by G. A. Aiken
It crossed Elestren’s mind to tear both the bastard’s eyes out, but she’d wait to unleash all that rage on Keita the Traitor, Giver of Ridiculous Eye Patches.
Chapter Thirty
Ragnar woke up when he heard the snuffling. He smiled. “Good morn to you.”
The mare brushed her muzzle against his head, giving him her blessing, before she lazily moved on to the next bit of grass nearby. Although Ragnar had woken up like this before, surrounded by mares and their yearlings, he’d never managed to wake up like this with a dragoness by his side. But this time was different. This was Keita, and she had her own entourage—all of them stallions. And all of them watching Ragnar closely.
Eventually Keita stirred on her own, brown eyes slowly opening, arms stretching wide.
“And good morn to you too.” He kissed her forehead, felt her hand stroke his cheek. “Feeling better?”
“Aye. My rage has turned to cold determination.”
“Then the world should quake in fear.”
“Sarcasm so early in the morning?”
He brushed her hair from her face. “That wasn’t sarcasm. It was honesty. I’ll admit I misread you in the beginning, Keita, but I’ll not make that mistake again.”
Her hand slid around to the back of his neck. “And I thought I’d be so bored with you by now.”
“I’m so glad I was able to disappoint you on that.”
“So am I,” she whispered, pulling herself up, her lips mere millimeters from his. Ragnar closed his eyes, waited for that kiss. When it didn’t happen, he opened his eyes and realized she was staring off at the horses.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.” She looked at him, blinked. “I’m such an idiot.”
“What?”
“We all are!” She scrambled away from him, quickly grabbing up her gown and yanking it over her head.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“I’ll catch up with you later!” she yelled at him, already running toward the castle, the stallions watching her go while the mares pushed their yearlings out of the way.
He stood, his cock hard and already dripping. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me like this!”
“Use your hand!” she said before she disappeared over a small hill.
“Exactly where are you taking us?”
“Oh, shut up,” Keita ordered her sister, tired of her asking the same damn question over and over. Rousing the females out of bed and away from their mates had been a task of its own—except for Dagmar, who’d already been up and “plotting” as Gwenvael put it, which was true enough since rumors about Keita and Esyld had already begun to spread—but getting them to follow her several miles into the forest on the other side of the eastern fields took all her cajoling skills.
Keita felt a hand swipe at her hair, and she spun around, her own hands open and slapping at her sister until Annwyl reached between them and shoved them apart.
“Give it a rest!” she barked. “You two are worse than the twins.”
Keita tugged her dress back into place. “This won’t take long. I promise.” Then she added with a little snarl, “I’m trying to help!”
“Then help,” Talaith said. “We’re right behind you.”
Wanting to be done with this, Keita ignored her sister and continued on. When she reached a high ridge that looked over the Deep Canyons, she stopped.
“What are we looking at?” Talaith asked.
From out of the line of trees on the low plain surrounding the canyons, wild horses raced forth. They were all beautiful and free, tearing across the countryside, unencumbered by being beasts of burden for men or dinner for dragons.
“Horses?” Annwyl scratched her head. “I have a horse.”
“Wait,” Morfyd said, stepping next to Keita, “this won’t work.”
“Have you even tried, Princess Doubt?”
“Only Mother can summon them, and she told me she wouldn’t.”
“Why do you wait for her?”
“She’s our mother and queen of these lands. Should I go against her?”
“Have you not learned it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission?”
“That’s how you and Gwenvael survive. I can’t live like that. Besides, if you summon them and you piss them off, Keita, they’ll tear these humans to bits.”
“On that note…” Dagmar turned to leave, but Keita caught her arm.
“Leave it to me.”
Keita released Dagmar and stepped to the very top of the ridge. She’d hoped she could get Morfyd to do this. As heir to their mother’s Magickal power if not her throne, she would most likely have an easier time of it. But Keita had learned a long time ago to wait for no one, especially her easily frightened sister.
