Light My Fire

by G. A. Aiken

  Keita charged up the stairs, and Elina turned toward the man. “Let us go. Now. Her good cheer terrifies me.”

  “As it should.”

  They headed toward the Great Hall doors. “I am Gaius Lucius Domitus by the way.”

  “And 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. But you can call me Elina since these weak Southlanders cannot seem to handle much more than that.”

  Gaius Lucius Domitus laughed. “No, they probably can’t.”

  Celyn had taken his parents into the stables and filled them in on what had happened to Elina at her mother’s hands.

  “That poor girl,” Bram said, shaking his head. “I had no idea we were putting her in such danger.”

  “That’s because she didn’t tell us. I had no idea how bad it was until her mother literally kicked her out of her tent and then proceeded to slash at her like she was an attacking wild pig.”

  “What did you do?” Ghleanna asked.

  “What I had to. I had to protect her, Mum.”

  “Yes,” his mother said on a strange sigh. “I’m sensing you did have to.”

  Brannie snorted and their mother grabbed her daughter’s shoulders and turned her toward the exit. She shoved. “Go, brat! And stop taunting your brother.”

  “I didn’t say anything!”

  “You’ll need to handle Annwyl, Da,” Celyn told his father. “When she saw what happened to Elina—”

  “Gods, is that what she was going on about?” Bram scratched his head. “I do adore her, but my gods, that woman is a lot of work.”

  “And you thought Rhiannon was bad,” Ghleanna reminded him.

  “Only when she’s around your brother. But Annwyl . . . it’s like trying to rein in an erupting volcano.”

  “At least Fearghus is with her.”

  Celyn and his parents headed toward the exit.

  “Where is Dagmar?” Bram asked.

  “Probably still in the war room. Oh—” He stopped, faced his parents. “There is one other thing.”

  Ghleanna frowned. “What?”

  “Remember Brigida the Foul?”

  “Gods, who could forget her?” Now Bram frowned. “Wait . . . why do you ask about her?’

  “Well . . . she’s not exactly what you’d call dead. But she is still pretty foul.”

  Brigida moved around the queen’s castle unseen. Those with magickal skills often sensed she’d gone by—even if they didn’t know exactly what or whom had drifted so close. Especially the young White Dragonwitch. She bristled every time Brigida passed by her. That one must be Morfyd. Looked just like her mother, she did, especially with those crystal-clear blue eyes.

  The girl had much power, but she was no match for Brigida. There were few who were.

  The human witch, a Nolwenn by the looks of her, also had power, but unlike her daughter Rhianwen, she didn’t have enough to interest Brigida.

  They’d all come out of one room and moved into the big hall, servants bringing them food. All a bunch of proper royals, they were. No real Cadwaladrs. Not like the ones Brigida remembered.

  She blamed that fool Ailean the Wicked, the royals’ grandfather. He’d been born a Cadwaladr but the loss of his mother at an early age had turned him soft. He worried more about protecting the humans than anything else. Like that sorry lot of soft flesh needed protecting. Brigida had never known a more dangerous group of beings. What they lacked in scales and claws, they more than made up for in evil intent.

  She stood in a doorway, leaning against the jamb, and watched the descendants of her people eat and chat and worry. About her.

  Her return did nothing but upset them. Brigida liked that. She always had.

  That Celyn brought his mother and father into the hall. Ghleanna was the same. Short hair and all. Bit more grey among all the black, but she was still powerfully built and had more weapons than seemed necessary on her person.

  Bram also appeared the same. Still pretty for a male, still soft of heart, and still always wanting to keep the peace.

  There was no sign of the two Riders, which allowed the others to talk freely about what had happened to the one who’d lost her eye. Such drama over such a little thing. Everyone so horrified that a mother would do this to her own child. Clearly they knew nothing of the Daughters of the Steppes. That lot always tried to weed out the weak girls. What was the point of having them around if they served no purpose? And because the sons and daughters lived so long, the women continued to have offspring well into their fifth or sixth hundredth year. Most of them had more than sixty, if they so desired. So weeding out one or two weak ones was not as big a deal as killing off the only offspring you’d ever have.

