Light My Fire

by G. A. Aiken

  “You can stop talking now.”

  “You said you want to chat.”

  “Not anymore!”

  She shrugged. “Fine. No need to bellow.”

  Elina had a wonderful ten minutes of silence before the dragon couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “So how many husbands can a woman have?”

  “One,” she sighed out, deciding not to try to silence him again. “Unless she brings in much gold and cattle from raids. Then she can have as many husbands as she likes.”

  “I see.”

  “Anne Atli has fifty-four husbands.”

  The dragon slowly turned his head toward her, eyes wide. “That sounds like a lot.”

  “She does not seem to mind.”

  “But you don’t have a husband yet?”

  Elina shook her head, her gaze focused on the stream. “No. I have nothing to entice a man. No raids. No bounty on my head. No one fears me.” She looked him in the eyes. “As far as the tribes are concerned, I am nothing.”

  “But you’re cute.”

  “I am . . . cute?”

  “Aye. Cute. In the Southlands, cute can get you a baron and a full staff.”

  Elina didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “That is appalling.”

  “It works for some.”

  “Even Annwyl?”

  “Annwyl?” The dragon shook his head. “Gods, no. She gained her power by taking her brother’s head. He deserved it, though. He was a right bastard. Eventually Rhiannon would have had him killed. She loathed his father, so she wasn’t going to go through another reign like that.”

  “Rhiannon cares much for the humans then?”

  “She doesn’t like anyone tormenting her cattle. It makes the meat tough.” When Elina only stared at him, the dragon said, “Just kidding.”

  “No. You do not kid.”

  “No,” he admitted. “I don’t. But Rhiannon has come a long way,” he went on quickly. “Now she wants to protect all her kin, including the human ones. And especially her grand-offspring.”

  “Which is why I will help her.”

  “It won’t be easy for you, though, will it?”

  Elina thought a moment. She didn’t trust or even like this dragon, but she should be honest with him. In case things didn’t work out.

  “No. Getting past Glebovicha is one thing. Even if I do that, I will still need to convince the Anne Atli that an alliance with the decadent Southlanders is worth her time. That will be very hard. She, too, has no respect for the Southland people.”

  “What if we have proof?”

  “Proof? What kind of proof?”

  “Look,” he said, turning his human body so he was facing her directly, his knees brushing against her leg as he moved. “We could help each other here.”

  “Help each other? What do you need help with?”

  “I am not Fal. I will never be Fal.”

  Elina frowned. “Who is this Fal?”

  “He’s my brother. A lazy, worthless, idiotic dragon . . . I love him dearly.”

  “Yes. That I can see. So very clearly.”

  Ignoring her sarcasm, the dragon went on, “But I need to prove to my parents that I am not some pathetic dragon that needs to be hidden away. I have bigger goals than that.”

  “What goals?”

  He stared at her for such a long moment that she thought it was some big secret he was afraid to tell. Until he admitted, “I’m working on that.”

  Elina cringed and asked, “What do you propose, Dolt?”

  “When you came here, you avoided populated areas, didn’t you? Cities, towns, anywhere with people?”

  Elina nodded. “Considering what I was tasked to do, it seemed logical not to make my presence known.”

  “Well, I think on our journey back, we should travel through as many towns as we can.”

  “Why?”

  “Gather information, proof, that the spread of the Chramnesind cults out of Annaig Valley is real—and dangerous.”

  “What makes you think that the Anne Atli will care about some worthless religion that worships only one god?”

  “Because like a plague, this cult is spreading beyond Annaig Valley borders, even beyond species. Already there’s unrest coming from the Northlands and Quintilian Provinces from both human and dragon.”

  “The Provinces are known for fights between the cults of their territories. And the Northlands are filled with weak males and sad, useless females, begging for some god to save them rather than saving themselves.”

  “I think we know different Northlanders. You know, to be honest, I’m surprised the Northland warlords didn’t try to capture your females. They have fewer than they need in that country.”

  “We tried to help them with that. We used to take their men when we could. But they put up such a fight. . . . Things often ended badly.”

  “I see.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ve always believed it’s easier to get people to cooperate when you back up your argument with facts. If we have actual evidence to present to your Anne Atli . . . it may change everything.”

  “And how will that help you?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m willing to give it a chance.”

  “To prove your worth to your people?”

  “More like to my parents . . . my siblings . . . and my uncle Bercelak.”

  That was a need Elina understood more than this dragon could ever know. So she agreed.

  “Excellent!” The dragon grinned. “Now, first . . . we need to get you some new clothes.”

  Elina looked down at what she was wearing. Leggings, shirt, and boots made of animal skin and fur. She didn’t understand the problem. “New clothes? What for new clothes?”

  “We can’t blend into Southland cities with you looking like . . .”

  “Like what?” she pushed when he did nothing but open and close his mouth for a few seconds.

  “Like an outsider.” He seemed pleased by his moment of verbal brilliance. “If we want these humans to be honest about things going on, we’ll need to look like we belong.”

  “And you look like you belong?”

