by G. A. Aiken
Yet there was no sadness between them. No sad sighs that showed the woman or her kin mourned the loss of her eye.
Dagmar, of course, didn’t believe she had “gotten over it” as Briec liked to tell people to do when he got tired of them complaining. But Dagmar could also tell this female wasn’t faking her enjoyment of the festivities either.
“That eye patch is so cute on her,” Morfyd noted.
“Gods,” Briec snarled, “you sound like Keita. Can we stop talking about eye patches and focus on the bigger issue—the Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle?”
“Has anyone talked to Fearghus?” Dagmar asked.
“I did.” Morfyd sighed. “He does not seem overly concerned.”
“How is that possible?”
“You forget, brother, he fell in love with her when she still had no control over her rage. When she tried to kill our father—while he was in his dragon form. When she cut off her brother’s head. When she challenged our mother in front of her entire court. That was the Annwyl he fell in love with. So that Annwyl’s sudden return doesn’t exactly concern him as it does you and I.”
Morfyd turned her body toward them and lowered her voice a little more. “And there’s something else we haven’t discussed.”
“Which is?”
“Where the fuck is Brigida?”
“We have no proof that old hag has returned,” Briec scoffed. “Just the word of Celyn.”
“Say what you will about our cousin, Briec, but he’s never been a liar. He doesn’t make up stories. And I doubt even liar Gwenvael would dredge up the name of Brigida the Foul. So if Celyn says she brought him back here, I believe it. But then where is she? Why has she not shown herself to us?”
“What about Mum? Has she seen her?”
“I went to Devenallt Mountain earlier,” Morfyd said, “and checked in, but Rhiannon has seen no sign. But just the mention of that She-dragon’s name had our father insisting that our mother not attend the feast tonight. And he doubled her guard. He almost called Celyn back, but I thought it best to keep him here with the Riders.”
“How concerned should we be about this Brigida the Foul?” Dagmar asked.
“Very,” the siblings replied in unison.
Brannie cut through her dancing kin—laughing as Gwenvael swirled around her like the big girl he truly was—and tracked down her mother. She was chatting with Keita when Brannie stepped between them.
“Guess what Éibhear just told me?”
“That Celyn has fallen for the one-eyed Rider?”
Brannie pouted at Keita. “Your brother has the biggest mouth.”
“He didn’t tell me anything. Anyone with two eyes can see . . . hmm. Guess that’s a bit of an inappropriate phrase in light of recent events.”
Ghleanna patted Keita on the shoulder. “Look at you, realizing that on your own. Guess that Northlander bastard has had a good effect on you.”
“What does that mean? I’m a lovely dragoness. Everyone adores me.”
Ghleanna snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure they do.”
“In fact, I am so helpful and loving, I’ve been desperately trying to help that barbarian female to enhance her personal style a bit.”
Brannie frowned. “Her personal style?”
“I had a lovely gown picked out for her—”
“Gown?”
“—and that She-barbarian sister of hers slashed it to ribbons!”
“You tried to put a Daughter of the Steppes into a bloody dress?” Ghleanna demanded.
“Why wouldn’t I? It would have looked darling on her! And the eye patch she’s wearing now matched it perfectly.”
“Riders don’t wear dresses, silly hatchling.”
“How sad for them.”
“Why? They love their life.” Ghleanna combed her hand through her short crop of black hair. “But my baby son with a Rider?”
“Oh, what?” Keita asked lightly. “My idiot brothers can make humans their mates, but not your precious son?”
“All my offspring are better than you House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar bastards, because they’re not spoiled brats. But that’s not what I mean. The women rule in the Steppes and my son is not about to become the first husband of many. He’s a Cadwaladr. He’s first, best, and most important.”
“Do you even remember you have other offspring?” Brannie asked.
“If I’m forced to.”
“Mum!”
Chuckling, Ghleanna threw her arm around Brannie’s shoulders, pulled her in close, and kissed her forehead while putting her in a minor headlock.
“I adore all my offspring equally. Even you, my love.”
