by G. A. Aiken
That’s when Miles pushed away from the tree and tried to run.
He tried. . . .
Chapter Eighteen
Elina retrieved as many of her arrows, the ones that hadn’t been broken or burned, as she could and returned to the top of the cave opening, where she’d had an excellent view. She sat down, her legs hanging over the side.
While she cleaned the arrowheads off with a cloth and put them back in her quiver, the dragon sat down beside her. Still in his dragon form, his back legs hanging over the top of the cave just as hers were, his front legs resting on his knees. She barely glanced at him, but it seemed a strange way for a dragon to sit.
Then, suddenly, the dragon burped, the sound of it sending birds flying from nearby trees.
Disgusted, Elina slowly turned her head to glower at him.
He stared back for a few seconds before telling her, “Oh, stop it. I didn’t eat him. I just stomped him into the ground. But I did find a sheep over there.” He shrugged. “And I was a little hungry.”
Deciding to take the dragon at his word, Elina went back to cleaning her arrows. That’s when the dragon shocked her more than she’d ever thought possible.
“Thank you, Elina of the Impossibly Long Name.”
“Your father managed to remember my impossibly long name with no trouble. As did that boy.”
“They’re clearly smarter than me.”
“My horse is smarter than you.” She slipped a clean arrow into her quiver and picked up another. “And you are welcome. I . . . I am sorry about your friend.” She glanced at him. “What happened to him was cruel.”
“It was. But I know he’s happy now. Annwyl told me.”
Elina stopped what she was doing and looked over at the dragon. “What do you mean, Annwyl told you?”
“She died once. Ended up in the afterworld among the dragons. She said it was really nice there.”
Lowering the arrow she held to her lap, Elina sighed. “Annwyl has seen death, embraced it, and has returned to speak of it. Does she fear nothing?”
“Mice.”
“Mice?”
“She’s not a fan. She saw a mouse in the Great Hall once and she screamed like someone was stabbing her children. She didn’t calm down until Morfyd made everyone go outside. So she could bring in some cats. But Dagmar’s dogs fought with the cats. The cats fought with the dogs. And Gwenvael kept eating the cats. Eventually—”
“Why,” Elina cut in, “must you ruin everything?”
“I didn’t know I had.”
“I was imagining the wonder of a strong queen fighting her way back from the embrace of death and you give me stories of mice and cats and Gwenvael.”
“You asked a question. I merely answered it.”
“Then do not. Do not answer any more questions. Just sit and look pretty. It seems that is what you are best at.” Elina glanced off, then back at Celyn before ending with, “Dolt.”
The cold winter breeze suddenly turned into a blustery wind that bowed the trees and raised the dirt, until the ground shook as many claws landed hard against it.
The dolt’s mouth pulled back in that unnerving dragon’s smile, revealing row after row of shiny white fangs.
“Uncle Addolgar!” Celyn called out.
“Nephew!” The silver-scaled dragon looked at the carnage he’d landed in. “Looks like we’re too late for any fun.”
“Actually . . . no, Uncle. You’re just in time.”
Addolgar looked down at what was left of the human bodies. He didn’t know what his sister had been so worried about. Celyn appeared to be able to handle himself just fine. A message he sent her quickly and then cut off so he didn’t have to hear her screaming in his head, Are you sure? Are you sure he’s all right? Do I need to be there? Are you sure?
It was rare, but when his sister became hysterical, all he wanted to do was hit her in the head with the blunt part of his axe to calm her down. She hated when he did that, but it was quite effective.
And it was true that Addolgar’s nephew could be a little chatty for a dragon. The boy did like to talk. Even more annoying, ask questions. But nothing that couldn’t be stopped with a, “Shut it, Celyn.” Yet, Ghleanna had insisted on babying the dragon as if he were as weak as her Fal. Also one of Addolgar’s nephews, but one he liked to pretend wasn’t.
