by G. A. Aiken
Ren jerked forward, his chest bending over his knees while he gasped for breath, the jeweler watching him but not making a move to help.
“Keita,” Ren gasped out, “is not going to be happy when she finds out that prick followed us.”
Then he laughed, because it had been a long time since anyone, much less a barbarian, had managed to surprise him.
Keita had been searching Fenella’s largest bookstore for nearly twenty minutes for her old friend and mentor Gorlas, and was moments from giving up. Perhaps he’d gone out for a bit.
Remembering her one year at the university here, Keita smiled. She came as human, her mother sending her off in the hope that her youngest daughter might have some skill other than seducing a few of the Elders’ sons and grandsons. Although Keita had a wonderful time that year, she didn’t attend many classes—except for the one with that very attractive professor. Of course, when she was caught bent over that professor’s desk, her robes tossed over her head…well, that had been the end of that, hadn’t it?
But that had been, what? Seventy-five years ago? Give or take a few years. And that very attractive professor had died nearly twenty years back from old age.
It was Keita’s little secret, but that’s what she adored about the humans. In short time, they left this world for the next, and new ones came along quickly to replace them—unlike the dragons that Keita had bedded, who, half a century later were still writing her long missives of their undying love and what great fathers they’d make for her offspring, blah, blah, blah. She wasn’t ashamed to admit, when her past dragon lovers became a little too insistent, she had no problems unleashing her brothers or father on them. At least then they only lost a wing or a foot. She herself couldn’t promise to be so kind. Keita never liked being pushed.
Deciding to try the first floor again, Keita returned to the stairs to head back down until she heard a bang followed by a “Gods-dammit!”
Keita walked over to the front desk and went behind it but found no one there. Then she studied the round tables that were usually filled each night with local students, and that’s when she heard a sneeze. She crouched down on the floor, looking under the tables.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
The elf under the table, surrounded by books and wiping his nose with a handkerchief, looked up. “Keita?”
“Are you comfortable under there, my lord?”
“Keita!” The elf tried to stand, slammed his head, and sat back down.
“Oh, Gorlas! My heart of hearts. Are you all right?” Laughing, she crawled under several tables to get to him. He pouted, and she pulled his head to her breast and petted the spot where he’d slammed it. Rumor was Gorlas was nearly a thousand years old, but he looked only to be thirty-five or so. “Your poor head. I don’t know how it handles the abuse.”
“It’s not only dragons with hard heads, my dear Keita. We elves are known for them.” He pulled back and studied her. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for information.”
“About?”
“My aunt. Esyld.”
“Oh. Of course.” Gorlas rubbed his sore head. “Found out about her lover then, did you?” And when Keita only stared at him, his smile faded, and he said, “Or…perhaps not.”
“Brother Ragnar!”
“Brother Simon.” Ragnar allowed the human monk to hug him. “It’s been a long time, brother.”
“It has. It has.” Simon pulled back and frowned. “Good gods, man, you haven’t changed in forty years.”
“A blessing from our patron gods, brother. They’ve been kind to me.”
“I see that.” Simon shook his head and offered Ragnar a seat in his den.
Ragnar, worried the weak wood chair wouldn’t be able to hold his human frame, sat down gingerly. He currently wore the robes of the Order of the Knowledge. A well-known and powerful Northland order whose members rarely left their precious Spikenhammer Library. And since Brother Simon’s Order of the Shining Suns rarely traveled farther than Fenella’s city borders, Ragnar always felt safe presenting himself as a Knowledge member. He’d found throughout his more than two centuries that traveling as a monk was often the safest way to get around. Thieves and brigands rarely challenged him or those who traveled with him, because monks were notoriously poor and all about their gods and being pious.
“So what brings you here, brother?” Simon asked, lifting a decanter of wine.
“No thank you, brother. And I’m actually only passing through. But I did have a question and I knew you were the one who could answer it. If that’s all right with you, of course.”
“Of course indeed, brother!”
Forty years and, except for physically, Simon had not changed. He enjoyed being the source of all knowledge so much that he never thought too much about whom he told things to. He just liked that he’d been asked.
“I’m wondering about a bookstore.”
Simon picked up his chalice of wine and chuckled. “You’ll have to be more specific than that, brother. Fenella has many bookstores.”
“An extremely large one. Over on Saxton Street.”
“Ah, yes. Owned by an elf, I believe.”
“An elf?” Ragnar tried to emulate the sense of surprise he’d felt earlier when he’d seen an elf with his arm around Keita’s shoulders, the pair of them heading to the back of the store. First Ragnar at the fair, now this elf. Honestly, was there any male that She-dragon didn’t make it her business to seduce? “In the city?”
“There are no problems with elves here in Fenella. Gorlas is his name, and he’s a nice enough chap. One of the few bookstore owners who allows our young brothers to spend hours browsing without making them buy anything.”
“And is there anything else?”
Simon frowned a bit. “Anything else?”
“Well, when I went in there, I had a”—Ragnar looked up at the ceiling as if trying to get the answer from one of his gods, always nice for dramatic effect when dealing with monks—“sense of something. Something beneath the surface.”