Breathing in a huge amount of air, Keita threw her head back and opened her mouth. A line of flame exploded out of her and charred the tops of some trees, fire filling the sky above. When she felt her point had been made, Keita cut off the flame and returned her gaze to the horses. And, from amidst the shiny and moving horseflesh, they appeared, splitting off from the herd they ran with and charging toward the five females.
“Holy—” Annwyl began.
“—shit,” Talaith finished.
“Let me speak.” Keita moved them all back from the ridge and decided more specific directions were needed. “Actually, Talaith, feel free to connect with them as witch. Morfyd, if you won’t help, at least don’t complain. Dagmar, if you feel you can help, please do. Annwyl…say nothing.”
“How come I don’t—”
“Nothing.”
“But I’m—”
“Absolutely nothing!” Keita snarled. When Annwyl pouted but no longer argued, Keita looked back at those who raced toward them. The centaurs. One of the few beings dragons showed only respect to and never dreamed of hunting for food or amusement. They came over the ridge and drew to a restless halt about twenty feet away.
Keita gave a small bow of her head. “My ladies. My lords.”
“You are dragon, but you are not the queen,” a male told her. “And you dare summon us?”
“Told you,” Morfyd whispered.
“Shut up!” Keita snapped back
“Perhaps you were not warned that we are not to be fooled with, lizard,” the centaur continued.
“My gracious lord, please,” Keita said, ignoring the insult. “If you’d only give me a minute to explain—”
“Keita?” An older female moved out of the small herd and walked up to the group, hooves lightly tapping the ground as she moved. “By the gods…it is you.”
“Bríghid?” Keita grinned, relief flooding through her. “Oh, Bríghid!”
The female opened her arms and leaned down a bit, allowing Keita to run right into them.
“I don’t believe it,” Bríghid said, stroking Keita’s hair and kissing her forehead. “Look how you’ve grown.”
“The last we heard about you,” Keita said, “you’d moved down to the Alsandair borders.”
“I gave my heart to the wrong centaur, so I returned to my herd.” She pushed Keita back and took her face in her hands. “Gods, Keita. You’re actually more beautiful. How is that possible?”
“Excellent bloodline.”
Bríghid laughed. “That’s my Keita.” She looked at the group again. “Morfyd?”
“Hello, Bríghid.”
Bríghid held her hand out for Morfyd, and Keita’s sister took it. The pair embraced before Bríghid said, “My girls. How beautiful you both are.” She kissed them both on the top of their heads. “I’ve heard such wonderful things about both of you. I’ve always been so proud.”
Keita, knowing it would annoy her sister, added a smirk to highlight Bríghid’s words. Morfyd bared a fang, and instantly Bríghid grew tense.
“Still fighting?” And the warning was in her voice. As it had always been.
“No, ma’am,” they immediately said.
/> “Good. Now.” Bríghid stepped back, studied them both. “Neither of you are your mother, nor have you replaced her on the throne. So what has you risking my annoyance and the annoyance of my herd?”
Since Bríghid’s “annoyance” was often more vicious than her rage, Keita quickly explained, “You know I would not have risked this beautiful hide of mine had I not desperately needed your assistance.”
“You?” Bríghid asked. “Or her?”
When Bríghid’s gaze locked on Annwyl, the queen’s hand immediately moved to her sword, but Dagmar slapped Annwyl’s hand away, eliciting a whined “Ow!” from the brave, deadly queen.
“This is Fearghus’s mate.”
“She who bore the twins,” Bríghid went on. “The twins who should not exist.”
“But they do. And, although they are human in body, they are dragon in spirit.”
Bríghid snorted. “The humans can’t handle them, eh?”
“The nannies run away.”
“Can’t their mother care for them?”
Annwyl, always easily insulted, stepped forward, but Dagmar jumped in front of her. “The queen, of course, does what she can. But she has a kingdom to run. A kingdom to keep safe. You and your herd, as you call it, are free to run through these lands as you like, my lady, because Annwyl is queen and has no desire to enslave you. Would you prefer someone else take her place who may not be as…open minded? I believe that hunting your kind was a favorite sport of her father’s at one time.”
