by Larissa Ione
But she did.
Ghleanna waited outside the Queen’s Privy Chamber, not surprised when she heard her brother’s roar and the silver-haired royal slid-stumbled into the alcove, shoved there, no doubt by her intolerant kin.
“What were you thinking?” Ghleanna asked Bram without rancor. “Hugging her like that?”
“I didn’t hug her. She hugged me!”
“Uh-huh.”
A squeal came from the chamber and Rhiannon called out, “Bercelak! Put me down, you low-born bastard!” Although she didn’t sound nearly as angry as she wanted to.
“We better go,” Ghleanna offered, heading down the alcove.
“Yes, but—”
“No, Bercelak!” the queen cried out. “Not the collar! Not the chain! You bastard!”
“Stand there any longer, royal, and you’ll get a visual you’ll not forget for a very long while.”
Bram rushed up behind her, his eyes focused on the ground, his silver scales nearly glowing from embarrassment.
“That was . . . awkward.”
“Get used to it. Them two like to play their games.” Ghleanna shrugged. “And who are we to stop them? If it makes them happy.”
“I don’t mind what they do together. I just hate it when they involve the rest of us.”
“Then you shouldn’t be hugging the queen.”
“I didn’t hug the bloody queen!”
“If you want to believe that.”
Once out of the court, they headed to one of the exits that would lead them from Devenallt Mountain, the long-time Southland Dragon power stronghold and home to their reigning monarch.
“Look,” Ghleanna continued, “all I’m saying is that you’re my responsibility until this gets done. So perhaps you could not get me and yourself killed in the process. But especially me. I’m the most important.”
“I’ll do my best and yes, you heard sarcasm.”
Ghleanna stopped and faced the royal she was tasked with protecting. He was taller than she, but so were her brothers, and she could take most of them in a fight. And she had, too.
“Listen well to me, Bram the Silver. You may be of royal blood, but I’m a Cadwaladr who’s been given the task of keeping your peacemaking ass alive for the next few weeks, which means that until we return, you belong to me. So do us both a favor and don’t piss me off. I’d hate to return to your beloved queen with only your head in tow, your body and that precious alliance you’re so eager to have the Sand Eaters sign left back in the Desert Lands—both torn to shreds by me.”
He glared at her for what felt like several minutes until the royal snapped, “Damn that female, but she was right!”
And when Bram the Merciful stormed off, muttering to himself, Ghleanna could only shake her head and follow, readying herself for a deadly long trip she was not looking forward to at all.
Chapter 2
Ghleanna stood outside Bram’s home. She was allowing him time to pick up a few things before they got underway, and she was quite surprised.
“It’s a castle.”
“It is,” he said, digging through his travel bag for who knew what while walking across the small courtyard. They’d shifted to human and put on clothes a few miles back and Ghleanna realized she’d forgotten how attractive Bram was as human. Actually . . . very attractive. Long silver hair framed his handsome face and brought out the deep blue of his eyes. His nose was flat and a little wide, making her want to poke at it with her finger; his lips full; his jaw square; and his hands and fingers long and elegant. He was as tall as Addolgar but not nearly as wide. It was clear he spent no long hours working with any weapon except the one he had attached to his shoulders, but he wasn’t so thin that he looked emaciated or weak. There was some muscle there—very nice muscle.
“Why?” she asked, gazing up at the tower attached to the castle. It wasn’t a large building and it was a bit rundown, but it could last through a battle or two as the spears embedded in the castle wall and the bit of damage done to the gate could attest.
“Why what?” Honestly, was the dragon listening to her at all?
“Why do you live in a castle?” She thought only her father did that, Ailean the Wicked even going so far as to raise his offspring in one.
“I work with as many humans as dragons.” He tripped on his way through the doorway, but seemed to barely notice and she briefly wondered if he did it every time he walked through there. “And humans simply don’t feel comfortable coming to a cave to discuss business of any kind.”
They walked into the hall and Bram finally looked up from his bag.
“Charles?” he called out. “Are you here?”
A human ran in from the back somewhere.
“I’m here, my Lord. I’m here!”
“It’s Bram, Charles. You can call me Bram.”
“Of course, my Lord. Uh . . . my Lord Bram.”
Bram sighed and she knew he’d immediately given up.
“I need my papers for the Alsandair trip.”
“Yes, my Lord . . . uh . . . Lord Bram . . . uh . . .”
“And that book on etiquette of the Desert Lands. I should refresh my memory.”
“Oy,” Ghleanna finally cut in. “Don’t bring a whole bloody library. I’ll not be carrying all that bloody crap there and back.”
“I think I can manage a few books and papers by myself, Captain.”
“You better,” she muttered.
Bram faced her. “Are you going to be this difficult the entire trip?”
“Probably.”
“Lovely.”
He motioned to a large table covered in papers and books; then she noticed that nearly every wall in the hall had floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and scrolls, but especially books. More books than she’d ever seen before in her life. She thought her mum had a lot—she didn’t. And Ghleanna had a feeling there were even more books within the castle and the attached tower.
Gods, had he read all these books? Was it possible? He hadn’t been alive for that long.
