by G. A. Aiken
Keita could feel Ragnar’s eyes on her, could feel him sizing her up. She’d never felt so exposed before. Those who knew the truth—her father, Gwenvael, Ren, Gorlas—had been with her from the beginning. They had seen her training, her growth as one of the Protectors of the Throne. The small, eclectic group of dragons and humans that made it their life’s work to do anything and everything necessary to keep the Southland thrones safe from those who would take them.
And discussing what she’d done among those who already knew the truth had never been something that made Keita uncomfortable. Yet discussing it with Ragnar and her mother? Here? Now? She’d be less uncomfortable naked and spread eagled in the Garbhán Isle market.
“My third brother is also said to be hiding somewhere in the Northlands and Keita was quite determined to find him until your father found her first.” When Ragnar said nothing, Rhiannon asked, “Didn’t you ever wonder, Ragnar, why my daughter was in your territories? Alone? Why your father was able to get his claws on her?”
“You told me it was because she went to see Esyld.”
“And she did. Often. But she only had to go as far as the Outerplains for that. She went farther, however, for one reason only. To find my brothers and sort them out. Like she’d sorted out Oissine. You see, Dragonlord, my daughter was able to do what entire legions of my Dragonwarriors could not. Track down and exterminate those who are a danger to me.” And before Keita could correct her, she said, “Sorry. I meant a danger to my throne.”
“Interesting,” Ragnar said, and Keita flinched a little at his tone. Until he added, “So she searched for and found proof that at least two of your brothers were preparing to strike against you, and she acted accordingly. Then logic would dictate that she did the same due diligence with your sister and found that Esyld was not a threat. That she was not a risk to your throne or to you.”
Shocked, Keita stared up at the Northlander, while her mother leaned back in her throne and studied him hard.
“I find it fascinating, Dragonlord, that you don’t seem shocked by any of this.”
“I’ve misjudged your daughter in the past, Your Majesty. And I don’t make the same mistakes twice.”
“I see. Then I shall be honest here, now. I don’t know if my sister has betrayed me. All I do know is that my throne is in play, and I need your help, Keita. For you will be the one they come to. You will be the one they try to set against me.”
Keita couldn’t think of a time when her mother had ever asked her for anything—other than not being “such a twat all the time!” And now, between her mother asking her for help and Ragnar’s words about misjudging her, Keita felt a little overwhelmed.
She swallowed, found her voice. “I know what to do.”
“I know you do. But still, keep your true temper in check and remember who and what you’re playing. A spoiled royal, but one with boundaries. If you act as if you’re willing for them to do anything to get you the throne, they’ll know you’re lying, that you’re setting them up. Let them lead. Let them lie. They’ll tell you what they think you’ll want to hear, but if they bring up your brothers, your sister, definitely your father—you insist they must be kept safe, alive. Feel free to waffle on me, however.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
“Once the traitors contact you, you must contact me.”
“I will.”
“Immediately, Keita. Don’t try and handle this on your own. Not this. Understand?”
“Aye. I understand. I’m not new to this, Mum.”
“You also need someone to watch your back.”
“Ren’s here with me. He can—”
“I’ll do it,” Ragnar cut in.
Keita ignored her mother’s smirk and said, “I’ve done this sort of thing with Ren for years and—”
“That’s exactly the problem,” he cut in again. “He’s too close to you. Too close to the throne and your family.”
“He’s right, Keita.”
“Yes, but Ragnar’s an outsider.”
“But the foreigner isn’t?” Ragnar asked.
“Stop calling him that!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rhiannon said, raising her front claws to calm them. “It really doesn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because Lord Thunderclap is right. You and Ren are too close. Plus they know about the loyalty of the Eastland dragons to the throne and to me. They know Ren won’t risk his father’s wrath if he’s involved in betraying me. They won’t trust him.”
“Yes, but—”
“And, more importantly, this is Lord Ragnar’s problem too.”
Ragnar blinked. “It is?”
“It will be.”
“Threats again, my lady?”
“Not threats, my darling cyclone. But word has come to me that your cousin near the Ice Land borders has been approached.”
“My cousin? Do you mean Styrbjörn?”
“I thought he was dead,” Keita said.
“That’s Styrbjörn the Loathsome. His son, Styrbjörn the Revolting, has since taken over the Borderlands.”
“Such interesting names in the north,” Keita muttered.
“Who has Styrbjörn been approached by, my lady?”
And when her mother didn’t answer immediately, Keita focused on her. “Mother?”
Rhiannon cleared her throat. “I believe it is…Overlord Thracius.”
Keita dropped back on her haunches, her mind on that damn Sovereign necklace they’d found at Esyld’s. “The Irons?” Keita said, trying to sound disbelieving when she no longer knew what to believe. “You think the Irons are coming after your throne?”
“Why do you sound so shocked? The Irons have wanted this territory and the Northlands for centuries.”
“Then why haven’t they moved before now? What are they waiting for?”