Eyes narrowing, Bríghid pushed Keita and Morfyd aside and walked forward, hooves now stomping on the ground, until she stood before Dagmar and Annwyl. Leaning in, she brought her face close to Dagmar’s and asked, “Do you know what I am, human?”
Keita watched her brother’s mate closely. For such a tiny thing, she showed no fear. Instead, she leaned around a bit and said, “Based on the large horse’s ass attached to you”—Dagmar moved back, her gaze fixed on Bríghid’s—“I’m going to go with centaur.”
Bríghid, straightening up, folded her arms over her bare chest. “And who are you?”
Years from now, they’d never know why they did it, but before Dagmar could say a word, their small group recited as one, “She’s Dagmar Reinholdt. Thirteenth Offspring of The Reinholdt, Only Daughter of The Reinholdt, Chief Battle Lord of Dark Plains, Adviser to Queen Annwyl, Human Liaison to the Southland Dragon Elders, and mate to Prince Gwenvael the Handsome.”
“She’s also known as The Beast,” Talaith tossed in for good measure.
And it was The Beast who turned on them. “Was that really necessary?”
It was only a glimpse, but Keita saw the brief smile on Bríghid’s face. The centaur quickly hid it and said, “At three thousand and eight winters, I am much too old to be running around, chasing somewhat human children.”
Keita remembered well how stubborn Bríghid could be. Especially once she’d made up her mind. If she put her hoof down now, there would be no going back. Desperate, she quickly looked to her sister, and Morfyd said, “Of course you deserve your time to relax, Bríghid.”
Wondering how her sister could be so stupid, Keita lifted her hands and mouthed, What are you doing?
Morfyd mouthed back, Shut up! She placed her hand on Bríghid’s hip, where her human form met her horse form. “But perhaps you have someone you can recommend. Someone Fearghus will trust as he would trust you. Someone who—”
“I’ll do it.” Bríghid’s body tensed as a young female separated from the herd. “I’ll do it.”
“Princess Keita, Princess Morfyd, Queen Annwyl…this is my daughter, Eadburga. We call her Ebba for short. She’s my fifth oldest and—”
“I’ll do it.”
“And apparently quite eager to leave the herd.” Bríghid leaned over and said low in her daughter’s ear, “Although I hope you’re leaving for the right reasons.”
“I am.”
Bríghid straightened up. “You commit to this, Ebba, you are to stay and help raise the children until they are of age. For humans that’s at least their eighteenth winter. My commitment to the Dragon Queen was much longer, but I made it and stuck by it. You agree to this, you swear to the same as I’ll not have you bring shame to this herd by flitting off.”
“I have nowhere to flit to.” Ebba’s tail flicked nervously against her back. “Let me do this, Mum. We both know I’m ready.”
“Perhaps you are.” Bríghid kissed her daughter’s brow and nuzzled her jaw. She stepped back and, after clearing her throat, said, “Let’s see this queen.”
Keita motioned to Dagmar to move, but she shook her head. Damn difficult humans!
Keita reached over and yanked Dagmar out of the way. Bríghid motioned to Annwyl with a crook of her finger, and the queen approached. Bríghid examined Annwyl for several long moments, her expression getting darker and darker the more she looked.
“What’s wrong?” Keita asked.
Bríghid stared at Annwyl and asked, “Do I know you?”
Dagmar whispered against Keita’s ear, “By all ancient reason, she killed one of them once, didn’t she?”
Ragnar walked in to the Great Hall. Although none of the royals were up, his brother and cousin were already at the dining table eating.
“Where have you been?” Vigholf asked once Ragnar sat down and reached for bread.
“Out.”
“What’s wrong, brother? Did Her Majesty leave you all to your lonesome last night?”
In answer, Ragnar grabbed the back of Vigholf’s head and slammed it into the table.
Curses and blood oaths followed, but Ragnar ignored them, instead choosing to dig in to the bowl of hot porridge placed in front of him by a servant.