  “As human, I do. Thankfully I wasn’t cursed with blue or green hair, like many of my cousins. Nor am I freakishly tall or wide like my cousin Éibhear, who also has blue hair.” The dragon briefly glanced off. “Gods, how does he function as human?” Before Elina could tell him she had no intention of answering such a ridiculous question, he went on. “Anyway, I may be tall and well-built, but I fit in quite nicely among the humans. Something the Cadwaladrs have been very good at for generations.”

  “I do not care,” Elina told him.

  “What?”

  “I do not care. You talk and talk, and I do not care.”

  “But you asked.”

  “And you could have said, ‘Yes, I belong.’ But you ramble. So much talking!”

  “Are you done?”

  “Are you?”

  They both glared at each other until the dragon said, “Fine. I will work on not rambling if you allow me to dress you more like a Southlander.”

  “That I agree to.”

  “Then we have a deal?”

  “Yes. We have deal.”

  He held out his hand and Elina punched it. The dragon recoiled, holding his hand close to his chest.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Agreeing to our deal.”

  “That involves punching?”

  “Of course,” she lied, hiding her smile until he stood. Then she giggled, unable to help herself.

  The dragon glared down at her. “What?”

  Elina shook her head. “Nothing.”

  He didn’t look like he believed her, but he simply said, “Then let’s get started.”

  Gwenvael did what he did every night around this time. Tucked his five youngest girls into their beds.

  Although they could each have their own rooms, they stayed together. Only their eldest sister insisted on her own room, which was a goo
d thing since she could be bitchy when she first woke up.

  As ordered, Gwenvael “flew” each of his daughters into her bed. Each girl screeching until she hit the mattress. It drove the rest of the family crazy, which was why they all did it. These five were, much to his siblings’ horror, small, female versions of Gwenvael.

  Plotting, ridiculous, and beautiful, his five youngest daughters brought absolute joy to Gwenvael’s life because they enjoyed the tormenting of others so much. And they were all so eager to learn his many techniques!

  All his wonderful little girls.

  He tucked in his little Seva last. She was the eldest of Gwenvael’s Five—as they’d been named by his uncle Addolgar. It was also Addolgar who had named Unnvar “Dagmar’s Little Sneak” and Arlais “The Snobby Brat.” They all felt that last one was not very original, but in Addolgar’s defense, at the time he’d been gripping the ankle Arlais had kicked while Arlais referred to him as “blood, perhaps, but you are still a Low Born!”

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, my little tormentor?”

  “Mommy is sad. You should talk to her.”

  “She is? She seemed fine at dinner.”

  “She lies, Daddy. I thought we all knew that.”

  “We do. But she lies to protect us.”

  “She doesn’t want you to know she’s sad. She sees sad as a weakness.”

  Gwenvael sat on the bed next to his daughter and brushed her golden hair off her forehead. It was finally growing back after he’d found her shaved bald a few weeks ago. Arlais had not reacted well when she’d discovered that Seva and the others had made it rain . . . inside her bedroom. For hours. Until everything Arlais valued had been ruined. Gwenvael’s Five could also set fires, control lightning, and create enough wind to blow people out of any room they chose. And since his daughters never used their skills against him, Gwenvael found it all highly entertaining.

  But shaving off his child’s beautiful, golden hair? Unacceptable!

  “So why is your mother sad?”

  Seva pursed her lips and looked up at Gwenvael with an expression that had clearly been inherited from his Dagmar.

  “The boy?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “How can he not love it here? I love my uncle Bram, but he’s not exactly fun. It’s just him and books . . . and reading. So much bloody reading.”

  “Var likes to read. He likes quiet. He doesn’t much like you.”

  “But I’m darling.”

  Seva placed her small hand on Gwenvael’s forearm. “We all know that, Daddy. And we love you just as you are. But Var . . . he might kill you while you sleep. Although I’m sure he’d feel badly about it . . . eventually.”

  Gwenvael doubted that, but it didn’t matter. “She doesn’t want to let him go, does she?”

  Seva shook her head. “She loves us all, but Var and Mum understand each other the way you understand the five of us. She doesn’t want to let that go.”

  “I see.” He leaned down and kissed Seva’s forehead. “I’ll talk to your mum. And thanks for the heads-up.”

  “Of course.”

  Gwenvael stood and walked over to the fireplace and the dying fire within. He unleashed some fresh flame to warm it up again and added wood to keep it going for a bit. Then he blew out the candles that lit the rest of the room and walked to the door. There he stopped and looked back at his daughters.

  “We’re all close, yeah?” he asked.

  “Yes, Daddy,” his girls replied.

  “And your mum has Var.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Then who is my Arlais close to? I don’t want her to feel alone.”

  “Keita,” they all replied together.

  “Oh. You’re probably right.”

  “All Auntie Keita and Uncle Ragnar have are those ridiculous male offspring,” Seva explained. “They’ll only ever have males. Arlais will be like Auntie Keita’s own daughter.”

  “Hmm.” Gwenvael reached for the door handle, remembering growing up with Keita and her way with herbs and turning them into poisons.

  “Well,” he said to his girls, “just remember . . . never eat or drink anything that Arlais gives you, and I’ll make sure the kitchen staff lets us know if she’s ever lurking around . . . touching the food.” He opened the door. “I’m sure we’ll all be fine.”