“Thracius is not his father. He won’t make rash decisions. He wants everything in place before he moves. You on the throne, me dead or imprisoned, the Elders in his pocket. If he gets all that, he won’t have a massive war campaign to fight, he’ll have more of an insurgency to tamp down. Something much easier to manage.”
“And I’m sure revenge against Thracius for past offenses has nothing to do with this.”
“A war against Thracius won’t do me any favors.”
“But he killed your father, Mum. You’ve always wanted revenge for that.”
“I have, but protecting my throne is more important than getting even with that bastard. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You know I do.”
Her mother’s damn smirk returned. “The seal is fading from this cavern, daughter. So decide now. In or out, Keita?”
“You already know my answer, Mother.”
“I do. But I won’t lie, daughter. You’ll be on your own until this is done.”
Stating a simple truth, feeling neither anger nor pride, Keita admitted, “I’ve always been on my own.”
But then Ragnar, quietly standing next to her, said, “Until now.”
Chapter Fifteen
They heard the yelling seconds before a livid Keita stormed out of the throne room.
“I’m leaving!” she said, coming quickly down the stairs, with Ragnar behind her. “Give my siblings my love.”
“Oh, Keita—” Éibhear began, but his father caught hold of him and held him back.
“You’ll stay,” Éibhear’s mother said from behind Keita and Ragnar, “because I insist you stay.”
The thin tether that held Keita’s anger in check must have snapped, because she spun on her heel and hissed, “I’ll not stay, you overbearing harpy. And you’ll not order me to.”
“I’ll do any damn thing I want to. I am the queen.”
“You’re a broken-down old field horse with wings is what you are!”
In retaliation—and to Éibhear’s shock—Rhiannon raised her claw, flames shooting from her palm. But Ragnar stepped between the flames and Keita, raising his own claw. He drew the flame
s in and closed his talons into a fist. After a few moments, he opened his claw, and the flames the queen had thrown at Keita fell to the ground in bright-colored crystals.
Surprise flitted across his mother’s face before she mused, “My, my, we are protective, my little winter storm. Tell me, what did my innocent daughter do to make you so protective?”
Growling, Keita tried to shoot past Ragnar, but he caught her and pulled her back while the Royal Guard moved into place around the queen.
Ragnar ignored the queen’s words and said, “This doesn’t have to get nasty, Your Majesty. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to stay for a little while.”
“I don’t—”
Silencing Keita with one glare, he reminded her, “Your kin have missed you. I’m sure they’d like to spend time with you before you head back out.”
“Och! Fine,” Keita told him. Then she sneered at their mother and stormed off.
Ragnar briefly bowed his head to the queen and followed after Éibhear’s sister.
“Bitch,” his mother growled, before she returned to her chamber.
“Go with your sister,” his father said.
“But Dad—”
“Did you learn nothing in the north about taking orders? Don’t argue with me. Just go.”
“All right.” Éibhear followed his sister, glancing back to see his father head up to the queen’s chamber. Maybe his dad would ease things. Keita had never gotten along with their mother, but it was time to put all that behind them, wasn’t it?
Rhiannon sat inside her private chamber, her mind turning.
“Well?” Bercelak asked, his claw taking hers. “Is it done?”
“It is.”
“Are you sure about this, Rhiannon?”
“No. She’s impulsive. Hot headed. I’ve always said so.” She glared at him. “What are you grinning at?”
“Nothing. Just the way you describe Keita sounds like someone else I know.”
Perplexed, Rhiannon asked, “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. But our Keita, she’s smart and well trained. She’s one of the best agents we have, and you know that.”
“Of course I know that. But this will be a dangerous game for her to play. Especially where your kin are concerned.”
“I could warn them—”
“No. Rumors will spread. They all talk too much, Bercelak. We’ll just have to let it play out. Keep it from them as you’ve kept it from me all these years.”
“You found out anyway.”
“Not found out—knew. There’s a difference.” She sighed. “Besides, it’s time for her to be truly tested.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I do.”
“But why? It clearly has you worried.”
“It must be her,” she said, feeling suddenly exhausted. “She needs to do this. She needs to meet this challenge.”
“Why, Rhiannon? Why Keita?”
Rhiannon stood and headed to her bedchamber. “Because,” she said simply, “one day she will be queen.”
With that, Rhiannon stepped out of the throne room, but went back when she realized Bercelak was not behind her. When she saw the expression on his face, she rolled her eyes and added, “I don’t mean now, low born. I’m talking years down the line.”
Bercelak let out a breath. “I thought you meant…and with the others a head of her…and her penchant for poisons…gods-dammit, Rhiannon! You scared the life from me!”
Realizing that Bercelak thought she’d seen her time—and apparently the times of their offspring—ending much sooner than she had any intention of tolerating, Rhiannon began laughing and couldn’t stop. Even when he caught hold of her and lifted her up, carrying her back to their bedchamber, snarling the entire time, she didn’t stop laughing.