Simon pursed his lips. “Well…there are always rumors.”
“Oh? What kind of rumors?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I’m sure.”
“And you know I don’t like to spread rumor or gossip.”
“Of course not, brother. And I only ask because I sense the gods are trying to tell me something. I’m just not sure what. But I knew if there was one person who could help…it was Brother Simon.”
“Oh. Well.” It was sad, really. How the monk couldn’t resist the compliment. Which was why Ragnar used the man for information, but never returned the favor. At least not with any information that could do any real damage.
Simon leaned forward, and Ragnar did the same. “There have been rumors.”
“Yes?”
“That that particular bookstore is a cover for—”
“An orgy den? A prostitution ring? A sex-slave commune?”
Simon blinked. “Uh…no.”
Feeling foolish, Ragnar explained, “Sorry. Again, it was that sense I got.”
“I understand, but it’s nothing that interesting, I’m afraid, brother. Actually, the rumors I’ve heard are almost silly, but…I have heard it said that the bookstore is a cover, or a front, you might say…for a guild.”
“A thief’s guild?” Ragnar asked bluntly, thinking of Keita’s constantly growing wardrobe.
“No, no. A spy guild.”
Ragnar sat up straight, his chair making noises that suggested it wouldn’t last much longer, but Ragnar didn’t care. He was too blindsided by Brother Simon’s words. “A spy guild?”
“Aye. But as I said, it’s just a rumor.”
Just a rumor indeed. Yet a rumor that Princess Keita would easily believe. And he knew why, too. Because she probably liked the idea of bedding spies. Spies who could use her to find out information about the courts of the two queens. He wanted to ask, “Could she be
so stupid not to see that?” But then he already had the answer to that question, didn’t he? She was too stupid to see that.
Ragnar did, however, wonder how far Keita would go to keep her bed filled with “spies.” Would she simply provide information to her lovers or actually search information out? What had she already told? Was Esyld suffering now because her niece had become bed acquaintances with those who would harm her? Ragnar really didn’t know.
Although he did realize that he longed for the days when he didn’t have to deal with the royal Fire Breathers.
Gorlas watched one of his favorite beings pace restlessly around his private office. He clearly remembered when Keita had first wandered into his store. She’d been a bored student then, but with one look, Gorlas knew that sitting at a desk all day, listening to boring old professors give lectures, wasn’t the life for this beauty. Within a few days, the only classes she attended were his. Along with her Eastland friend, Ren of the Chosen. Both of them beautiful, smart, and devious. And considering the path Keita truly wanted to take, it was a perfect match for all of them.
Too bad she continued to forget the most important thing he’d always tried to teach her—her mother was not to be fucked with. Something Keita refused to believe. And now…now she was here.
“What the fuck was Esyld thinking?” Keita demanded. “She couldn’t keep her lovers in the Outerplains? She had to come here to meet them?”
“Calm down.”
“I will not calm down! Has she lost her mind? Has old age set in early? She’s going to get both of us killed!”
“Keita—”
She rested her hands on her hips. “Where?” Keita demanded. “Where was she meeting him? Here? In a rented chateau? At the queen’s favorite human pub? Where was this dumb female settling in to meet her lover so that everyone who reports to my mother could see her clearly? Where, Gorlas?”
“She was staying at Castle Moor.”
Keita gasped, reached back for her chair, and dropped into it. “No! You must be wrong.”
“That’s where she was sighted by my people. More than once.”
“My aunt was at Castle Moor?”
“I’d assumed you’d sent her there. It’s the one safe place I know when one wants to be discreet.”
“But…” she said, still dazed. “Castle Moor? My aunt?”
Smirking, Gorlas relaxed back in his chair. “I must say I’m a little surprised by the tone, Keita. Coming from you, I mean.”
“It would surprise no one that I have been to Castle Moor…several times. Or that I’m on a first-name basis with your oddly alluring fellow elf, Athol. But Esyld is not me.”
“It is a smart choice.” Castle Moor was far removed from Southland politics and the notice of either the Dragon Queen or her human counterpart, the Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle. For enough coin, anyone looking to have some private time with a lover or lovers could find it at Castle Moor. And Athol, lord of the manor, was well known for keeping his mouth shut. Gorlas only knew who came and went because he made it his business to know, and he didn’t spread around what he heard.
“I guess that’s true,” Keita said “Do you think she’s there now?”
“It’s possible, but I haven’t exactly been monitoring your aunt.” Perhaps he should have, but he’d never thought the dragoness would be so foolish as to get caught. Now Gorlas wished he’d contacted Keita and told her what he knew, but he thought her aunt simply had desires that needed to be filled. He knew it must be hard to live all alone in the Outerplains with nothing but your herbs, spells, and forest animals to keep you company.
“I’ll need to go there. See if I can find her.”
“How long has it been since you were there last?”
“Ages. Think Athol will mind?”
“Extremely doubtful. He was always quite fond of you.”