Addolgar moved closer as Celyn got to his claws and gestured at the human female beside him. “Uncle Addolgar, this is Elina of the Impossibly Long Name.”
“That is not my name, Dolt,” the female shot back.
“And Dolt is not mine.”
“And yet you continue to act like one!”
“I am Addolgar the Cheerful,” Addolgar stepped in before the bickering could start again. “And what is your name?”
“I am Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains.”
Gods! That was a long name. No wonder Celyn refused to use it. He probably couldn’t remember it.
“But,” the woman went on, “you can call me Elina Shestakova.”
“Nice to meet you, Elina Shestakova.” Addolgar glanced around. “So what happened here?”
“Costentyn is dead, Uncle. Murdered.”
“Old Costentyn? Murdered? By these bastards?” he asked, gesturing around him.
“Baron Roscommon ordered it.”
“Did he now?” Addolgar sneered.
“He did,” Celyn said. “And I think he should be dealt with quickly and by us.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Addolgar studied the woman for a bit as she cleaned and sharpened her arrows. Or, at least, what remained of them. Based on the bloody cloth she was using, she’d been helpful while Celyn faced all those men. He liked that. Nothing bothered Addolgar more these days than weak females. He hadn’t always felt that way. At one time he’d just liked them pretty and eager, but things change, don’t they?
Addolgar glanced back at the battle unit that had traveled with him, focusing on the young blue-haired She-dragon. “My bag, Elara.”
“Here, Daddy,” she said when she tossed the bag to him, nearly knocking him off his claws from the power of her throw. He remembered when she couldn’t even take him to the ground during training. Now, like the rest of her sisters, she’d grown into a powerful dragoness. Just like her mum, too, favoring the hammer and all. She’d gotten damn good at it.
Addolgar dug into his travel bag and pulled out the cloth-covered stash of arrows that he used in his human-sized bows. He handed them to the human female. “Take these, Elina Shestakova. You look low.”
She unwrapped the big stack and grinned. “Thank you so much, Addolgar the Cheerful.” She pulled out one of the arrows, examining it closely. As she did, she went on. “Although you do not seem so cheerful. Is that his fault?” she asked with a jerk of her head in Celyn’s direction.
Addolgar’s nephew threw his claws up. “Now you’re just attacking me.”
“You make it easy!” she snapped back, her focus still on the arrows.
There were many arrows in the stack Addolgar had given her, but they weren’t all the same because he’d taken most from the bodies of his fallen enemies. He even had orc arrows in there somewhere.
He watched her test one. Her form was perfect, and she took down a squirrel that he could barely see several hundred yards away.
Addolgar grinned. He liked this woman. He wasn’t so sure, though, whether his nephew did.
“Are you done showing off?” Celyn sniffed.
“Are you done being pain in ass?”
“As a matter of fact . . . I’m not!”
“Celyn,” Addolgar cut in again, “perhaps we should talk about what we plan to do.”
“Of course, Uncle.”
“Oh, look,” the woman taunted. “You can follow orders.”
“You don’t give me orders, insolent female.”
“Do not point talons at me, Dolt!
”
“I’ll point my talons anywhere I want to. Because I don’t take orders from you.”
Addolgar glanced back at his daughter and crossed his eyes. And, as it did with her mother, that made her laugh.
Celyn didn’t know why Elina was being so mean to him. Before Addolgar had arrived, they’d been getting along. Now, she was sniping at him like some fishmonger’s wife.
And he was sniping back; he simply didn’t know why. Over the years he’d found not reacting to those yelling at him was infinitely more effective than yelling back. The calmer he remained, the angrier they became, until they snapped. Gods knew, he used to do it with his cousins all the time.
Yet now, this one tiny, pale, ready-for-death female was making him angrier than he’d ever been before. Over nothing. That was the worst part. Angry over the murder of Costentyn? Completely justifiable. Angry over this woman’s general rudeness . . . ? A bit absurd.