Chapter Sixteen
The trip from Devenallt Mountain took them straight down to Dark Plains below. They landed about two miles away from Garbhán Isle, in the surrounding forests. What was strange, though, to Vigholf was that for the entire trip, Ragnar, Keita, and that foreigner argued. In hushed whispers, but it was arguing. Something that Vigholf rarely saw his brother do. Ragnar didn’t believe in arguing. He gave his orders, and he expected them to be carried out. If they weren’t, he gave the task to someone else, and he forgot the existence of the one who’d failed him. It may not sound like much, but it was enough. His brother’s coldness rivaled the icy mountaintops of their home.
Yet here Ragnar was. Arguing. First with Princess Keita alone. Then the foreigner joined in. They never raised their voices. Not like Vigholf and Meinhard were known to do, but still. It was an argument.
Vigholf shifted to human, put on his clothes, and watched the three continue to argue. He didn’t know what they were talking about, and he didn’t care. He was ready to go home. This place with all its greens and heat. Gods, it was warm here even though the Southlands were nearing their winter, the princess pulling out a fur to cover her long-sleeved gown illustrating the chill that at least she felt. Did they even have snow in this country?
Not that it mattered. Once his brother stopped arguing, they’d take the pup and the princess to their kin and they’d be on their way.
“What’s going on?” Meinhard asked him.
“I have no idea.”
“We shouldn’t let them argue,” the pup said. He was always worried about everyone being upset, this one. He prided himself on all the arguments he stopped. Although it wasn’t his soothing words that halted fights among Vigholf’s kin. It was his size. Lightnings were well known for their size, although they had a tendency to be slower than the trimmer Fire Breathers. But the pup, he had the size of any Northlander, but the speed of his fire-breathing kin. Shame he wasn’t much of a fighter. Ragnar had already written him off and didn’t want him sent back to the Northlands anytime soon. Although Meinhard was quietly working to change that. He’d taken to the oversized hatchling, though Vigholf simply didn’t know why.
“I wouldn’t get in the middle of a Ragnar argument, if I were you.”
“We should do something.”
Seeing that he was going to debate this, Vigholf caught hold of the pup’s arm and dragged him from the trees to the road. “Let’s wait here until they’re done.”
Vigholf and Meinhard went through their travel bags while the pup paced from one side of the road to the other.
“Think we can get more supplies before we leave?” Meinhard asked. “Dried beef will help when we go through the Outerplains again.”
“The princess promised to replenish our supplies.”
“They’re still arguing!” The pup shook his head. “I can’t let this go on.”
“Wait—”
“Let him go, Meinhard,” Vigholf said, standing. “He’ll interrupt, Ragnar will slap him around, he’ll learn not to do it again.”
Meinhard stood, his gaze down the road.
“What?” Vigholf asked. Meinhard gestured with a nod of his head, and Vigholf followed.
It was a woman walking down the road, her hand holding on to the reins of an enormous black horse. She stopped and stared at them.
Smiling, wishing he’d remembered to put on his cape sooner—he hated explaining his purple hair to humans, all that horse shit about tragic curses and such—Vigholf waved. “Greetings!” he called out.
The woman, tall with long golden brown hair, released the reins of her horse and walked closer. Her eyes narrowed, her head dipping down.
“What is she doing?” Vigholf muttered to his cousin.
“I have no idea,” Meinhard muttered back. “Maybe she’s lost. Or scared.”
“Or crazed,” Vigholf added, seconds before the crazed bitch—he’d been right, by the gods!—unsheathed one of the swords she had tied to her back and silently charged.
“This is the way it is to be,” Keita said to Ren—again! She didn’t like having to repeat herself, and just because Ren was a noble in his own bloody country, didn’t mean he had any more right to ign
ore her than one of her mother’s subjects.
“I don’t like it. I don’t like him.” Ren glared at Ragnar. “He looks down on you, and he just hurt you again.”
“And that,” the Northlander said through clenched teeth, “is still none of your business.”
“What do you hope to gain from this, barbarian? Perhaps you and Keita’s mother have a plan that she knows nothing about. Perhaps you plan to betray her.”
Ragnar lifted his hand, sparks flicking off the tips of his fingers. Ren did the same, only it was flames that charged from his. Keita, used to much more physically reacting males, ordered, “Stop it! Both of you! This is ridiculous!”
“What’s going on?” Éibhear demanded, storming over to them. “Why are you all arguing?”
Keita glanced at the two other males, shrugged, and said sweetly, “We’re not arguing.”
“Keita!”
“A discussion does not an argument make, Éibhear.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” He looked from one to the other. “What’s Mum up to?”
“Nothing. She was just being herself. You should be used to that by now.”
“Don’t lie to me, Keita. You know you can’t lie to me.” He was right. She couldn’t lie to any of her brothers because none of them were distracted by a random touch or secret smile. “There’s something going on, and I want to know what.”
“Go back to Meinhard, boy,” Ragnar ordered.
Keita held up her hand. “Don’t order my brother around.”
“Fine then. We’ll let him stay.”
“Don’t get that tone with me, warlord. I can handle my own brother without any help from you.”