“That’s good. Because if my mother finds out about all this, I may have to hide in Castle Moor myself.”
“Will that be such a hardship, my lady?”
“At the moment…yes. Besides, you know I don’t like being trapped anywhere.” Keita rested her elbow on the table, her chin in her palm.
“What else, Keita?” he pushed. He knew she wasn’t telling him everything.
“There is the slightest chance…that Esyld’s lover is a Sovereign.”
Gorlas’s heart plummeted. “Oh…Keita.”
“I know,” she sighed. “Because this all couldn’t just be bad, my dear friend. It had to be very bad!”
Keita had just turned a corner, heading toward the city gates, when Ren fell into step beside her.
“Well?” she asked, her mind turning.
“The Northlander was right about the necklace. Designed and created by Fucinus himself, most likely.”
Keita stopped walking and stamped her foot. “Fuck me!” she snarled.
A man walking by with his friends turned toward her and said, “Is that an offer, luv?”
Without taking her gaze off Ren, Keita reached out and grabbed hold of the man’s balls through his trousers. She let heat sear him while she said to Ren, “We have a problem.”
The man began to scream, but Keita didn’t even notice or care. She had more important things on her mind.
Ren slapped her hand off the man’s damaged groin and yanked her down the road until they were well away from the man and his friends. “Must you take it out on some poor sod because—”
“Because I may have trusted a traitor?” she filled in for him. “And who else would I take it out on?” she asked. “Clearly not myself!”
Ren stopped and released her. “I forgot who I’m dealing with. So what’s our problem?”
“Apparently Esyld has been coming into Southland territories for months.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Exactly. She’s been going to Castle Moor.”
The friends stared at each other a moment and then said in unison, “Moor, Moor, Moor.”
They laughed until Keita said, “It’s not funny.”
“No, no. Not funny.” Ren rested his hands on his hips. “Although, it is Esyld…so that’s a little funny.”
“She was going to meet a lover.”
“Esyld had a lover? A Sovereign?”
“All Gorlas could tell me was that he wasn’t a local.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“We have to stop at Athol’s before we head home.”
A shiny black brow peaked. “Do we really have time for that, Keita?”
“I can assure you, I only go there to get my questions answered. My orgy days have long been over.”
“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before.”
“I can give you lots of reasons why.” She took Ren’s arm in her own, and they slowly headed toward the city gates. “But honestly, my friend, orgies are simply too much work.”
Chapter Ten
Although Meinhard slept under a tree, he still knew what was going on around him at all times. It was a skill he’d been forced to develop since the first day his mother had placed him among his brothers, freshly hatched and vulnerable. More than two centuries later, he still had the skill. So he knew the moment his cousin returned even before he sent the Blue off to get them something for their dinner.
And by the time Meinhard sat up, yawning and scratching his belly, his cousin had told him something that, twenty minutes later, still sounded ridiculous.
“You’re telling us she’s fucking spies?”
“Yes.”
Meinhard simply didn’t understand his cousin. Here before him was a beautiful dragoness, ripe for the plucking, and this idiot was believing tales about Princess Keita and spies. Honestly, what was wrong with him?
Although, when Meinhard thought about it, it was enjoyable to see his cousin acting a little less cold and standoffish, and a little more like a true Northlander. Possessive, erratic, and dangerously unstable.
To clarify what Ragnar was telling them, M
einhard asked, “Yes, you know for a fact that she’s fucking spies? Or yes, you think she’s fucking spies because you’re being kind of a horse’s dick?”
“What exactly are you having trouble believing about her?” Ragnar demanded. “The spying or the fucking?”
Meinhard looked at Vigholf, and together they replied, “The spying.”
Ragnar began rubbing his forehead, and Vigholf said, “Look, brother, we’re not saying the princess hasn’t bedded spies. If they were male, chances are she’s had her way with them. But giving them information? About her time in the Northlands? About her mother? No. I don’t see that.”
Ragnar got to his claws and began to pace. “What is this lofty pillar you two have her on?”
“We’re not as snobby as you,” Meinhard told him. “Don’t need proof of virginity for a female to be in my bed. Actually…I’d prefer she wasn’t. That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“And can be bor-ing,” Vigholf sang under his breath.
“This has nothing to do with her virginity or lack thereof,” Ragnar snapped.
“Then what is it? What is it about her that bothers you so much?”
Appearing more and more frustrated, Ragnar came out with, “What she could be getting herself involved in could be dangerous, and she’s not bright enough to see that.”
Meinhard shrugged. “Seems bright enough to me.”
Ragnar cleared his throat, and Meinhard and Vigholf again looked at each other.
“Oh, I see,” Meinhard reasoned. “She’s not as smart as you.”
“That is not what I’m—”
“Or your precious Lady Dagmar,” Vigholf added.
“We’re not talking about her either.”
“Why don’t you just get it over with?” Meinhard finally asked his cousin.
“Get what over with?” And the bastard had the nerve to look confused.
“Instead of accusing her of all manner of horse shit I’m not sure even you believe—just fuck her.”