  Still, try telling this lot all that. Such concern. Such claw wringing.

  Perhaps Brigida had stayed away too long. Or would her presence not have changed any of this? She really didn’t know. All she did know was that she needed a “champion,” and so far she saw none who would live up to that title.

  Although she needed no champion for herself. The day she couldn’t protect herself was the day she needed to light the funeral pyre and climb up on it.

  No, Brigida needed a champion to help her with this end game, as she liked to call it. Darkness had settled over the world, but no one could see it. They tried to deal with one problem at a time, as it arose. Never thinking about the true nightmare coming their way.

  But looking at this sorry lot of fishwives, Brigida saw no one who could possibly—

  “We can see you.”

  Slowly, Brigida looked over and down. Way down, to the five golden-headed girls staring up at her.

  “You hide,” the tallest, and most likely eldest, one said, “but we can see you clear as day.”

  “You’re old,” said one of the others. “Really, really old.”

  “You better be here for nice reasons,” the tallest warned. “Or we won’t like it.”

  Brigida was about to respond to that when the girls all looked toward the doors at the front of the hall.

  “She’s back,” one said.

  “And she’s still in a bad mood,” said another.

  “Run!”

  And they all did, scattering and disappearing into the walls of the castle.

  Brigida looked to see who had them so concerned. At first, all she saw was a very young-looking Bercelak. Gods, how did he manage not to age at all? But then Brigida realized that this was the oldest of Bercelak’s hatchlings. The future Dragon King, Fearghus. And walking behind him was his human mate. The mother of the first Abominations.

  As she walked into the hall, everyone stopped talking, and stared at her.

  She stared back for a good minute before announcing, “I’m not apologizing!”

  “Of course you’re not.”

  “You shouldn’t have grabbed me, Briec!”

  “I was trying to prevent you from doing something stupid. And now look at me!”

  “Oh, stop your whining,” said the golden-haired one. Brigida easily guessed who that one was. The infamous Gwenvael the Slag. Even tucked away in the Outerplains, she’d heard all about his exploits. “Look what Celyn did to my beautiful, beautiful nose! Broke it, he did!”

  “You deserved it after what you said to him,” snarled a hearty female who looked much like Ghleanna.

  “What did he say to Celyn?” Ghleanna demanded. “What did you say, you spoiled brat?”

  That’s when Gwenvael the Slag burst into tears and sobbed, “Why are you yelling at me, Auntie Ghleanna? I’ve always been your favorite!”

  Good gods, what has happened to my people?

  While a few in the room tried to stop the crying and most of the others just rolled their eyes at it, the human queen attempted to slip away. But another human with pieces of glass on her plain face barked out, “Hold it!” When that got her a glare, she gave a forced smile and added, “My queen.”

  That got her a s
narl that Brigida found off-putting . . . and intriguing.

  The plain-faced human stood and gestured to her chair. “Sit,” she ordered.

  “I’m in no mood to—”

  “Sit!”

  The human queen sat down, and the plain-faced one said, “I know you are angry. And I completely understand why. But you cannot go around digging out the eyes of whoever you want, whenever you want.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re trying to create alliances, Annwyl. Not start new wars. Do you not understand that?”

  “And do you not understand that I sent Elina back to her people as my emissary? How can I ignore what they did to her?”

  “It wasn’t they. It was her. Her mother. A relationship forged since the womb. We cannot and will not involve ourselves with that.”

  “But—”

  “You’ve come so far, Annwyl. Don’t ruin all this by returning to old habits.”

  The queen suddenly stood, her chair scraping against the stone floor. Everyone who was standing moved back except the future Dragon King and the plain-faced human.

  Dragons moved back from her. Dragons.