Addolgar’s claw landed on the back of Celyn’s neck and he cringed, waiting for Addolgar to slam his head into the nearest tree. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time his uncle had done this to him . . . or to his brothers. His sisters, including mouthy Brannie, had all managed to avoid the Addolgar Head Tree Slam—as the brothers called it when they woke up a few days later.
Thankfully, though, Addolgar just steered Celyn off, away from the insolent female.
“Everything all right here, lad?” Addolgar asked.
“Aye. Why?”
Addolgar huffed a bit. “Celyn?” he pushed.
“She’s just being sensitive. You put a girl in jail and forget about her for a few months, and they all take it so bloody personally.”
“You forgot about her?”
“She’s lucky I did. She’d been sent to kill Rhiannon.”
“Then why isn’t she dead?”
Celyn sighed. “It was a sad, weak attempt, really. She clearly didn’t want to do it. Auntie Rhiannon just felt bad for her.”
“Guess you didn’t tell me brother about any of this.”
“Rhiannon told me not to.”
“Don’t lie to me, my lad. You wouldn’t have told him anyway.”
“He tends to overreact. Like a dog that attacks at every new sound.” Celyn glanced back toward where he’d left Elina. “She climbed all the way up Devenallt Mountain by herself but didn’t even bring her bow. But with her bow, she could have easily put arrows through the closest guards and had an arrow through Rhiannon’s eye before the rest of us could have reached either of them . . . yet she didn’t.”
“What are you doing with her now?”
“Taking her back to the Outerplains. She’s going to meet with the tribes’ leader to see if we can arrange a meeting between her and Annwyl.”
“Good luck with that. That tribes leader ain’t a friendly girl.” Addolgar shrugged his massive shoulders. “But I don’t care much about this political stuff. I leave that to Dagmar and your father.” Addolgar suddenly looked around. “If you’re taking her back to her people, though, you’re taking the long way, ain’t ya?”
“We thought getting a little more information about what’s been happening around the Southlands and, possibly, the Outerplains, would help our cause once Elina reached her tribe leader.”
Addolgar shook his head. “You and your bloody excuses to ask questions.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you ask too many questions.” Addolgar made a tsk-tsk sound. “Personally, I blame your father. It’s his blood that made you like this.”
“Made me like what?”
“Always thinking. Don’t you ever stop thinking?”
Celyn could only give one answer to that. “No.”
“See what I mean? Just like your father.”
Celyn moved away from his uncle. “Look, I’ll admit, I may ask more questions than most Cadwaladrs, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. What would you prefer, Uncle . . . that I was more like one of your sons?”
And, as if the gods themselves had willed it, “Hey, Da! Look what I found!” One of Addolgar’s younger sons raised his arm. “A bucket of gold!” Then, for some unfathomable reason, the silver dragon laughed hysterically. For a good long while, too.
Addolgar let out a pained sigh. “I want you, lad, to be who you are. But then you need to have the guts to stand behind that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at me brother. Bercelak. He is a mean, heartless, ruthless bastard of a dragon. He’s been loathed for centuries by nearly everyone except his own kin and Rhiannon. But you don’t hear him whining about it. He just accepts who he is and goes on about his day . . . being a mean, heartless, ruthless bastard of a dragon. So, you want to ask your questions. Then ask your questions. You want to be nosy and a pain in the ass. Then be nosy and a pain in the ass. But don’t whine about it. Just do it. Stop taking everything so damn personally. With that,” he said, pointing a talon at him, “you’re just like your mum, you know? She used to take everything so damn personally. Let everybody get her so bloody upset because they accused her of being a murdering viper or a whore like our father.”
“Well, that does seem a tad rude—”
“See?” Addolgar said, exasperated. “Just like her! You can’t let the petty shit stop you from being who you are. And getting what you want.” He swept his forearm in a half circle, taking in the carnage around them. “Look at all this, boy. You found there was trouble and you moved. You saw what was happening and you dealt with it. Then you sent for us . . . so we can set these humans straight. You know what that is . . . ?”