Brannie rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Mum.”
Ghleanna fingered the ends of Brannie’s black hair. “This is getting a bit long, don’t you think?”
“No. I like my hair to reach my shoulders.”
“Just gives them more to grab for in battle.”
Brannie pulled away from her mother. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me hair.”
“If you say so.”
“I absolutely hate when you get that tone!”
“What tone? A tone that would suggest it wouldn’t kill you to make your hair more appropriate for a captain of Her Majesty’s Army?”
“Am I supposed to believe that Uncle Bercelak or Auntie Rhiannon give one single fuck about the length of my hair?”
“I give a single fuck about the length of your hair. Not as your mother, but as general of Her Majesty’s legions!”
“Oh for the sake of the gods, Mother, give it a rest!”
“Don’t speak to me in that tone, you spoiled brat!”
“You just told Keita there are no spoiled brats among your offspring.”
“I lied!”
“Excuse me,” Keita cut in. “Are you two done with the gossip? Because if you are, I’m going to find Talaith and see if she has anything good.”
When Brannie and her mum simply stared at her, Keita waved her hand, gesturing between them and gleefully noted, “Like twin mirrors of rage, you both are!”
“Human?”
“Dragon.”
“Really?” Kachka sighed. She’d had no clue there were so many dragons in the world. Dragons who pretended to be human.
But while sitting on this table with her sister, their long legs hanging over the edge while they ate some ridiculously delicious—and definitely decadent—dessert, they’d been guessing which were the dragons and which weren’t. And sadly, Kachka was learning that dragons were everywhere.
“What about that one?” she asked. “Human?”
“Dragon.”
“No!”
The dessert the sisters had been indulging in was some kind of fried dough covered in powdered sugar. The pieces were bite-sized so the pair had been throwing them up in the air and catching them in their mouths for nearly twenty minutes. Although Kachka didn’t have the heart to tell her sister that she now had multiple dots of powdered sugar on her face from when her aim had been off.
But Kachka refused to feel sad about that. She had her sister by her side and she was actually happy, even without her eye. Already they’d had much more time together than they’d had since they were children.
As soon as it had become clear that although Elina excelled as a hunter for food but not a slaughterer of humans, the pair had spent less and less time together. Something Kachka was sure their mother had arranged. Not because she held any great hopes for Kachka either, but because she simply wanted Elina to suffer. To be as alone and separate as she could be without it being too obvious.
It no longer mattered. though. They were still Daughters of the Steppes, always would be, but they were outcasts now. No longer accepted by their own, they only had each other to turn to. Something that didn’t bother Kachka as much as it probably should have.
“What about that one?” she asked, pointing out a tall, broad-shouldered, but young-looking male. “He’s not a dragon, is he?”
“
No. He’s not.”
“See?”
“He’s a Northlander.”
Kachka snarled in disgust and spit on the floor to ward off nearby evil.
“I was trying to pretend I wasn’t listening,” the one they called Izzy stated from nearby, “but now I must ask, why such a reaction to Northlanders?”
Elina motioned the woman closer, and she practically skipped over in excitement. Did these Southlanders have nothing better to do with their time than have their servants cater to them and involve themselves in gossip?
“Back, many centuries ago,” Elina explained, “we used to raid the Northland territories for jewels and husbands—”
“Are you sure you shouldn’t just call them slaves?”
“We marry them, do we not?” Kachka asked, not appreciating the brown one’s judgmental tone.
“I was just asking.”
“But they did not have many jewels and the few pretty men we found tended to die on the way back to the Steppes.”
“Why?”
“Because they tried to escape and often tried to take a Daughter or two with them. And the Daughters usually killed them out of annoyance.”
“Aaah. I see. But why did Kachka do the dramatic . . . spitting? Which, by the way, the servants will be forced to clean up.”
“Keep that tone, Southlander,” Kachka warned, “and I will make you lick it up.”
Elina placed her sugar-covered hands against each one’s chest to stop them from charging each other. Not because she wanted to stop them from fighting, but more likely because she wasn’t finished telling the story yet. Elina hated when people interrupted her stories.