  Without saying a word, the queen stalked away from the group and went to the stairs. Brigida followed by cutting through the stone walls.

  By the time the human queen entered her royal bedchamber, Brigida was already waiting for her. She watched from the shadows as Annwyl the Bloody walked across the room. She began to take off her weapons. She’d dropped most of them onto a large table, but then she abruptly stopped, stared. And, out of nowhere, exploded.

  The weapons went flying as the table was lifted and thrown across the room in a burst of pure rage the likes of which Brigida had never seen before.

  The queen pushed open one of the windows as far as it would go, and took big gulps of air, doing her best to calm herself down.

  That’s when Brigida moved the shadows so that she could be seen and, instantly, the queen was aware she was no longer alone. She spun around and glowered at Brigida.

  “Where the battle-fuck did you come from?” she snarled.

  Brigida smiled. “Well, girl, it really depends on who you ask.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Elina lifted her bow, aimed. But when she let the arrow loose, it was inches off. A difference between a clean, quick kill and just pissing her prey off—something that she preferred not to do.

  “Pathetic,” she sighed.

  “Are you always this hard on yourself?” the dragon asked. Yes. The helpful, one-eyed man with hair the color of steel turned out to be another dragon. The Southlands seemed to be riddled with them. Like decadence.

  Not that Elina minded. The dragons were friendly enough. And this dragon was being more than helpful. Plus, she knew his instruction wasn’t offered out of pity. He just understood what she was going through and was trying to help.

  “Yes,” Elina replied to his question. “I am always hard on myself.”

  “Don’t be. You’ll be able to adjust. It’ll just take some time.”

  He stood behind Elina and gently turned her shoulders. “Your dominant eye may be gone, but you can train the eye that you have left to fill that spot. But you’ll need to do things a little differently. For instance, you’ll need to adjust your sights when you’re aiming and—”

  “Yoo-hoo!”

  “Oh, for shit’s sake,” the dragon grumbled. “She found us.”

  “There you two are! I’ve been looking just everywhere for you!”

  The beautiful redhead rushed up to them, her grin wide and eager.

  “Princess Keita,” the dragon began, “this is Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains.” He faced Elina and, smiling, said, “And Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains, this is Keita the Viper: Princess of the Royal House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, Second-Born Daughter and Fifth-Born Offspring to the White Dragon Queen of the Southlands, Protector of The Throne, and Bound Mate to Ragnar, Dragonlord Chief of the Olgeirsson Horde.”

  Keita narrowed blue eyes at the dragon. “Was that really necessary, Curled Horns?”

  His grin did not falter. “It felt necessary and good. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to working with Elina Shestakova of the—”

  “Do not bore me with that ridiculously long name yet again!” the royal roared. Then, just as quickly, her rage turned into the sweetest smile Elina had ever seen, which did nothing but make Elina reach for another arrow and step back from her.

  “In light of your recent tragedy—”

  “If it is such tragedy, why do you smile at me like viper you were named for?”

  “That’s an excellent question,” Gaius said. “Why, Keita?”

  “Quiet,” she snapped at Gaius Domitus, before turning her focus back on Elina. “I smile because I have a wonderful gift for you.”

  She crouched down in the beautiful gown she wore and spread out a silk cloth. On top of the cloth, she laid down several other pieces of cloth in varying colors and designs.

  “Here.”

  “What is that?” Elina asked.

  “An array of eye patches! In festive colors and styles! Perfect for an on-the-go Daughter of the Steppes such as yourself.”

  Elina looked over at Gaius Domitus and he immediately replied, “Yes. She’s quite serious.”

  “Pick one,” the royal urged. “Go on.”

  Putting the arrow she held back in her quiver, Elina reached down and grabbed hold of a simple black eye patch.

  “Not that one,” the royal snapped, slapping Elina’s hand.

  Elina dropped the eye patch and reached for another arrow, but Gaius caught hold of her wrist. “No.”

