Last Dragon Standing

by G. A. Aiken

  When her face was numb, she sat back up, flipping her wet hair off her face. “Now.”

  Ragnar crouched in front of her, held her nose between two fingers of each hand, and jerked it back into place. Keita closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

  “Thank you.” She stood but just as quickly sat down again, Ragnar’s arms catching her before her ass could hit the ground.

  “Close your eyes,” Ragnar murmured. He placed his hand on her forehead, the palm pressed against her skin, his fingers gently massaging her scalp. She heard him chant softly, felt his breath brush her lips. And, in moments, her pain eased off.

  His hand slid away, and he studied her closely. “Feel better?”

  “Much. Thank you,” she said again.

  “You’re welcome.” He sat down beside her.

  “Why didn’t you do that for your cousin after Annwyl broke his leg?”

  He smiled a little. “Healing is a skill for females.”

  “Is that your opinion or theirs?”

  “It’s not mine, but I’ve never seen the point of enduring excruciating suffering. Then again, my father always referred to me as the ‘soft one.’”

  “Your father…not the brightest dragon I’ve known. I was there only two weeks, and I had him convinced to gut out an entire section of his mountain for me.”

  Ragnar peered at her, frowning a little. “Is that what happened to Olgeir Mountain?”

  “Uh-huh. I told him I couldn’t live in an undecorated cavern like some bat. How could I ever be happy?”

  “We store armor in there now. How did you convince him?”

  “It was easy. Told him what he wanted to hear, acted like he wanted me to act, flattered him, charmed him—took me three days. And that was only because I spent the first day there sobbing softly and wringing my claws.”

  “You weren’t scared at all, were you?”

  Keita gave a small shake of her head. “When they didn’t take my wing right away…” She smiled. “Your brothers and cousins weren’t too bad. A little thick. In the head, I mean.” She winced. “Thick in the head on their shoulders, I mean.”

  “I understood your first reference.” Ragnar grabbed her hand gently in his, lifted it, and studied it for a long moment. After a time, he said, “Can I tell you something?”

  “You watched me vomit for ten minutes and shoved my broken nose back into place so I can breathe again. I’m of the mind you can tell me anything.”

  “I fear your mother may be right. About the Irons…about my cousin Styrbjörn. I think the Irons are planning to strike the Southlands through Northland territories.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because it would be foolish to come through the Western Mountains. There’s no place to hide. No way to craft battle plans that allow for any flexibility in attack. Once they’d come over the Western Mountains it would be a head-to-head fight with the Southlanders. A fight even my father wouldn’t risk. A fight the Irons already lost once before.”

  “They could go south and cut through the Desert Lands.”

  “And deal with the Sand dragons? No one’s that foolhardy.”

  “Then the north it is.”

  He took in a breath. “I realized they could come up by the Borderlands that dissect the Northlands and the Ice Lands from each other. Cut through the Mountains of My Mother’s Misery and—”

  Keita placed her free hand on Ragnar’s knee. “I’m sorry but…the Mountains of My Mother’s Misery? That’s the actual name?”

  Appearing more embarrassed than she’d seen him before, Ragnar gave a small shrug. “Naming things…not our strong suit in the Northlands.”

  “I see that now. So you think the Ice Land dragons will help?”

  “There are no Ice Land dragons. There are the Snow dragons, who consider the Northlands a hot jungle of heat and misery. Somehow I doubt they’d be invading anytime soon.”

  “Oh.”

  “And then there are the Eternal Ones. The immortals who chose eternal life over family. There are only a handful of them, but they are dangerous.”

  “Do you think they’ll help the Sovereigns?”

  “They hate everyone. Eternal life has not made them happy from what I’ve heard and read. But if they decide to aid Thracius, as well, they would be a definite problem—they spew acid.”

  “Ew.” That sounded so unpleasant, Keita thought no more about it. “So you really think your cousin…”

  “Styrbjörn.”

  “Yes, Styrbjörn. You think he would really help the Irons?”

  “No, Keita. I think he already has.”

  Keita, so surprised by his admission, tried to pull her hand away, but Ragnar was in no mood to release her. He was trusting her at this moment. Trusting her more than he’d trusted anyone before, except for his brother and cousin.

  When he didn’t release her hand, she relaxed and asked, “What do you mean he already has?”

  “My commanders near the Borderlands believe Styrbjörn had a small battalion of Irons escorted through the territory. A dragoness was with them, and much coin must have been exchanged for them to have not tried to take her.”

  “Styrbjörn would betray his own for the Sovereigns?”

  “It’s said that the closer one gets to the Ice Lands, the more one realizes that coin can buy you much. Especially loyalty.”

  She squeezed his fingers with her own. “Where was this battalion taken?”

  “As far as the Southland borders. After that—my commanders don’t know.”

  “Fuck me,” she said in a low voice.

  Ragnar gazed at the stream. “I worry there may not be time to wait for those who will betray your mother, and the throne, to come to us.”

  Hating that he had to do this but knowing he had no choice, he raised his gaze to Keita’s.

