by G. A. Aiken
“She was about to open that large mouth she inherited from you and I was trying to stop her.” Rhiannon pointed at her nephew. “Celyn, be a dear and you and Brannie there block the door.”
“Really?” he asked with an annoyed sound in his voice. “You want me watching the door. Like one of Dagmar’s dogs?” He pointed at the large beast that always shadowed the Northlander. Her name was Adda and she was the size of a miniature horse. “Look. She’s already standing there. Can’t she do it?”
“For the love of . . . you two just guard the bloody door!”
By the time the siblings locked the door and stood in front of it, Izzy was awake and slowly getting to her feet.
Rhiannon started to order Ghleanna’s offspring to the other side of the door to keep out her sons, but she realized she didn’t have much time. At some point, her sons would realize that the rest of them had snuck away. So she had to make this quick.
Izzy, again, pointed a damning finger. “Gran, you tried to kill me!”
“Now, dear,” Rhiannon said with a smile, “we both know that if I’d actually tried to kill you, you’d be nothing but ash and a lovely memory by now.”
Like one of the lesser Queen’s Guard, Celyn and his sister were forced to stand in front of the library door to keep out Rhiannon’s spoiled sons.
It hadn’t been hard to start that fight among the lot of them. They used to get into fights almost all the time until Éibhear came along and calmed everyone down. Then the big bastard had hit puberty and he’d gone from ending fights to starting them. But deep down, he was still that sensitive blue dragon everyone adored—and Celyn was not ashamed to say that he used that weakness to manipulate all the queen’s sons whenever necessary.
Of course, helping Rhiannon with her sons didn’t usually end in this kind of indignity. He hoped it was worth all this and not just some ridiculous issue that could as easily have been worked out with everyone involved.
“This must be old hat for you,” his sister mocked in a whisper. “Standing around, guarding the queen’s doors.”
“Would you shut up? I’m trying to be nosy.”
“What the hells is going on?” Talaith demanded of Rhiannon and Izzy.
With light brown eyes still glaring at Rhiannon, Izzy said, “That bitch Haldane lost Rhianwen.”
“What the battle-fuck do you mean, she lost Rhi? How do you lose a grown woman? How do you lose my daughter?” Talaith exploded, most likely ready to run all the way back to the Desert Lands just to choke her own mother to death. Talaith had never been close to the witch Haldane from what Celyn had heard. Then again there was “not close” and “I will kill you as soon as see you.” Celyn was pretty sure the way Talaith felt about her mother was the latter.
“Haldane lost no one,” Rhiannon said.
“I was there, Gran,” Izzy shot back, getting stronger by the second now that she could breathe again. “Something opened some magickal door and pulled Rhianwen from this world into another.”
Without a word, Talaith headed for the exit. Gods, Celyn didn’t look forward to this. Talaith was a scrappy fighter, and she could do a lot of damage before Celyn got control of her.
Thankfully, though, Rhiannon simply reached out and grabbed Talaith by her long, curly hair, yanking her back.
“What are you doing?” Talaith snarled, trying to fight her way out of Rhiannon’s sturdy grip.
“There is no point in going after your mother. No point involving the Nolwenns at all. This has nothing to do with them. They’ve served their purpose.”
Dagmar’s lips briefly pursed before she asked, “What’s going on, Rhiannon?”
After pushing Talaith back and releasing her, Rhiannon looked at each of the women standing before her. Talaith. Iseabail. Dagmar. Annwyl.
Celyn was sure it had never occurred to the powerful Dragon Queen that these humans would become an important part of her life. At one time, the queen thought of humans as nothing more than wily food that could make a boring dinner that much more interesting as they begged for their lives.
Yet all that had changed a few decades ago when Fearghus had rescued a dying Annwyl the Bloody. At the time she’d merely been a rebel leader, battling against her sadistic brother after the death of their Southland-ruling father. Fearghus, with the help of his sister, Morfyd the White, had nursed Annwyl back to health and, pretty quickly, he’d fallen in love with her. And once a dragon falls in love, there is no turning back. There is no flying away to find someone new. Someone dragon.
