?” Bercelak asked from beside Ragnar, and the smile that was on Keita’s face now was as warm and true as any he’d seen from her before.
She ran back across the hall and into her father’s arms, each hugging the other tight.
But it was while he had his daughter in his embrace that the queen’s consort mouthed at She Who Rules These Lands, Be nice!
The queen shrugged and mouthed back, I am!
When Keita stepped away from her father, the queen motioned to the Blue beside her. When Bercelak said nothing, the queen gestured again until her consort let out a great sigh and mumbled, “Boy.” The queen scowled at her mate, and Bercelak added, “Glad you’re home.”
The Blue’s eyes crossed. “Gee. Thanks, Dad.”
Queen Rhiannon patted her son’s shoulder. “Now I have to talk to Lord Ragnar for a bit. So why don’t you and your father go chat?”
Ragnar had to quickly look away because the expression of pure panic on the Blue’s face was so hilarious he knew he would be unable to keep the laughter in if he kept watching.
“Talk?” the Blue asked, his voice nearly cracking.
“Yes.” She pushed her hatchling toward Bercelak. “We won’t be long.” She motioned to Ragnar with a snowy-white talon, and he moved across the hall, those in the chamber watching him closely. Again, he was reminded that the royals weren’t the worry when it came to the Southlanders. It was these dragons. All of them—even the females—were warriors, fighters, killers.
He’d neared the queen when she said, “You stay, too, Keita.”
Keita stumbled on her claws; she’d been following her father and brother out. “Me? Why?”
The queen laughed, placing her claw on Ragnar’s forearm. “Isn’t she funny, my little hurricane wind? Pretending she doesn’t know how to follow orders from her queen. She always makes me laugh.”
Bercelak motioned to his daughter and, her shoulders slumping a little, Keita walked toward her mother and together the three of them moved into the queen’s private chamber.
Chapter Fourteen
Queen Rhiannon, ruler of all Southland dragons, dropped down onto her throne and gazed at her daughter and the handsome Northland dragon with her. “So where is my sister?”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the Northlander replied, “but when I arrived she wasn’t there.”
“I see. She just disappeared, then?”
Keita snorted. “More like she escaped before you could get your claws on her.”
Rhiannon snarled a little at her brat, but the Lightning quickly stepped in front of her. When she heard Keita gasp and demand, “What do you think you’re doing?” Rhiannon had to fight hard not to giggle.
“From what we could tell, Lady Esyld had not been in that house for some time, Your Majesty.”
“There was nothing that told you where she might have gone?”
“We looked. There was nothing.”
“Was she captured?”
“Wouldn’t you know that, Mother?” Keita demanded behind the Dragonlord.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
Keita walked around Ragnar. “It means, how long did you know she was there? How long have you been plotting to have her killed?”
“Your Majesties—” the Lightning began, but Rhiannon cut him off with one raised white talon.
“I knew she was there from the first time you went to see her. Was it worth it?” Rhiannon demanded. “Betraying me for that backstabbing little whore?”
The brat sighed out of pure boredom. “I never betrayed you, Mother.”
“You knew where she was, Keita. You never said a word. Not even to your brothers.”
“I didn’t see a point. She wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“That doesn’t matter, you twit! You knew where a suspected traitor was, and you said nothing. You’ve broken the law. You’ve put yourself and your kin at risk. Why? To protect a female who wants me dead?”
“Och! If you feel that way, call a meeting of the Elder Council, have them find me guilty of treachery, have me sent to the Desert Mines.”
“I should do that. It wouldn’t be any less than you deserve!”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Keita demanded, holding out her front claws. “Have your guards take me away and let us end this ridiculous conversation!”
Annoyed as only her damn daughter could annoy her, Rhiannon slapped Keita’s arms down—and Keita slapped her back across the shoulder. Mouth open, stunned her daughter would do that to her own mother, much less the queen, Rhiannon stood and slapped Keita’s shoulder. They were in full slapping swing by the time the Lightning pushed his way between them.
“That is enough!” he bellowed, shoving the females apart. “Both of you cut it out! I’ve never seen mother and daughter act like this before. You two bite at each other like snakes in a pit!”
Rhiannon’s guards burst into the chamber, led by Bercelak, but she held up her claw. “It’s fine, my love.”
“Rhiannon—”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Go back and talk to your son.”
Bercelak’s eyes crossed. “Must I?”
“Bercelak!”
“All right, all right.”
Her consort grudgingly left with the rest of Rhiannon’s guard.
“My, my,” Rhiannon said once the three were alone again, slowly walking around the Northlander, “my little lightning bolt has a bit of a temper.”
“He does,” her daughter chimed in, walking around Ragnar as well. Keita’s anger, as always, quickly forgotten. It was a gift none of Rhiannon’s other offspring possessed.
As they moved around the suddenly tense Dragonlord, the pair grinned at each other as if they shared a delicious secret. Her daughter truly liked this one; Rhiannon could tell. “When he gets really frustrated,” Keita explained, “he says horrible things. But he apologizes and takes a punch to the face from a protective brother like a true dragon should.”
“That’s very nice to hear. Nothing is worse than those who will not apologize. Of course, I never apologize, but I don’t have to. I’m the queen!”
Ragnar was dragon enough to admit he was unnerved by the two She-dragons circling him like a wounded bear.
“What else have you noticed about him?” the queen asked her daughter.
“He broods sometimes. But not enough to make him painfully boring. He’s very loyal to his brother and cousin. And he’s more powerful than he’s willing to admit.”