“You can sit there. I won’t be long,” he said while still searching through that blasted bag.
“Good. I want to meet with my brothers before the suns go down.”
The dragon stopped, peered at her. “Whatever for?”
She frowned. Didn’t they just have this conversation on the way here? “Because they’re coming with us . . . to protect you? Remember?”
“Dammit, I’d put it out of my mind.”
More like he’d hoped she’d changed hers. “It’s better to be protected by five Cadwaladrs than just one.”
“Perhaps, but your brothers hate me.”
“Only Bercelak.”
“No. I’m certain they all hate me.”
“Don’t be so full of yourself—my brothers barely know you exist.”
Now he looked insulted. “So I’m meaningless?”
“To a Cadwaladr . . . yes.”
“Then I’m so glad it’s the Cadwaladrs protecting me.” And that sarcasm lashed across the room.
“You don’t have to take it so personally. Most royals don’t matter to us. So you don’t especially not exist to us. You’re just one of many royals that don’t exist to us.”
“Is any of that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Thought it might help.”
“It didn’t.”
“I hope you don’t always take things so personally. It’ll be a long trip for us both if you do.”
“Thanks so much for the warning.” He dug through his travel bag again. “Blast and damnation! I can’t find—”
“The terms of your proposed alliance agreement?” Charles asked, holding out a scroll to the royal.
“Oh,” Bram said, taking the scroll. “There it is.”
With a weary sigh, Ghleanna dropped into a chair and put her feet up on the table.
“Oh, my Lady!” Charles cried, horrified. “Please.” He rushed to the table and carefully lifted Ghleanna’s boot-s
hod feet so he could remove the books and papers from under them.
“Sorry, Charlie,” Ghleanna said with a smile. “And you can call me Ghleanna. I’m not a royal like Bram over there.”
“Of course, my Lady . . . uh . . . Lady Gh—I mean ... uh . . .”
“Or just Captain. You can call me Captain.”
Appearing heartily relieved at being able to use a title, Charles smiled and said, “Yes, Captain.”
Once he’d cleaned off the area, he returned her feet to their proper place.
“There you go, Captain.” He turned back to Bram. “I’ll gather all you require, my Lord.”
“Excellent.”
Ghleanna waited until Charles had rushed off before she asked, “Does he know then? What we are?”
“He knows what I am—and I’m sure he’s guessed about you. I simply don’t have time to run around hiding that particular fact from my assistant.” Bram leaned against the table and asked Ghleanna, “Now, what about your battalion?”
“What about them?”
“Can’t a few of them accompany us?”
“Are we here again? My brothers do not hate you,” she insisted.
“They don’t exactly respect me either.”
“They don’t respect anyone but our mother.”
“Well, I understand that. Your mother’s amazing.”
“I know.” Amazing and smart enough not to be taken as a fool by any male. She’d made Ailean work for her love, and work he did. “And I’m nothing like her.”
“You have her freckles.”
“You mean these bloody dots on my face?” She swiped at her face with her hands.
“You can’t rub them off, Ghleanna,” Bram told her with a laugh.
“I know. I know. I just hate having them.”
“I like them.” And he smiled a little. Was he laughing at her?
“Yeah . . . well . . .” She lowered her hands, forcing herself not to act so self-conscious. “You don’t have to live with them.”
He continued to stare at her, making her nervous, when he finally observed, “You’re letting your hair grow out.”
“What? Oh.” She refused to run her hands through her hair. “Haven’t had much call lately to keep it short.”
She shrugged and pulled out one of the blades she kept in her boot. “Guess I can do that now.”
He caught hold of her hand. “What are you planning to do with that?”
“Cut my hair. You were the one complaining about it.”
“I didn’t complain.”
“Then you dislike my hair when it’s short?”
“That isn’t what I meant either.”
She threw up her hands. “Then what the bloody hells did you mean?”
The royal’s blue eyes briefly flared before he closed them and let out a breath. “You do wear the scales off my hide.”
She knew that—enjoyed doing it, too. And that was wrong, wasn’t it?
“Charles!” he suddenly bellowed, and the human charged back into the hall a few moments later.
“Yes, my Lord . . . Bram . . . my Lord Bram . . . Lord—”
“Please take the Captain to one of the rooms so that she can freshen up.” He wrestled the blade from her hand, making Ghleanna laugh. She hadn’t laughed so in ages. It felt nice. “Perhaps you can also cut her hair. She prefers it short.” He handed the blade to poor, confused Charles.
“Of course, my Lord . . . uh . . .”
“Do we have time for all that?” Ghleanna demanded.
“We do now.” The royal turned his back on her, tossing over his shoulder, “I’ll be in my study. Get me when she’s done.”
Ghleanna waited until the dragon was out of earshot. “Is he always so short of temper and patience?” she asked the servant.
“No, Captain. In fact, Lord Bram is considered the most patient and caring of beings in all the Southlands.”
“Huh . . . must be me then.”
Instead of trying to convince her that that was inaccurate, Charles pointed to an alcove that would lead to the tower. “This way, Captain.”
Bram had nearly all he needed and was searching for some notes that he’d taken at the last Elder meeting he attended. A few additional codicils they wanted to add to the final alliance.