  Her smile was sweet. “It’s all right, Ragnar. I’ve been thinking the same thing. But mostly because after my fight with Morfyd, I’m more than ready to get this over with so I can flee her judgmental glare.”

  “Doing this will be dangerous, Keita. To let others know you knew Esyld’s whereabouts and purposely didn’t tell your mother…I mean, Rhiannon was right after all. You were breaking Southland law, and that is dangerous.”

  “Good games are always dangerous.”

  “This is hardly a game anymore. Especially when it can turn your kin against you.”

  “My kin will shake their heads in disgust and say, ‘That Keita. She hasn’t got a bit of sense in her head.’ And mother already knows. She was my biggest threat.”

  “Your brothers?”

  “Fearghus and Briec will yell and snarl and spit fire…. That’s what they do. But they’d never harm me. And Gwenvael has known Esyld’s location for two years now. Besides, if we can lure out the ones who would betray the throne—then it’s worth the risk. Not to mention that all this sitting around, waiting for something to happen…”

  “I know. Boring.”

  “Bloody boring. And who knows? If we time this right, we can get this resolved in no time and once the feast is over, you and your kin can head back to the north and I can head off…anywhere.”

  “Is there no place you call home?”

  “The world is my home.”

  “Your home is huge.”

  “I need space.” She rubbed his shoulder with her free hand. “Good. You’re laughing.”

  “Laughing or not, I’ll not leave your side until this is done.”

  “Then you best take me back so you can be caught sneaking out of my room when the two suns rise.”

  “And why is that necessary again?”

  “Because it’ll appear much more devious if it looks like we’re hiding our relationship. Something I never do. Everyone will wonder why I’m hiding it this time. Add in the truth about Esyld, and it’ll look like a plot against my mother.”

  And that’s what worried him. Terrified him. Not for himself, for Keita. “This is dangerous.�
��

  “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t allow you to fall in love with me if that’s your worry.”

  “It’s not. I’m talking about the danger to you when the truth comes out.”

  “Come, come now,” she teased. “We both know that what you’re afraid of is falling in love with me. And you should be. I am astounding.”

  “You’re something, all right.”

  She studied him for a moment, then said, “Here, we’ll make a pact.”

  “What kind of pact? A you-won’t-let-me-fall-in-love-with-you pact?”

  “No. You’ll just have to suffer your broken heart when I go away—and I will go away.”

  “Then what?”

  “That until this is over, we’re loyal to each other.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “That we’ll do nothing tricky to betray the other. We’re on the same side with this. I do trust you, but when it’s my life in play…”

  “I understand and always like extra precautions myself. But I will never betray you, Keita.” And he knew he meant every word of that.

  “Then you won’t mind committing yourself to me.”

  “Not at all.” But when she lifted her hand to her mouth, palm up, Ragnar quickly added, “But if you spit in your palm, I’m not shaking it.”

  Her hand dropped. “So picky.” She studied the ground around them, then stretched her body over his lap and dug into his travel bag.

  The shirt he’d put on her had ridden up to her waist and he had what could only be called the most adorable ass of all time staring him in the face…wiggling. “What are you doing?”

  She shimmied off his lap, which he didn’t appreciate at all because he was appreciating it too much, and opened her hand. “What are these?” she asked.

  “Rune stones. I use them for spells and seeing possible futures.”

  “Do they mean much to you?”

  “They’re my mother’s.”

  “Then they mean much to you.” She examined them closely and finally chose one. She handed him the rest and held the one she’d picked in the middle of her palm. Seeing the one Keita chose, Ragnar couldn’t help smirking a little.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s cursed or something, isn’t it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what’s that look on your face?”

  “I’m just amused by your choice.”

  “Because it’s cursed?”

  “No. It’s the Fire Rune Stone. It represents heat and power.”

  She smiled, examined it.

  “And sex.”

  Her smile grew into a leer.

  “And love.”

  Her leer turned into a sneer. “Must you ruin everything?”

  She started to toss it away, but he caught hold of her hand with both of his, the stone trapped between them.

  “Keita the Red,” he said, using the name she’d been given at hatching. “I swear on the power of this stone and in the name of my ancestors never to betray you in word or deed or in my heart.”

  Her entire face scrunched in disgust. “Must you go that far?”

  “Now your turn, princess.”

  “Ragnar the…”

  “Fourteenth.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Seriously?”

  “And I’m a middle offspring.”

  “Och! That’s enough. I’ll hear no more.” She shuddered. “Ragnar the Fourteenth, I swear on the power of this stone and in the name of my ancestors never to betray you in word or deed.”

  “Or in your heart.”

  “I’m not going that far.”

  “In your heart,” he pushed, trying not to laugh.

  “All right! Fine! Or in my heart.”

  As soon as she snapped the last word at him, power radiated from the stone, through their hands, and straight through them like a hard gust of wind, blowing their hair back.

  Keita looked around before glaring at him. “What was that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You must have an idea. You’re a mage.”

  “Yes, but that’s never happened before when I used these.”

  “You’ve cursed me, haven’t you?”

  “What is your obsession with curses?”

  “That isn’t an answer.”

  “No. I didn’t curse you.”

  “Better not have.”

  “Or what?”

