Light My Fire

by G. A. Aiken

  “All right, fine. We’ll leave Annwyl out of it.”

  Frederik smiled. “Thank you, Bercelak.”

  After grunting at him—something Frederik was sadly used to from his own kin—Bercelak again motioned to the sack that held Roscommon. “Take him to Rhiannon. She hasn’t had a snack that begs in years.”

  “Will do.”

  Addolgar and those who’d flown with him took to the air again. After watching him leave, Bercelak turned around.

  With a shrug, he asked Frederik, “What? What are you looking at me like that for?”

  Bram was busy scanning some information he’d received from Keita’s spy network. It was fascinating and disturbing reading.

  So fascinating, he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until he sat back in his chair to stretch his tired shoulders.

  “Ahhh!”

  Addolgar raised dark silver eyebrows. “You always were jumpy.”

  “Don’t sneak up on me.”

  “I didn’t. I’ve been sitting here, eating and drinking, for the last thirty minutes.”

  “Oh.”

  He jerked his thumb behind him. “You left those front gates open again. Didn’t Ghleanna tell you not to leave those gates open?”

  “She has. Just anyone can walk in.”

  “Exactly,” Addolgar replied . . . oblivious.

  “So . . . why are you here?”

  “Celyn wanted me to give this to you. It’s Costentyn’s journals.”

  Bram took the two large leather-bound tomes from Addolgar. “Thank you for bringing them to me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Bram flipped one of the books open, and as he scanned the information, he asked Addolgar, “How is Celyn?”

  “Good. He handled this well.”

  Bram smiled, feeling immense pride.

  “I heard you have visitors,” Addolgar said.

  “I do. The Rebel King and his sister are here.”

  “Why? Why aren’t they at Devenallt Mountain . . . or Garbhán Isle?”

  Bram glanced up from Costentyn’s journal.

  Addolgar cleared his throat. “All right. Good point.”

  Bram went back to scanning the material. “The King has meetings in the Southlands, but he didn’t want to leave his sister behind in the Provinces. There have been threats against her life.”

  “Not surprising.”

  “He wants her to stay under Annwyl’s protection until he’s done and they can return to the Provinces together.”

  “Annwyl? Why not Rhiannon?”

  Bram sighed, glanced up at Addolgar. “Do I really have to keep looking up at you?”

  Addolgar shrugged. “Sorry.”

  Returning to the journal, “I’ll escort them over to Garbhán Isle soon.”

  Addolgar chuckled. “Bet you never thought you’d be the one escorting anyone anywhere, huh?”

  “Not really.” Bram abruptly sat up. “Speaking of death threats . . .”

  “What is it?” his brother-by-mating asked.

  “Costentyn was worried that plans are being put into place to assassinate someone of great power. Probably one or both of the queens.”

  “Why did he think that? I mean, other than the obvious?”

  “Rumors he was hearing in town. Recent rumors.”

  Bram sat back in his seat, one hand stroking his chin.

  “What do you think we should do?” Addolgar asked.

  “Let everyone know, of course. But other than that all we can do is wait.”

  “Yeah . . . except Bercelak’s not good with that. The waiting.”

  Bram sighed. “Yes. This we all know a little too well.”

  It took them two days to reach the territory of the Steppes Tribes and then another whole day to reach the Black Bear Riders, Elina’s tribe.

  In the last hour, as they’d moved closer and closer to her home, Elina had become more and more silent, sullen, and tense. So tense, Celyn hadn’t said much to her. Something told him she didn’t want to hear anything at the moment and that asking her his usual range of questions about what he saw around him would only upset her.

  Dismounting from his horse, Celyn grabbed the reins of Elina’s. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I am fine,” she lied and dismounted from her own tiny horse. “Remember, do not talk of what you are here.”

  “Don’t worry. I have no intention.”

  “And no questions. Just watch. Hopefully, I will be able to send you back to Queen Annwyl with good news.”