  “But—”

  “No. Believe it or not, she’s favored amongst her dragon kin. Killing her will win you no friends.”

  The dragon gave the smallest tilt of his head, gesturing to the royal. With a disgusted eye roll and sigh—because she knew exactly what he was suggesting she do—Elina said, “Why do you not pick one for me, Princess.”

  “Oh!” she trilled like an annoying bird Elina wanted to beat to death with a tiny battering ram. “What a lovely idea! Now, let’s see. You know, there are just so many choices with your skin color and hair. You are such a lucky girl!”

  “Except for whole losing-eye thing, yes?”

  Gaius snorted and quickly glanced away, but if the royal noticed, she didn’t mention it. Instead, she finally picked a bright blue patch. “Here! This will go perfectly with the eye you still have in your head!”

  The royal stood and quickly removed the bandages that had been around Elina’s head. She tsk’d a bit. “Will these scars fade with time? You should talk to Morfyd. I’m sure she can help with that.”

  “My patience wanes, royal!”

  “All right, all right! No need to get snappy!”

  She carefully placed the eye patch on Elina, stopping several times to adjust it, before she stood back, her hands clasped together. “That’s perfect! Absolutely adorable!”

  “Yes. Because that is what Daughters of Steppes strive for—adorableness.”

  Gaius lowered his head and began to scrub his face with his hands, but Elina sensed it was only to hide his laughter.

  “Ho, sister!” Elina heard Kachka call out. “Look at what I have gotten us for dinner!”

  Elina moved around Gaius and watched her sister dragging the buffalo she’d taken down with one shot, the arrow still buried in its neck, blood still pouring.

  Her sister’s smile was wide and huge until she saw Elina; then she stopped, frowned. “What is that on your face?”

  “Eye patch.”

  “They didn’t have black one?”

  “They did, but she would not let me wear it.”

  “Why,” the redhead wanted to know, “would you condemn yourself
to a black eye patch when I have an array of festive colors and styles?”

  Elina looked at her sister. “She has an array.”

  “You look like peacock. It is like annoying jewel. It makes my eyes hurt to stare at.” She studied Gaius. “Who is this?”

  “Gaius Domitus from the Western Mountains. Handsome, is he not? And no wife has taken him.”

  “Really?”

  “This is my sister, Kachka. She helped save me before I could lose other eye.”

  Kachka walked around Gaius Domitus, examining him from all sides. “Very nice. Sturdy thighs. I like his steel-colored hair.”

  “Sister, he is dragon.”

  “Gods-dammit!” Kachka snarled. “Is that all they have here?”

  “Wait, wait,” Gaius cut in, his grin mischievous. “Before we go any further. I must make introductions. Keita, this is Kachka Shestakova of the—”

  “Do not,” the She-dragon roared, startling the birds from the trees, and the men training nearby, “again bore me with those ridiculously long names!”

  She picked up her array of eye patches. “Keep that on,” she ordered Elina. “I will help you choose one for tonight when you have gotten rid of this Iron menace!”

  “Why do I need to choose another for tonight?”

  She immediately calmed down and grinned. “There’s a feast tonight! There’ll be dancing.”

  “A feast?” Kachka asked. “Who are we sacrificing?”

  “No one. It’s just to celebrate.”

  “What is there to celebrate?”

  “I’m sure something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Stop asking me your ridiculous questions, foolish female!” the She-dragon snapped. “I have no time for this!”

  The She-dragon lifted her skirt and stormed away.

  “She is royal?” Kachka asked Gaius.

  “Yes.”

  “Where are her shoes? Why does she have no shoes?”

  “She doesn’t like to wear them.”

  “She makes me uneasy. Avoid her, sister. Her madness could probably be spread like the sickness that took our cousin a few years back.” Kachka grabbed hold of her rope. “I will take my offering to a field and butcher it for this feast these decadent royals will be having.”