  “Trust me, warlord. As much as I know how to give pleasure, I also know how to take it away. Now”—she stood, managing to look regal in his shirt—“let’s get back so you can be caught sneaking out of my room in the morning.”

  Ragnar cleared his throat, raised a brow.

  “What?”

  He made his brow go a little higher.

  “Oh, fine!” She slapped the rune into his hand.

  “You Southlanders are such thieves.”

  “If you didn’t want me to have it, you shouldn’t have let me take it out of your bag.”

  “You’re blaming me for your thievery?”

  “Yes!” She stormed off, yelling over her shoulder, “Well come on! I don’t have all bloody night! And stop staring at my ass!”

  “It’s almost too large to miss.” And he did think he quietly muttered that remark until that ball of flame nearly took his damn head off.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Keita woke up and wondered who’d buried her alive. Probably Gwenvael. Bastard. Then she realized that she’d been buried under something breathing.

  The Lightning. That’s right. He’d taken care of her last night. Even with the vomiting and broken nose. Damn aunts and their damn homemade ale.

  It was odd. She was really starting to like Ragnar. Despite the fact her mother seemed to like him as well and her sister seemed to respect him.

  She chuckled a little to herself, and the big body lying on top of her moved, rolled off, and stretched.

  She turned on her side and, lowering her voice to a husky purr, said, “Good morn to you, Lord Ragnar.”

  His smile was sleepy, his dark purple hair, out of its plait, a wild mane around his face.

  Then he fully woke and just looked panicked.

  Keita fell back on the bed, snickering.

  “How did I get in your bed?”

  “I asked nicely, and you agreed.”

  He lifted the fur over his body. “And why am I naked?”

  “You ask many questions in the morning. Are you sure that’s wise when you’re dealing with me?”

  “Good point.” He sat up, yawned. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Surprisingly well, considering.” She pressed her hand to his shoulder. “And thank you for last night.”

  He studied the hand touching him, then her face. “You’re more than welcome.”

  “Gods,” she said, tossing the fur off her body. “You have such a voice so early in the morning.”

  “Do I?”

  “Aye. The kind that can get me into all sorts of trouble if I’m not careful.” Keita walked over to her dresser and swiped up the small jar that had been placed there the evening before. She’d noticed it when they’d first walked in after their time by the stream, but had been too tired to deal with it. “Let’s get this done, shall we? So your torment can end.”

  “What an interesting way you have of suggesting sex,” he noted dryly. “It makes me all tingly.”

  Keita returned to the bed and crawled onto Ragnar’s lap, a fur the only thing separating Keita’s bare ass from the warlord’s bare cock. “I’m not talking about bedding you. At least…not yet.” She held up the jar. “The antidote.”

  “Thank the gods.”

  She held up a dagger, enjoying the way Ragnar’s eyes grew wide in panic. “Now just lie still.”

  He caught hold of the hand holding the blade. “Isn’t there another way?”

  “Tragically for you, no.”

  “Then let me do it.”

  “Don’t be su
ch a hatchling. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He wrestled the dagger from her. “But that doesn’t make me any less wary.”

  Ragnar pressed the blade to the wound on his chest and stopped, blue eyes glaring at her. “And stop grinding against my cock.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize I’d been doing that.”

  “Liar.” She was definitely a liar.

  With a quick flick, he opened up the old wound and Keita slathered on a healthy amount of the ointment, making sure much of it got inside the opening, as well as covering the entire area.

  “Done.”

  Ragnar nodded and with a chant, re-closed the wound, the ointment seeping into his skin.

  Using a rag, Keita cleaned up the small amount of blood, her hands, and the dagger. “That should do it,” she said, sliding off his waist and placing everything back on the dresser.

  “I hope so. This damn thing has driven me mad for two bloody years.”

  “You poor thing you.”

  “I heard absolutely no remorse in that statement.”

  She walked around the bed and stretched out beside him once more. “That’s because there was no remorse in that statement.”

  The pair stared at each other for a long moment before Ragnar shook his head and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. “I should go.”

  “All right.”

  Ragnar stood, using the fur to cover the front of him. Keita was just reaching over to palm the warlord’s amazing-looking ass when she heard one of the servants at the door with the hot water for her morning bath. Instead of his ass, Keita grabbed hold of the fur Ragnar held and yanked it away at the same moment the servant walked in, took one look at the naked warlord, and quickly walked out again, closing the door.

  Keita grinned at the glowering—and gods! Is he blushing?— dragon.

  “And so it begins, my lord.”

  Annwyl wished she could say she was up just before the two suns rose because she was simply an early riser. But anyone who knew her, knew what a lie that would be. Instead, she was up and dressed for training because she’d had that nightmare again. The nightmare she told very few about because she didn’t know if the dream was caused by a general sense of fear for her babes or because she’d suddenly started having prophecies. She hadn’t even told Fearghus. How could she, after he’d been through so much? She still caught him looking at her in that way that told her he could still remember her on her death bed after the children were born. And that he feared he’d find her there again. No, she wouldn’t put him through any more. Not when there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. And she knew, in her heart, there was nothing he could do.