“No.”
“That’s smart, you little bastard. Smart. You think. That’s good! Just like your dad, you are.”
“I thought I was just like me mum.”
“Shut it. And there’s nothing wrong with being like your dad. Tell ya this . . . your dad was smart enough to get your mum. And she didn’t make it easy.”
“Cadwaladr females never make it easy.”
“They don’t. And your dad loved her even after she used two swords to cut off the head of the bastard she used to be with. He deserved it, but still . . . takes a brave dragon willing to risk being the next notch on her pummel.”
Addolgar put his forearm around Celyn’s shoulders. “All I’m saying is, if your future is being more than just the charming Cadwaladr . . . embrace it. That’s the thing about Cadwaladrs. We are who we are. And we don’t back down from that. You shouldn’t either. Even if who you are is kind of an annoying, never-shuts-up git.”
Celyn smiled. “Thanks, Uncle Addolgar.”
“Any time. Now . . . let’s go wipe that Baron Roscommon and his city from the bloody map, shall we?”
“No, no,” Elina heard the dragon saying to his uncle as they walked back toward the rest of the group.
“What do you mean, no?” Addolgar asked.
“We’re not going to wipe out the city.”
“We’re not?”
“We would,” Elina volunteered.
The dolt turned those dark eyes on her. “No one asked you.”
“But—” Elina began, but the dragon turned away from her and then, suddenly, she was battling that damn tail of his. It kept reaching around and slapping her ass while the dragon continued his conversation with his uncle.
Elina grabbed one of the arrows she’d been given and tried to stab at the tail, but it moved too fast. Amazing, since the dragon never stopped his conversation with his uncle. It was as if the tail had a life of its own.
The tail suddenly reared up like a snake, the tip pointing right between her eyes. Now on her knees, Elina tightened her grip on the arrow she held and pulled it back for one last attempt to stop the damn thing.
“Are you done?” the dragon asked her.
“Your tail is trying to kill me. Have you no control over it?”
“Of course I do.”
“So you are trying to kill me?”
“Don’t flatter yo
urself. I’m not about to disappoint my queen simply to get you to stop bothering me.”
“It moves like snake.”
“It moves as I tell it to move. It’s my tail. And you can stop trying to stare it down. Everyone just thinks you’re a mad cow at this point.”
Elina looked up and realized that the dragon’s kin were watching her closely.
Clearing her throat, she lowered the arrow. “I did what I had to,” she told them.
The dragons moved away without saying anything, and Celyn leaned his forearms against the rocky ground next to where she sat.
“We’re going back to the city to deal with Roscommon. You’ll wait here until I come for you.”
“No.”
“You want to go on ahead?”
“No. I come with.”
“That’ll be dangerous.”
“Again you suggest I am weak,” she snapped.
“I did not! But I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
“Yet I protect you. My arrows helped, did they not?” He let out a sigh. “They did.”
“Then I come. I want to see how decadent Southlanders handle such a problem.”
“Unlike your tribes that would—”
“Attack the city full force, capture the older boys and young men to hold until they were old enough for marriage, and wipe everything else from the land until there was nothing but ashes and the tears of the dying.”
The dragon blinked. “And that seems like a good plan to you?”
“No,” she answered honestly. “Not at all. That is just what we would do. I never say it was good idea. But I am tragic disappointment to my people.”
“Well, then, as your host while in this land, I think it is my responsibility to show you how we handle things, don’t you?”
“Yes. Then I can judge you and your corrupt, immoral people wanting.”
The dragon grinned, showing all those bright white fangs again, which sparkled like pretty cave stones. “That sounds like a delightful plan.”
“Something told me you would like, dragon.”
Chapter Nineteen
Baron Roscommon walked quickly down the third-floor hallway of his castle, his assistant following, his captain of the guard right by his side.