  Shocked by that, Celyn stammered out “You’re not coming back with me. . . . I mean, uh, well . . .” He shook his head to get hold of himself. “I mean, to discuss the outcome with Annwyl yourself?”

  “I am sure that will not be option.”

  Celyn should have known that, but he hadn’t thought much about it. He’d been too busy riding his horse all day . . . and Elina all night. The last thing he’d worried about was that this could be the last he’d see of her. And the thought that it was did not make him happy.

  “I wish I’d known,” he attempted to joke. “I would have tried to make last night more special. With flowers or something.”

  She tried to smile, but it was unsuccessful.

  “Elina, talk to me. What is it?”

  She let out a breath. “Sorry.” The confident, opinionated, curious woman he’d known for days was gone. Now she was tense, terse . . . and afraid. He hadn’t seen her this bad since the night he’d awakened her from that dream. Now he was wondering if that had been what she’d been dreaming of. Returning here to meet the commander of her tribe.

  That said a lot about the woman she was going to face, because he’d never seen Elina this terrified. Aye, she was terrified. Even when he’d plopped her down in front of the most feared She-dragon in all the worlds, he’d never seen her so.

  “Just . . . less talk now. Please,” she softly begged.

  “Of course.” She started to turn away, but Celyn quickly placed his hand on her shoulder. “But . . . if you need me to do anything—anything at all, Elina—you just let me know. Understand? I’m right here.”

  She nodded but said nothing else.

  With a deep breath that Celyn found telling, Elina began walking and Celyn followed.

  They passed round homes made of wood frames surrounded by a material Celyn didn’t recognize. There was a hole in the middle of each one of the structures and smoke came from most of them. He had to admit that though the structures looked flimsy, the mighty wind blowing across the Steppes didn’t seem to affect them. From what Elina had told him during one of their many question-and-answer sessions, these structures were not only incredibly sturdy, they could be disassembled and ready to move in less than an hour. That kind of preparedness was something Celyn had only seen from the military.

  As they walked through the camps, people emerged from their huts. Some, mostly men, held babies; all were armed to some degree. Dogs ran between the huts, and horses grazed where they liked.

  His father had been right. This was not an easy life, and the people and dragons of this land probably did consider the Southlanders spoiled and lazy. But that was okay. Celyn would rather be spoiled and lazy than be one of several husbands.

  The pair was watched closely as they walked by. No. That wasn’t accurate. They weren’t watched. . . . He was watched as he walked by. Watched closely.

  In time, they neared a group of structures occupied by a lot of white-blond, blue-eyed Riders, and Celyn immediately knew this was Elina’s family. They all looked like her, just different shapes, sizes, and sexes.

  As they continued on, a woman whose head and face were covered by a protective scarf strode up to them. She had a bow and an hourglass quiver attached to her back, a short sword sheathed at her side, and several knives strapped to the belt hanging from her waist.

  As the female moved in, she rammed her shoulder into Elina’s. Celyn stopped and immediately rested his hand on the hilt of his sword,
the instincts he’d honed to protect the Dragon Queen coming into play now with Elina.

  Elina shoved the woman back, but what Celyn thought was about to turn into a fight turned into a strong hug.

  Finally, the woman stepped back and pulled the scarf from her face. Her nose was a little longer than Elina’s and she had quite a few battle scars on her face and neck, but these two females were related. He’d guess sisters.

  But once the hug ended . . . the arguing began.

  And even though he couldn’t understand a word that was said, Celyn knew he’d been right.

  Definitely sisters.

  “You are the biggest fool I’ve ever known, Elina Shestakova!” Kachka barked at her.

  “I missed you, too, sister.” In fact, Kachka had been the only one she’d actually missed. These beautiful Steppes lands and her dear sister, Kachka, who was now yelling at her.

  “Do not be so ridiculous, Elina! You know you never should have returned here. Never!”

  “You thought I’d not only fail in my quest, but that I’d die.”

  “I thought you’d run, you delusional cow!”

  Elina was shocked that her sister, this sister, would say such a thing. “Run? Me? You think so little of me? Of my honor?”