Rhiannon could have handled her eldest son’s situation like most royal dragon parents would have. Ordering him never to see the human again, having Annwyl killed so he couldn’t, or allowing Fearghus to take Annwyl as his lover while forcing him to choose a royal She-dragon as his mate. A She-dragon who would have his offspring so that the line of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar would live on.
But, to everyone’s surprise, Rhiannon the White had done none of those things. Not once had she told her son, the heir to her throne, that he had to choose someone else. That he could never rule if he were to make a human female his mate. Instead, she’d accepted Annwyl the Bloody. Accepted her whole-heartedly. And, in return, Annwyl wore her love for Fearghus the Destroyer on her shield, her armor, and her body. When Fearghus had Claimed Annwyl, he’d branded her forearms with his mark—and, rumor had it, her inner thighs, but Celyn had thankfully not seen any of that.
In all the years Celyn had known the human queen, she’d never once hid who she was and who—or what—her mate was. If anyone was brave enough to express disgust at her choosing a dragon, Annwyl allowed that person his or her opinion.
And if someone went beyond merely having an opinion . . . ?
Annwyl took their head.
“There’s something I haven’t told any of you about Rhianwen and the twins,” Rhiannon said to the women.
“Gods help us,” Talaith gasped. “They’re all dead.”
Rhiannon briefly stared at the Desert Land beauty before asking, “Why would I not tell you that?”
“Because you knew it would destroy us?”
“Even then, Talaith, I’d still tell all of you if something had happened to my grandchildren. And no, you ridiculous female, they’re not dead. They’re on the move.”
“The move to where?” Dagmar asked.
When Rhiannon didn’t answer, Talaith threw her hands into the air. “You don’t know where they’re going?”
“Not specifically, and don’t get snappy with me, Lady Hysteria!”
“Everyone stop.” Annwyl stepped back to one of the tables. She pushed the books covering it aside and sat down. She rested her elbows on her legs and clasped her hands between her knees.
Celyn guessed that this was what Dagmar had been calling “the new and less insane Annwyl.” The Annwyl who took a moment to breathe and think before reacting with the full force of her mighty will.
“Where are my children, Rhiannon?” the human queen quietly asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Where are they going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who are they going to?”
“I don’t know.”
Talaith crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, when you put it like that . . .”
“I know they’re safe,” Rhiannon insisted.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because they told me they are and I trust them.”
“Trust them?” Talaith briefly closed her eyes and shook her head. “Why the hells would you do that?”
“Because they’re my grandchildren. That’s why.”
“You don’t want us to tell Fearghus and Briec,” Dagmar guessed.
“We can’t. They simply won’t understand.”
“And Bercelak?”
“I don’t hide anything from my Bercelak.”
Celyn laughed at that, and Rhiannon glared at him.
He cleared his throat, nodded. “Sorry, my
queen.”
When Rhiannon returned her focus to her sons’ mates, Celyn looked at his sister and they silently laughed.
“He has complete faith in his granddaughters on this,” Rhiannon told the women. “And he’ll follow my lead.”
Annwyl sat up a bit. “He has faith in his granddaughters? What about his grandson?”
“The one he keeps accidentally calling Gwenvael? I don’t think there’s hope there, dear. I’d let it go.”
“Éibhear knows,” Izzy reminded them.
“He won’t say a word,” Rhiannon immediately replied. “He contacted me as soon as he saw Rhi escape through that portal, and I told him then to keep his mouth shut.”
“Escape?” Dagmar asked.
“I’m sorry, what was that, dear?”
“You said as soon as he saw Rhi escape through that portal. She was escaping the Nolwenns? Is that what you’re telling us? Are they all escaping?”
“You ask too many questions,” the queen accused Dagmar.
“No. I’m certain I ask just the right amount.”