“I thought you’d want to know,” Meinhard said to Ragnar.
“Know what?”
“Heard some of those Cadwaladrs talking outside earlier this morning—they know about Keita and Esyld. I didn’t know what they were talking about until one of their females cornered me, and asked about our trip here through Outerplains.”
“And?”
“I told her everything—mostly. Figured that’s what you’d want. But you should have warned us beforehand.”
“You’re right,” Ragnar admitted. “Sorry.”
Meinhard watched him for a time, until Ragnar demanded, “What?”
“So when you going to tell her?”
“Tell who what?”
“Keita. Tell her that she’s yours?”
“If I really want her to be mine?” Ragnar sighed. “Never.”
When Bríghid combed her fingers through the left side of Annwyl’s hair, Keita thought she’d have to shift, grab the human queen, and make a desperate run for it.
“When I met you,” Bríghid remarked, “this wasn’t here.”
Annwyl shrugged, her gaze focused on something far past Bríghid’s arm. “My brother had shaved it off the night before.”
“Aye.” Bríghid released Annwyl’s hair but gripped her chin, lifting her face. “It was you.”
“That was a long time ago, mistress.”
Bríghid smiled. It was that warm, indulgent smile she usually reserved for the royal hatchlings of dragon queens. “That only makes it more meaningful. Not a lot of…what were you then? Eleven?”
“Twelve.”
“Right. Twelve. Well, not a lot of twelve-year-olds would risk their father’s wrath by releasing a stranger from his dungeon. Your father knew he’d caught himself a centaur, but you didn’t, did you? I had only two legs by the time you found me, and you thought I was human. Why would you risk that for some female in your father’s dungeon?”
“You were naked and alone in a dungeon. I knew I couldn’t leave you there.”
“How did you know that? You were only twelve.”
Annwyl’s far-off gaze spoke volumes. “I knew I couldn’t leave you there.”
Bríghid nodded. “If she hadn’t released me,” she explained to the others, “they would have tried to
use me for hunting.” Releasing Annwyl’s chin, Bríghid moved back and held her hand out. Her daughter placed her hand in her mother’s, and Bríghid said, “Queen Annwyl, I present my daughter Eadburga. She would be honored to raise the twins of the one who once rescued a lone woman in a dungeon.”
Annwyl cleared her throat. At first, Keita thought maybe Annwyl was embarrassed by such praise, but another part of her wondered if Annwyl’s father had found out what she’d done. If she had suffered for her betrayal. Quite a few of the scars that covered Annwyl’s body were not from her battles against men with swords.
“Talaith’s daughter, too,” Annwyl added. “If that’s all right with you? The three of them don’t like to be separated.”
Ebba nodded. “That’s fine with me.”
“Then go.” Bríghid released her daughter’s hand. “With my blessing and my heart.”
Ebba hugged her mother, and the small group of humans, dragons, and one centaur stood on the ridge as Bríghid and her herd returned to the canyon. When they were gone, Ebba faced them and, sounding much like her mother, said, “Let’s get started then.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ragnar heard gasps, and someone dropped plates on the floor. Then he heard his brother and cousin growl in appreciation.
“Now that’s a fine-looking woman,” Meinhard muttered around his fourth serving of porridge.
Curious, Ragnar looked over his shoulder. His breath caught, and he immediately rose from his chair. He reached back and grabbed his brother and cousin, forcing them both to their knees. He went down on one, too, his head bowed out of respect but also necessity. He’d be able to look at her over time, but for now, her Magick shone too brightly, blinding him.
“Uh…cousin?” Meinhard whispered. “A little much for a naked woman, isn’t it?”
“She’s not a naked woman, you idiot.”
“Anyone else smell horse?” Vigholf asked, earning himself a punch to the head.
“Horde dragons,” the naked female said. “How interesting this place is.”
A soft hand reached out and stroked Ragnar’s head. He felt Magick flow through him that was as old as time, as powerful as the ocean. “Don’t worry, Lord Ragnar,” she said. “It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it.”