“So he’s not a show-off then?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
“Or like his father?”
“Ewww. Gods, no.”
“More like your mother then?” the queen asked him, her spike-tipped tail brushing his shoulder. “She raised you better perhaps. I knew she would.”
Ragnar studied the queen. “You knew my mother?”
“I knew her quite well. Her disappearance from her kin’s cave was what began the war between our people during my mother’s reign.”
“I’d heard that.”
“So you’re a Southlander as much as a Northlander.”
Ragnar couldn’t help but smirk. “We’re not raised that way. No matter where your mother may come from, you are your father’s child—a Northlander.”
“With all those codes and rules and dying with honor?”
“And purple scales and lightning. It’s all part of the package.”
Rhiannon smiled at him. She was large for a dragoness. Nearly his height and width. Her daughter, much smaller, stood by her mother’s side now, appearing tiny in comparison, her dark-red scales bright beside her mother’s white ones.
“Tell me, Keita…can this Northlander be trusted?”
To Ragnar’s surprise, Keita answered without hesitation, “Aye. He can.”
Unable not to ask the question, he put in, “How can you say that about me?”
“Because I know, and be grateful I do, warlord. It’s the only reason you’re still alive.” Keita abruptly turned to her mother. “How long have you known?”
The queen placed a talon to her lips to silence her daughter and said softly to Ragnar, “Seal the room.”
Ragnar had no idea what was going on between the royals, but he did as the queen bade. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Gods, child. The Dragonlord is powerful.”
“Told you.”
“Aye, daughter, but I thought you were talking about these mighty shoulders of his.” Rhiannon returned to her throne. “How much time, my dark cloud?”
“Ten minutes. But less if you insist on using all those nicknames.”
“I love your nicknames, my swirling tornado.” She sat down on her throne, gazed at her daughter. “What was your question again?”
“How long have you known?” Keita repeated.
“About you?” The queen let out a little laugh. “That’s simple, child—I’ve known since you killed my brother.”
The thought of running crossed Keita’s mind, but she’d never give her mother the satisfaction.
“Which brother?”
“Let’s not play games, child. At least two of them!” Rhiannon’s laugh rang out, and she clapped her front claws together. “Don’t let her beauty and seemingly intense lack of brains confuse you, Lord Ragnar. My second-born daughter is nothing like what she seems.”
“What I did, Mumsy”—and she loved how her mother’s eye twitched when she called her that—“I did to—”
“Yes. I know. You did it to protect the throne. And what I’m about to ask you to do is so that you may continue protecting the throne.”
“Which is what exactly?”
“Someone will approach you, daughter, with an offer. You are to accept it.”
“What kind of offer?”
Rhiannon grinned. “To be the next Dragon Queen.”
“Oh.” Keita glanced at Ragnar, her brown eyes crossing. “Right.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Oh, no, no. There are lots who want to see me as queen. I hear it all the time. Of course, that’s usually from drunk males trying to look up my tail.”
“Keita, you’ve managed to hide the truth about yourself very well. Most of the human nobles don’t know you’re a dragon or of your connections to Annwyl. And the dragons think you’d love to see me dead.”
“Well—” Keita began, but Ragnar’s tail slammed into her ass, cutting her off. “What
I mean is,” she quickly corrected while glaring at him, “the dragons think I’m vapid and stupid and vain. So who in their right mind would think to make me queen?”
Ragnar answered instead of Rhiannon. “Someone who wants complete control of the throne and the Southland dragons.”
Rhiannon raised a claw to him. “See how smart he is? Smart and handsome and—”
“Your brothers are too independent and too loyal to their mother,” Ragnar cut in, interrupting her mother’s list of his attributes, and for a second there, Keita adored him like the suns. “And your sister—”
“Right,” Keita said, sniffing in annoyance. “She’s perfect and would never do such a thing.” Her sister’s perfection was something Keita had heard about since hatching.
“About her perfection, I do not know. But with her powers, she’s too dangerous. She’d have to be killed as well.”
“Lovely.” And Keita couldn’t help feeling a little depressed. “Everyone thinks that I’d betray my entire family to their deaths so I can have,” she sneered, “that.”
“I adore my rock,” the queen said, shifting around on it. “I look very regal on it.”
“Pardon my questions—”
“No, no, Lord Ragnar. Ask. We may not have time like this again before this all plays out.”
“It just seems a dangerous situation to put your daughter in, my lady.” And Keita felt her heart stutter a little before she remembered that all Northlands males were protective of females in that way.
“Oh, but my daughter lives for risk. Don’t you, Keita?”
Knowing exactly where Rhiannon was about to go, Keita said, “Mother—”
“Now, now. There’s no shame on your part, child. Everything my Keita has done has been in service to my throne. For instance, my brother Oissine, who’d fled to Alsandair after I became queen, had hired assassins to kill me. Too bad about that food poisoning, eh?” Then she winked at Keita.
Mortified, Keita sighed, “Oh, Mother.”
“And Muiredach, brother number two, had gone into the Northlands. It took her some time to track him down, but she must not have liked what she saw or heard when she found him because he seemed to have had a tragic fall off one of those Northland mountains of yours, young Ragnar. He was so high up, apparently, that it was a fall no dragon could survive…drunk and unconscious, that is. Tell me, Keita, did you use your father’s ale to get him that drunk before you shoved him off that mountain? Or did you find that stash of your grandfather’s drink that we keep when we need to strip skin off a horse carcass?”