“What is happening, Rhiannon?” Talaith snapped.
“All you need to know is that the children—of their own free will—are on the move to a safer place.”
“Safer place? Safer than here?” Annwyl asked.
“Much safer. They’ll be hidden until they’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Only the gods can answer that, and I am no god. Besides, we have more important things to do.”
“What things?”
Celyn stumbled forward when the door he rested against was shoved, the wood pulled from the hinges. He looked at his sister and together, they rammed their bodies backward, shoving the door closed again.
“Ow! You rude bastards!” Gwenvael yelped from the other side.
Rhiannon pointed a finger at the human women. “Not a word,” she whispered to them. “We’ll talk more later.”
Rhiannon nodded at Celyn. “Let them in.”
Celyn and his sister stepped back, and Celyn removed the now-damaged door and set it aside. Fearghus, Briec, Gwenvael, Éibhear, and their father, Bercelak, walked in.
“What’s going on?” Fearghus demanded.
Rhiannon opened her mouth to make up some lie that Fearghus would never believe in an eon, but Annwyl cut her off by giving a casual shrug and stating, “I took a few heads this morning, and Dagmar is being completely irrational about it.”
“Yes,” Dagmar said drily. “Because I’m known for being so irrational when you do something so incredibly stupid.”
“See?” Briec said, triumphant. “Even the devious human knows what you did was stupid.”
“My sweet Dagmar is not devious,” Gwenvael happily corrected. “She’s conniving and cold-blooded in a way that I adore like the suns.”
Dagmar grinned. “Thank you for that, my love.”
“You’re so very welcome, my sweet.”
Fearghus walked past his brother and, as he did, he grabbed him by his ridiculously long hair and threw him backward, sending him flying through the now permanently open doorway.
“You heartless bastard!”
Fearghus brushed the back of his hand against Annwyl’s cheek. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“The meeting with Baron Pyrs was a setup. Priestess Abertha was there, waiting to talk to me as she put it. But really, all she wanted to do was piss me off so much that I cut her nasty little head from her nasty little body.”
“But you didn’t?”
Annwyl held Fearghus’s left hand in her own, her fingers tracing the scars and veins on the back. “I knew that’s what she wanted. You know how I hate giving anyone what they want.”
“She wanted you to kill her?” Bercelak asked.
“She wanted to be a martyr to her god. I kill her and everyone turns on me. I wasn’t going to give her that. And I only killed her soldiers because they wouldn’t let me leave.”
Dagmar patted Annwyl’s shoulder. “That’s very good, Annwyl. You handled that situation well.”
Eyes narrowed, Annwyl snarled, “I’m not one of your dogs, Dagmar.”
“I never said you were.”
“Then stop treating me like you’re about to toss me a bone!”
“That’s enough!” Rhiannon clapped her hands together. “Stop it. Both of you. We’re not going to start turning on each other now. After everything we’ve been through.”
Gwenvael, who’d picked himself up and come back in the room, opened his mouth to speak, but Rhiannon immediately raised a warning finger. “And not one gods-damn word from you. Not one.”
Celyn’s cousin closed his mouth and stepped behind Brannie, as if she’d ever bother protecting the big idiot from his own mother.
“Now,” Rhiannon went on, “all of this with Abertha and that family of hers is a clear sign that they’re coming after this kingdom. Not with sword and soldier, but with their god. Although I’m sure sword and soldier are soon to follow. But are we going to wait for that? Are we going to wait to see what they do next? Or are we going to start planning now? So that we’re ready?”
Fearghus eyed his mother, a small smirk on his lips. “What are you planning, Mum?”
Rhiannon grinned. “I’m so glad you asked! I’ve come up with something brilliant!” She clapped her hands together. “But I need a map. A big one.”
Chapter Six
Celyn thought he could make a run for it when the discussion was moved to the war room, Morfyd and Brastias now included in the discussion, but Bercelak shoved Celyn and Brannie inside with the rest of them, “You two should probably hear this.”