  “Honor? I thought you were smart. Smart enough to know the truth of that stupid, ridiculous que—”

  “Well, well,” a voice boomed from behind them, and both sisters turned to face their cousin and Glebovicha’s favorite, Ivanova. Even with twenty-five children of her own, Glebovicha had rudely chosen outside her direct line for her next in command. “Look who has returned, the mighty and brave Elina Shestakova.”

  Elina glanced back at Celyn, but, thankfully, they spoke in their own language. He was oblivious to just how much she was mocked by her own.

  “Ivanova Shestakova. I see that death has found you well,” Elina greeted her cousin. The “unfortunately” in that statement was implied and completely understood by Ivanova.

  The much larger woman grinned down at Elina. Ivanova was one of the best warriors among them. Tall, powerfully built, and brilliant with sword and bow, she had her pick of husbands and had already borne eighteen strong children to the twelve husbands she had. And not yet two hundred passing summers.

  In other words, she was everything that Elina was not and would never be. Because they all knew that Ivanova would have returned from the Southlands with the Dragon Queen’s head dragging behind her horse or died in the attempt.

  Ivanova brazenly walked around Elina’s horse.

  “I see no dragon’s head,” she announced to all those standing by their huts listening. “No offering to the great Glebovicha as you promised.”

  “She promised nothing,” Kachka snarled. She’d never been afraid of their cousin, and she was always the one who defended Elina, something that Ivanova and Glebovicha had never forgiven her for. “She was forced into this ridiculous quest.”

  Before a fight could escalate between the two, Elina said, “I need to speak with Glebovicha, Ivanova.”

  “What for? You come with no dragon’s head. Just this”—she gestured at Celyn—“male,” Ivanova finished with a sneer. “Our great Glebovicha may consider him for a husband, cousin, with such a pretty face and all, but he will not buy you pity from anyone here. Not after such a great failure.”

  “Can I see Glebovicha or not?”

  “You want to see her, cousin?”

  “Elina—”

  “Quiet, Kachka.” Ivanova waved at Glebovicha’s hut. “Go to her, Elina Shestakova. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to see you.”

  Elina looked back at Celyn. “Wait here,” she told him. “Back soon.”

  He nodded and gave her a small smile.

  She forced herself to return that smile, then pushed past her cousin and walked to Glebovicha’s tent.

  Celyn had no idea what was going on. When Elina had begun to argue with her sister, it hadn’t bothered him at all. Sisters fight. Gods knew, his own sisters could clear a path through an ancient forest with their brutal fights—throwing each other headfirst into thousand-year-old trees had the wonderful ability to knock down hundreds of them.

  But then that other woman had come over, and by the gods, had she been huge. Not like Annwyl or even Izzy—two women who, for humans, were quite large. Tall, big-shouldered, and unafraid to fight to the death. But they were almost petite compared to the female who’d lumbered over to Elina and her sister. Tall, wide, and built for the kill, this woman had brought instant panic to Celyn’s system.

  And even though he hadn’t understood a word being said, Celyn had always understood body language. His parents had taught him about that. His mother had taught Celyn what to look for during battle and his father had taught him what to look for during negotiations. Either way, based solely on her body language, Celyn was quite sure both his parents would have stomped on the human until she was nothing but a sticky red-and-white paste.

  Even worse, though, was seeing the resignation in Elina’s eyes when she’d looked at him before heading into that tent. That look had devastated him.

  But he’d felt a tiny bit of relief when her sister had followed. Before she had, she, too, had looked at Celyn, her gaze moving from his head to his feet and back up again. At first, he’d thought he was being sized up, as he had been by every female in this damn camp, but—after a quick glance—she’d focused on him and lifted her chin a bit. It was slight, and he could have easily construed it for a “Later I will fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before,” but something told him that was not even close to what she was telling him. And she was telling him something.

  With a gentle brush against his back, Celyn sent off the horse that Elina had been riding. Not surprisingly, his horse happily followed after his friend.