  “Don’t worry, Daddy,” Seva promised around a yawn. “We’ll warn you if she decides to kill us all. Then we’ll get her first.”

  And her sisters agreed with a “Destruction-ho!” Their favorite chant.

  Gwenvael walked into the hall and closed the door. “They’re so cute,” he gushed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elina walked into the center of the store and stood in front of the Dolt. He sat in a chair and studied her. Her hands kept clenching and unclenching. They did that because she so desperately wanted to punch him.

  When they’d gotten up that morning, he’d told her that they’d be getting her clothes to help her “blend.” To be honest, she assumed they’d steal some freshly cleaned clothes that someone had hung out to dry. Instead, he’d taken her into a nearby town where he knew the proprietress of a clothing store. Most of the clothes were made to order, but she had some clothes at the ready in different sizes.

  Which was why Elina was now standing in the middle of this ridiculous store in a full-length white silk dress.

  The dragon, one foot resting on his thigh, his large body somehow comfortable in that chair, made a circle motion with his forefinger. “Turn around.”

  “No.”

  “I need to see the back. You have fuller hips than I originally thought and we don’t want you looking too wide from behind.”

  Elina’s hands curled into fists again . . . and stayed that way.

  “I will not wear this ridiculous garment!”

  “You look lovely . . . from the front. I just want to check the—”

  “Shut up!”

  “Here we are,” the shopgirl trilled as she walked up to Elina and placed on her head a large white hat decorated in feathers.

  The shopgirl stepped back. “Ohhhh,” she breathed. “That’s lovely. What do you think, Celyn?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Lovely.”

  “That is it!” Elina exploded, unable to stand another second. “I will not do this anymore!” She slapped the hat off her head and stomped on it several times before kicking it so that it hit the dragon right in the face. “I will not wear these ridiculous Southlander clothes! You are a reckless, corrupt, immoral race that are not worthy of my help or the help of my people!”

  She clawed at the dress. “Get this off me!” she ordered while storming back to the changing room. “Get this off me!”

  Celyn watched the Rider stalk to the changing room at the back of the store. Lolly tried to run after her, but she was silently laughing so hard, she could barely stand, while Celyn, with his arms around his stomach, was bent over at the waist, tears streaming down his face as he desperately attempted to hold in his laughter.

  Lolly playfully slapped at his head. “Stop it!” she whispered. “Stop it!”

  Lolly was right. He really should stop it. But Elina made it simply too easy for him. It had been downhill for Elina ever since he’d had Lolly put the woman in something called petticoats. Yet uphill for Celyn. Because her rage entertained him more than he thought anything could.

  When Celyn finally caught his breath, he told Lolly, “Put her in what I picked out.”

  Gasping, Lolly nodded and headed toward the changing rooms.

  “And I’ll pay for whatever she’s ripped up or set on fire.”

  That made Lolly laugh harder as she stumbled away.

  Celyn stood and walked to the front door of Lolly’s shop. He stepped outside and relaxed his back against the wood post where the store’s sign hung.

  This was a small town, but it had a wonderful blacksmith. He made strong human armor and the Cadwaladrs provided him an
d his blacksmith son and daughters with much business. It was why Celyn knew the town so well. He’d often come here with Brannie, his mum, and Izzy, but since he never needed as much human armor as they did, he’d spent most of his time chatting up the locals. Found out lots of things when talking to people. Once he’d even found out about a plot to assassinate Annwyl. He’d immediately let Fearghus know, but the future king of the Southland dragons had said nothing to Annwyl, although he’d informed all of her guards. Celyn had been a bit confused about that. He felt it was something she needed to know. But he had quickly figured out just how much Fearghus simply enjoyed watching his human mate personally tear the skin from her enemies.

  Aye, they were an interesting couple, Fearghus and Annwyl.

  When Celyn had first met the human queen, he hadn’t understood what had lured his older cousin. For a human, she wasn’t exactly plain, but clearly keeping up her looks wasn’t a high priority either. She wore nothing to entice and until recently her hair had always seemed to need a good brushing. But as Celyn came to know her, he understood more. Annwyl was blunt, strong, smarter than she seemed, and loyal. Gods, so very loyal. Annwyl would stop at nothing to keep those she loved safe. Absolutely nothing.

  Such loyalty made her a monarch feared by those who did not understand her. And her love of a dragon whose mark she wore boldly not only on her armor, but on her body, did nothing but put people off. Then Annwyl had had the twins, and the fear of many humans had doubled. For eons it had been impossible for dragons and humans to produce offspring. Yes, they could mate when a dragon took human form, but nothing had ever come of it except mutual enjoyment or general disappointment. But all that had changed with Annwyl and Fearghus. Now there were many offspring of dragon-human couplings, and those who hated and feared these offspring referred to them as the Abominations.

  Seemed a bit unfair, but as usual, Celyn could see both sides of the matter.

  He could understand the fear of humans and dragons alike. The offspring of dragon-human couplings were uniquely powerful. They looked like humans for the most part, but they had powers that were never exactly the same from one offspring to another.