by G. A. Aiken
Yet it was a tribute to the hardheadedness of these fire-breathing royals that Éibhear did nothing but rub the side of his head and scowl at Izzy as if she were one of the dark gods herself.
“You stupid bastard!” Izzy accused, throwing the shield down and making the ground shake just enough to have every dragon marveling at her.
“Did you even think about who you were fucking?” the Blue thundered at her.
“Oh, I thought about it,” she replied, venom dripping from every word. “I thought about it and enjoyed every second of it.”
“Damn,” Vigholf muttered at Izzy’s words. “You know that one had to hurt.”
Izzy reached down and, with the help of her cousin Branwen, pulled the battered cousin to his feet. With one arm around Izzy’s shoulders and the other held close to his body, Branwen pressing into him to give leverage, the dragon let them walk him back to the fortress. He was weak, losing a lot of blood, but he made sure to look back over his shoulder one last time so that he could give his cousin a blood-filled smile.
Seeing that smile for what it was—lusty leering and “I won!” triumph—the Blue was on his feet again, but Meinhard moved faster and slammed him back to the ground.
“It’s over, lad,” Meinhard told him in that way that always earned the respect of his young trainees. “Anything else now will just get that girl to hurt you worse than she already has. And your ego won’t come back from that.”
Morfyd slipped past them, crouching in front of her brother. “Oh, Éibhear.”
“I’m all right, Morfyd.” Éibhear got to his feet, and his sister stood with him, her gaze troubled as she examined him.
She caught hold of his hand. “Come with me.” She dragged him off, ignoring his protests, and Ragnar went to Keita.
“You all right?” he asked her.
“I wasn’t the one getting beaten into the dirt.”
“No. Nor was it your precious baby brother getting beaten into the dirt either. Not really.”
“I tried to warn you. You shouldn’t underestimate him.”
“I think I shouldn’t underestimate any of you.” And without much thought, he used his thumb to wipe away a few drops of blood that had splashed along her cheek. Her lashes lowered, and her skin grew heated. That was all it took for her.
Then again, it took even less for him.
Still, with all that went on between them without a word spoken, neither could ignore the silence that had developed around them.
The attention of both royal and low-born was on them, Ragnar unable to read the expressions and deciding it was probably best not to.
Ragnar dropped his hand away. “I’ll see what I can do for your cousin. I’m pretty good help after a brawl.”
The princess nodded and said nothing else, so he followed after Izzy and tried to ignore all the eyes that were on him.
“A Lightning?” Ghleanna demanded. “Have you gone round the bend?”
Keita rolled her eyes. “When have you ever cared what I do?”
“Your father will care. And your mother will bloody care.”
“Well, that’ll keep me up nights.”
Ghleanna grabbed hold of Keita’s arm and yanked her a few feet away from their kin. Her grip was brutal and her anger palpable. Normally, Keita would try to ease her aunt’s concerns, telling her what she wanted to hear. But not this time.
“What are you playing at?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
Her aunt’s fingers tightened, making Keita’s eyes water. “Don’t play your games with me, little miss. This is bad enough, but now I hear about you and—”
Ghleanna cut herself off, and Keita snapped, “Me and who?”
“I can’t believe you’re that stupid.”
Keita tried to pry Ghleanna’s fingers from her arm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’d like it if you’d let me go now.”
Her aunt’s eyes, black like Bercelak’s, narrowed; her lips thinned. Ghleanna had little patience for those who didn’t listen to her and jump at her commands. But Keita didn’t jump at anyone’s commands.
“Let her go, Ghleanna.” Fearghus stood next to them now.
“We’re just talking.”
“You can talk later.” Fearghus took Keita’s other arm and pulled her away from their aunt. “You should come to the castle tonight and see the babes.”
Fearghus led Keita off.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Fearghus said when they were halfway between the lake and the castle. “But whatever it is, little sister, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t I always?”
Fearghus stopped. “I’m not joking. I’ve got enough shit to worry about without worrying you’re about to end up on the wrong side of the Cadwaladrs. Especially if what I’m hearing about you and Esyld is true.”
“You need to trust me, Fearghus,” she said, unable to outright lie to her eldest brother about something so important.
“I do trust you, Keita. That’s what has me worried. You’re not usually this…obvious. And the strength and speed with which this rumor has spread has the earmarks of Dagmar Reinholdt all over it. Yet I know she likes you. So then why would she say anything that could put you in such trouble?”
“Give me a little time. Please.”
“I will.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “But in the meantime, watch your back.”
Izzy took the bowl from Branwen. It was filled with bloody water and would be the fourth one she’d replaced in the last thirty minutes. She walked out into the hall, relieved to see a servant rushing toward her with fresh water and clean cloth.
She started to exchange the bowls with the servant when her mother walked up. “Peg, take that in to Lord Ragnar.” She opened the door and let the servant go in, then took the bowl Izzy still held. She placed it on the floor to one side of the door and took Izzy’s hand.
“Come on.” Izzy let her mother drag her to a room a few doors away. It was one of the guest rooms, reserved for nobles and kin.