When he couldn’t find them, Bram called out, “Charles!” and turned, only to come face to face with Ghleanna. How long she’d been standing behind him, Bram had no idea. But at least this was the Ghleanna he knew so well. Her chainmail had been cleaned and polished, a dark blue surcoat over that with her sword tied to her waist and her two battle axes strapped to her back. Her leather boots had been cleaned and buffed and her black hair cut back to its usual length right below her ears. She had her arms folded across her chest and her legs braced apart.
This . . . this was the Dragonwarrior he knew. The Decimator. Bram didn’t realize how much he’d missed her until she’d been gone.
“That was quick,” Bram said when he realized he was gazing at her like a lovesick schoolboy.
She blinked. “Quick? It’s been four hours. Maybe a little more.”
“Oh? Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“Hadn’t noticed,” he muttered and walked around her to return to his desk. “We can go in a few minutes.”
“If we leave now we won’t get very far.”
Bram sighed. “So we’ve already lost a day of travel?”
“You were the one who didn’t want to be seen with me and my unruly hair.”
“I never said that! And I don’t see why we can’t at least get started. I just need to find the blasted . . . Charles!”
Charles rushed in. “My Lord?”
“My notes from the last Elder meeting? I can’t find them any—”
Charles pulled the scrolls out from the pile on the desk and held them out to Bram.
Bram took the scrolls and shoved them into his travel bag. “Thank you.”
“Of course, my Lord . . . Lord Bram . . . uh . . .”
“I shouldn’t be gone too long on this trip,” he went on.
“But if I am, don’t worry. My sister will be checking in quite often.”
“Very good sir.”
Pulling the strap of his bag across his shoulder, Bram walked out of his study and headed for the front door.
“Don’t forget,” he informed Charles, “to pull together the research on the pirate attacks at the ports going up the coast. I’m supposed to meet with Duke Picton regarding that soon.”
“I’ve already started, my Lord.”
“Good. I’ll need to deal with that when I get back.” He stopped at the doorway leading to his small and very unkempt courtyard. He’d really have to get someone to clean it. He couldn’t ask Charles to do it himself. Bram needed him on more important matters at the moment—and didn’t he have a much bigger staff who handled these sorts of things? Maybe not . . .
Bram glanced around, then demanded, “Blast! Where is that female?”
“Right in front of you.”
Bram nearly jumped out of his frail human skin when he realized that Ghleanna had gotten around him somehow.
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Sneak around.”
“Do you mean walk around? Because that’s what I actually did. I usually crouch more when I sneak—and then I kill someone.”
Deciding not to argue with her, Bram bid Charles farewell and left the castle.
“I guess we still have to pick up your brothers.”
“We do.”
“Where are they?”
“The Battle of Fychan.”
“And how far away is that?” he asked Ghleanna. “Is it a long flight? Will we make it there tonight?”
They now stood outside his castle walls and Ghleanna gazed at him.
“What?” he asked, beginning to run out of patience.
Staring at him strangely, she said, “They’re at the Bolver Fiel
ds. You know . . . the Battle of Fychan.”
“Right. Right. You already said that. And I asked how far off is that?”
Her gaze narrowed a bit. “Really?”
“Really what?”
She took hold of his arm and headed west.
“Where are we going?” he asked. “We’re not going to fly? Won’t walking to a battlefield be a bit dangerous?” At least for him.
He asked questions but Ghleanna didn’t answer. But when they were about a half-mile from his castle, she led him up a ridge that overlooked the valley beneath.
A valley filled with the dead and dying of what appeared to be a long-running battle.
“Right outside your door,” she told him, staring at him with what could be either awe, pity, or disgust. “The Battle of Fychan has been outside your door for at least eight months. Everyone else in the nearby town as well as your servants, have abandoned the area except for you and poor Charles, who didn’t want to leave your precious books and papers unattended. I do hope you pay that lad well.”
“You know . . .” Bram gazed out over the battlefield. “Thought I heard some screams . . . a few times. But I’ve been so busy.”
She released his arm and, while shaking her head, walked off down the hill and to the field below.
“Come on, peacemaker. Let’s get my brothers. We can debate when we need to start later.”
Morbidly embarrassed but not willing to admit it, Bram followed Ghleanna onto the battlefield.
Chapter 3
“Good gods, you look like cold shit.”
Ghleanna gazed at her brother and again wondered why she hadn’t smashed his bloody egg when she had the chance. Her mother would have eventually forgiven her.
“Thank you, brother. And you look fat and happy. Having an easy time of it here, are you?”
“Fat? Fat?” He speared the moaning human at his feet. “How dare you! My human form is in fighting trim, you callous cow.”
“If you say so.”
Addolgar glanced at the royal standing behind her. “Something’s attached itself to you, sister.” He shook the human remains off the spear he held. “Should I kill it for you?”
Ghleanna reached back and caught Bram’s hand before he could walk off. She sensed him leaving and didn’t really blame him, but still . . . he had to learn to toughen up. Then again, Addolgar did have a reputation among the royals as an intolerant bastard who’d kill without a second’s thought or remorse. A reputation that, in some situations, was quite accurate.