  Even if Celyn never saw either horse again, he wanted to ensure they were both safe no matter what he had to do in the next few minutes.

  And based on the expressions of both Elina and her sister, Celyn would have to do something very bad.

  Elina stood near the exit of Glebovicha’s hut as the great warrior looked up from her meal, the juice from the roasted lamb on her mouth and hands, pieces of the meat clutched in her fingers. Glebovicha’s first and second husbands sat on either side of her, the others probably out tending the horses or helping to train the young ones in battle.

  As always, Glebovicha glared at Elina with that particular look of overwhelming disappointment before putting another piece of meat in her mouth.

  While chewing, she demanded, “Where is my dragon head, Elina Shestakova?”

  As always, Elina didn’t bother to attempt to find ways to lessen the impact of what she had to tell the tribal leader. “I failed in my task.”

  “Shocking,” Glebovicha sneered, glancing at her husbands, who snorted in laughter.

  “But I have not come empty-handed,” Elina continued.

  “No, she hasn’t,” Ivanova cut in. “She’s brought you a Southlander man to warm your bed.”

  The thought of Celyn warming anyone’s bed but her own had Elina speaking without thought. “Like hells I have!”

  “Sister,” Kachka warned.

  “Well, I haven’t. He’s with me,” she told Glebovicha plainly.

  “Is he now?” Glebovicha asked while pulling more meat off the bone with her hands. “You bring an imperialist dog to my home, but you won’t let me play with him? How is that fair, Elina Shestakova?”

  Determined to get her off the subject of Celyn as quickly as possible, Elina simply dove in to the true intent of her conversation. “I’ve been given a task, Glebovicha. One that I think you’ll find quite important.”

  “More important than what I have told you to do?”

  “Yes. Because it involves the future of the Steppes Tribes as a whole. I know how important that is to you,” Elina lied, because everyone in their tribe knew Glebovicha’s ultimate goal was to one day be the Anne Atli. It was all she drea
med of, and the safety of the tribes had very little to do with it.

  “Oh, really?” When Elina nodded, Glebovicha laughed, her head thrown back in a hysterical cackle that ended in a cough because of the lamb that was caught in the back of her throat.

  Elina ignored that dismissive laughter and went on. “And I need to speak to the Anne Atli about it.”

  The laughter and coughing stopped instantly. Glebovicha’s cold eyes locked on Elina. “Do you now, Elina Shestakova?”

  “It’s important.”

  “Important? What is so important that you must speak to the Anne Atli?”

  “I have a message from Queen Annwyl the Bloody. And I promised her I’d deliver it to Anne Atli directly.”

  Meat hanging from her mouth, Glebovicha snarled, “You fail to bring me my head, you dare show your face after such a failure—”

  “Pardon, Glebovicha, but—”

  “Do not interrupt me!” Glebovicha bellowed.

  Elina fell silent, and Glebovicha went on. “You run tasks for some spoiled imperialist dog who lives off her people like a leech, and you dare ask to see our great leader so you can spread your imperialist lies?”

  “Queen Annwyl is not a leech.”

  Next to Elina’s ear, Kachka whispered, “Watch your step, sister. Watch. It.”

  Elina didn’t have time to watch her step. Nothing she said or did would ease Glebovicha’s disgust at Elina’s failure so she might as well get this over with so she could see the Anne Atli and move her mission forward. What was the point of dancing around it when the end would be the same either way?

  “Queen Annwyl,” Elina went on, “does much for her people. If you’d let me tell you—”

  “You defend that monstrous whore to me? To me?” Glebovicha exploded.

  “It’s not that simple, Glebovicha.” She took a calming breath. “I understand that I have failed you. I regret it. But I must talk to Anne Atli. I’ve made a commit—”

  “You will do, idiot, what I tell you to do. You have no power here, no say. You are a worm, and like a worm, you will hide yourself from the sight of others until I decide that you’re allowed to speak to the weakest of my husbands, much less the mighty ruler of our tribes.”