Talaith closed the door and faced her. Izzy had prepared herself for this. She knew her mum would take Éibhear’s side on this. She knew she’d be appalled that Izzy hadn’t been keeping her virginity intact for the “right male,” as she’d told Izzy to do a short time before she’d gone off with the troops. Yet it didn’t matter. Izzy had made her choice quite a few months back, and now she’d stand tall and would not feel ashamed about what she did or what just happened. She wouldn’t. No matter how pissed off her mother might be.
“Are you all right?” her mother asked.
Izzy jerked a little in surprise at the question but caught herself in time. She went for casual disdain, as she liked to call it. “It wasn’t me that got hit, was it?”
Her mother stepped closer, and Izzy waited for it. The accusations, the recriminations. She waited for all of it.
“I’m not asking about anyone but you, Iseabail.” Talaith reached up and pressed the palm of her hand against Izzy’s cheek. “Are you all right?”
Izzy blinked several times, trying to hold back the tears she suddenly felt burning behind her eyes. Tears that at one time she could show no one else but her mother. She’d thought that closeness was gone, thought she was too old for all that “boo-hooing” as Ghleanna called it. But with her mother not judging her, just worried about her, and the pair alone in this boring room, she couldn’t hold those tears back.
“How could he do that, Mum?” she sobbed out. “In front of everybody? Gods.” She covered her face with her hands. “Even Dad.”
Her mother pulled Izzy into her arms, bringing them both down to their knees so Izzy didn’t have to bend over to have her good sob, and Talaith didn’t have to spend all her time on her toes.
“And what he said to me!”
“I know, luv. I know. That was hurtful and mean.” Talaith rubbed Izzy’s back and let her cry. “And I don’t care how angry he was, just a gods-damn sh
itty thing to do.”
Knowing her mother understood, and knowing she took her side made all the difference to Izzy. She clung to her mother, her hands gripping the back of her shirt as she cried on her shoulder. She had no idea how long she was going for, but it lasted a good bit. Yet her mum never once complained.
When Izzy finally cried herself out, they sat on the floor, Talaith holding her hands tight in her own.
“Don’t be disappointed in me, Mum.”
“Why would I be?”
“For, ya know”—she turned her face into her shoulder and wiped her remaining tears since her mum held her hands—“not waiting.”
“Not waiting for what?” When Izzy only gazed at her, “Oh…oh! Right. Waiting. Well, I didn’t exactly wait either, did I? And Celyn is very handsome. Just like your father was when we…” Talaith’s remark faded out, and her eyes grew wide. Immediately Izzy knew what had her mother worried.
“Don’t worry, Mum. I…I take precautions.” Her mother’s wide eyes narrowed, and Izzy insisted, “I do. Honestly.” Although, except for the twins and Rhi, there’d been no other word yet about other dragon-human babes, Izzy had no desire to risk that what had happened to Annwyl and her mum. To Izzy that was simply too great a chance to take. “You know how much this all means to me, and I’m not at the point where I can do both. A child and making morning formation with my unit.”
“But you will be there. One day.”
“That’s my plan. Then I can decide about having little Izzys running around.”
Talaith smiled. “As long as you have a plan.”
“I always have a plan.”
“Good.” Her mother squeezed her hands. “And do you love him, Izzy?”
Outraged she’d even ask, Izzy instantly replied, “After what he did to Celyn? Not anymore!”
Talaith cleared her throat, glanced around the room, cleared her throat again, and finally admitted, “I, uh…meant Celyn.”
“Oh.” Mother and daughter stared at each other a long moment before Izzy admitted, “This is awkward.”
Then they both exploded in a fit of giggles that felt really inappropriate at the moment, but also very necessary.
Ren eased around the corner, waited until the soldiers had passed him. He’d arrived in the Quintilian Province more than a day ago. He’d been astounded by the beauty of the buildings, the artwork, the women. The heat made him miserable, but he loved the country.
Still, with the beautiful, came the ugly. The slaves, the cruelty, the mistreatment. And at the heart of it all were the Irons who ruled. Although dragon symbols reigned throughout each home, each business, and in all government buildings, the Irons mostly went around as human. But everyone knew who they were. Then again, they were hard to miss.
In some ways the dynamics between dragon and human Sovereigns reminded him of the relationship between his kind and the humans of the East, except for one major difference. There was no fear among the Eastland humans. Instead they celebrated the existence of the dragons because they wanted to, not because they were afraid not to.
With the area clear, Ren crossed from one side of the cavern to the other, then slid through solid rock to go from one side of the mountain wall to the other. One of many skills bestowed upon his kind that he enjoyed taking full advantage of, and one of the reasons Rhiannon had sent him on this mission.
As soon as he made it through, Ren stopped and gazed out over the land in front of him. The land currently filled, it seemed, from one end to the other with troops. Legions and legions of troops. A good number of them Irons, thousands and thousands of them human. They trained under the hot suns, readying for battle.
Readying for war.
Ren fought the urge to panic and worked hard to focus on what he was doing here. Gathering information and bringing it back to the Southland queens. A task he’d do to the best of his ability.