Gods, Celyn couldn’t get out of this. And he kept trying! It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying!
“I had the most brilliant idea today,” Rhiannon announced as she unrolled one of the large maps on the big desk at the front of the room. “I’ve been thinking about alliances a lot lately.”
“Perhaps my father should be here for this,” Celyn suggested.
“He’s already on his way, but let’s get started now.”
“I can see if he’s arrived,” Celyn said, turning toward the door. But his uncle caught him by the front of his chain-mail shirt and spun him back around. “Stay.”
After he was back in position, staring at a stupid map, his sister leaned over and whispered, “Sit, doggie. Good boy,” which prompted Celyn to snarl and hit her with a small fireball right in her human face.
“Bastard!” she yelped before punching him in the arm. Celyn punched her back.
But before things could get out of hand, Bercelak growled, “Leave off and listen! Both of you!”
“Thank you, my love,” Rhiannon said before turning back to the map. “Now as Annwyl’s little visit with Priestess Abertha has taught us, the real danger these days is coming from Annaig Valley and that Duke Salebiri. His territory is protected by the Western Mountains and Quintilian Provinces on one side and the Outerplains on the other. Now here”—she pointed at the map—“on the eastern side of the Conchobar Mountains, we have complete access to this portion of the Outerplains so that we can come and go into the Northlands. But on the western side of those mountains, we are not allowed access due to tribal rule, which leaves Salebiri and Annaig Valley relatively safe from an attack from our human armies.”
“The only way into Annaig Valley from the Southlands is through the pass that cuts through Conchobar Mountains.” Annwyl shook her head. “The pass is too small to get an army through with any speed, which would allow Salebiri’s men to pick us off one by one as we reach the end.”
“Yes, I see that. And, of course, we could send my Dragonwarriors to attack by going over the mountains except that the Outerplains dragons control all the mountains in that region. And they’ll protect those mountains from us no matter what, which might cut down on a good number of my troops reaching Annaig Valley successfully. Something I’d like to avoid doing, if we can.”
“We can pass o
ver the Western Mountains, which is next to Annaig Valley on the left,” Fearghus suggested.
“Except that Gaius Domitus is still battling his kin for complete control over the Quintilian Provinces. If we go over those mountains, we may have only to deal with the Rebel King and his troops or we may have to deal with one of his idiot cousins. Don’t get me wrong,” Rhiannon quickly added, “I’m not ruling that out as an option. But I’d like to have something a little more in our favor. Especially since we’ll still have the same problem with the Western Mountains that we have with the Conchobar: tribal horsemen. Only the Western Mountain horsemen really and truly hate Annwyl.”
“They burn an effigy of you every new season to celebrate the end of the dark nights,” Briec pointed out, which got a little smile from Annwyl.
“Then what are you suggesting?” Dagmar asked.
Rhiannon again pointed at the map. “There are two passes through those mountains. One goes directly into Annaig Valley and the other goes into the Outerplains—”
“And right into tribal territory. Again, Rhiannon, that second pass is just as narrow as the first and—”
“We need an alliance with those tribes.”
Annwyl shook her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“They’re slavers. You know my feeling on slavers.”
“The Riders of the Western Mountains are slavers. I’m talking about the Riders of the Outerplains. The Daughters of the Steppes. And they don’t sell slaves.”
“But they do raid and destroy towns and cities that won’t pay them their ‘taxes’ as they like to call it,” Fearghus reminded her. “Mum, they’re a nightmare.”
“And they hate us,” Annwyl added. “All of us. Not just me. They think Southlanders are worthless and corrupt. They won’t have anything to do with us.”
“Yes, but—”
“My father tried to arrange an alliance with their leaders and they sent his emissary back, riding on his horse, but when he got close we realized that not only was he dead, but his body had been cut into three distinct pieces.” Annwyl shook her head. “How they got his body to stay up on that horse until it reached my father, I’ve never figured out. And I’ve tried.”