Turning away from the overwhelming sight before him, Ren eased his body through the mountain and back into the cavern.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Keita crouched by her baby brother, watching while Morfyd cleaned the blood off his hand. It seemed he’d broken his knuckles on Celyn’s face and Morfyd wanted to make sure to heal them correctly and ensure that they didn’t get infected.
“I need to make a poultice,” Morfyd said, moving over to some plants nearby to search out ingredients.
Keita gently lifted her brother’s hand and held it between her own. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Aye, sister,” he said, sounding worn after his explosion of anger. “Ease yourself.”
“Oh. I will.” Then she slammed her hands against his broken knuckles, enjoying the scream of pain her brother unleashed.
“What the hells are you doing?” Morfyd demanded.
“You!” Keita said, pointing at Éibhear. “How dare you do what you did to Izzy! In front of her parents, no less!”
“I was trying to protect her!”
“No, you weren’t, you lying sack of shit!”
“Keita!”
Now she spun on her sister. “And you!”
“What did I do?”
“Babying him! As if he deserves it!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry I’m not acting the way Keita the Viper thinks I should. I’m sorry I’m not performing to your specifications!”
Keita shoved her sister, and Morfyd shoved her back. They nearly had each other’s hair when Éibhear got between them. “Stop it! What’s wrong with you?”
Pulling away from the pair, Keita stalked off. She was too angry even to think straight.
She felt for Izzy, and that was the truth of the matter. Why? Because she’d been there before. Some male calling her out in front of everyone because he couldn’t have her for one reason or another. Well, mostly one reason. That Keita didn’t want him. And although not the same exact situation, she still knew how her niece felt. Mortified was how she felt. And who could blame her?
Keita had thought she’d raised Éibhear better than that. Obviously she was wrong! For once.
And what was even stranger to her? That the only thing she wanted to do at the moment to make herself feel better was not go shopping, destroy a town, or steal something from her mother’s treasure. She wanted to do none of that. Instead, all she wanted to do was see Ragnar the Cunning. See him. Talk to him. Let him make her feel better.
A desire, she had to admit, she found a tad appalling!
Ragnar and Vigholf took the young dragon out to the east fields. They placed him down in the center and walked away. Once a good distance back, they pulled off their clothes and shifted.
“All right, lad,” Ragnar called out. “Shift, if you can.”
It took a bit, but flames burst and the young dragon was back in his natural form.
Ragnar returned to his side, checked the broken bones in his face, his broken arm, his broken ribs. Honestly, it was a good thing Izzy came along when she had.
Ragnar had hoped he’d be able to heal the young dragon while he’d still been in his human form, so the lad could stay in a soft bed with all those females coming in and out of the room to check on him and soothe him like their favorite wounded pet. But Ragnar simply didn’t have the level of understanding of human bones that he did for his own. He waited as long as he could for Morfyd to return, knowing her skill in healing far outstripped his own, but by mid-afternoon, he decided he could wait no longer.
“What do you need from me?” Vigholf asked Ragnar.
“Something to eat. A cow should do.”
“All right. I’ll be back.”
Ragnar leaned in. “Can you hear me, Celyn?”
The Fire Breather nodded.
“This shouldn’t take too long, but it’ll hurt. A lot. Understand?”
“Do it,” he whispered.
“I can do something that will hurt less, but you’d take longer to heal. You’d be bedridden for a few days, though.”
Celyn forced his eyes open, gazed at Ragnar.
“Do it.”
Ragnar went down on his knees and raised his front claws over Celyn. He closed his eyes and let the power stored in the ground beneath him rise up through his body. When he had what he needed, he unleashed that power through his claws and into the Fire Breather’s body.
Celyn growled in pain, fangs clenched together, while his bones locked back into place and knitted themselves whole.
Although some would probably take the less painful but longer healing route, Ragnar knew why this one wouldn’t—Iseabail. Celyn wasn’t about to let his cousin have any time alone with her. Not if he could help it anyway.
Ragnar had seen it before. The fight between kin over a female. Something that rarely ended well.
After fixing the last bone, Ragnar checked to make sure he hadn’t missed anything that could lead to hemorrhaging later. Once he felt confident about that, he lowered his claws, and his body dropped back. He’d have hit the ground if his brother wasn’t there to catch him.
Panting, he nodded at his kin. “Thanks.”
“Here. Something for you to eat.”
Vigholf helped Ragnar to the still thrashing cow, letting him be the one to finish it off by wrapping his maw around its neck and breaking it. Then Ragnar fed until he felt his strength return.
By the time he offered the remainder of his meal to his brother, Celyn was sitting up. A lot of blood still covered his body and Ragnar was sure he’d be sore for days, but he was alert.
“Thank you,” Celyn said with a nod.
“You’re welcome.”
The young dragon got to his feet but stumbled a bit.
“I better help him back.” Vigholf walked off with Celyn, and Ragnar stayed behind picking cow flesh out of his teeth.
He’d just dislodged a good-sized rib bone when Keita walked toward him. She’d changed into another gown, her hair tied into a loose ponytail down her back, and still no shoes. What did she have against shoes?
“Hungry?” he asked, offering her what was left of the carcass.
“No, thank you. How’s Celyn?”
“Better. I fixed his bones, and stopped the bleeding. How’s your brother?”