“But we continued to raid their lands—”
“Wait,” the one called Izzy said. “If there were few jewels and the men kept dying . . . why would you continue to raid their lands?”
“They were there and practice makes the perfect. Anyway, a group of powerful Northland hags finally had had enough and they conjured up some Northland demon to rain vengeance down upon our heads. It wiped out a good chunk of our people at the time. It was very bad.”
“What kind of demon was it?”
“You ask many questions, brown one,” Kachka accused.
“Because I’m interested in her tale. And if you call me brown one again, I’ll rip your arms off.”
Kachka, curious to see if the Southlander could, slid off the table. But as they went at each other, Celyn was there, practically diving between them.
“What’s happening?” he asked, putting his arms around each woman’s shoulders and yanking them close to his sides. “What are we talking about?”
“I was telling them about the time the Northland hags sent a demon to destroy our people.” Elina popped another treat into her mouth, chewed, and wagged a finger at Celyn and the brown one. “You know, Celyn, when that red-haired cousin of yours who tries to dress me like doll said that you two used to fuck, I was not sure I believed her. You do not seem to have much in common,” she noted casually. “But after talking to this one, and seeing how many questions she asks, I now understand it. Of course, like most women, her questions are pointed and short. Unlike yours, which are rambling and endless.”
The one called Izzy pulled away from Celyn, her lips in a tight line of anger. “If you’ll excuse me. I have to go find my aunt Keita and beat her to death.” She started to walk away, stopped, faced Elina. “But before I go . . . demon?”
“They said it was a league high. A purple-scaled, winged She-demon with white horns and cold silver eyes that shot lightning from its maw.”
Celyn and the woman stared at Elina for a long moment, but when the woman opened her mouth to speak, Celyn quickly stopped her.
“No, Izzy.”
“But—”
“No.”
“But Ragnar—”
“No.”
“Are you sure—”
“Positive!” He took the woman by the shoulders and spun her around. “Now I thought you were going to go beat Keita to death. There she is,” he said while shoving her away.
Kachka again sat on the table and grabbed the last treat on the plate. “Did that brown one take you like whore, Celyn the Charming? Or did she pretend you were her first?”
Then Kachka and Elina laughed at the memories of how they’d often treated men when they were growing up, but Celyn merely snarled and stalked away.
“You best go to him, sister, and soothe his hurt feelings.”
“Why should I?”
“You know how men are. If you treat them nice and buy them gifts, they will suck your pussy like champion.”
Elina glanced off. “Well, when you put it like that . . .”
“And if you can, have another plate of these fried dough things sent over. I am still hungry.”
“You have no respect for me at all, do you?” Celyn demanded when Elina caught up with him.
“Of course, I do,” she lied while stroking his hair.
“Elina.”
She dropped her hand to her side. “I respect you more than most men. And every day I learn to respect you more. Of course, you are dragon, so I guess I still do not respect men at all. Just dragons.”
“You do seem to like my father.”
“He is smart and humble and very handsome—”
“All right,” he cut in. “I get your point.”
“You are not jealous of your own father, are you?”
“I am if you’re busy lusting after him.”
“You forget I have met your mother. I have one eye left, Dolt. I plan to keep it in my head. Not around your mother’s thick neck like trophy.”
“She does have a thick neck, but it works for her.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, Celyn pulled Elina around to face him. “I just want to know that even though I’m a male, you don’t think less of me.”
“Of course I don’t. When I think less of you, it is because of you.”
“That’s all I ask.” Celyn grinned and kissed her. His mouth, warm and firm against hers, had Elina wondering if there was some place she could drag him off to for a bit so that he could take care of her needs. But then she heard the cheering and pulled away from Celyn to see that everyone, even Annwyl, was banging their drinking cups on tables and against walls while chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
Perhaps it was the drink, but they all seemed so happy for them that Elina didn’t know what to make of such enthusiasm. So she gave them what they all demanded.
Gripping Celyn with both hands around his thick neck, she yanked him down and kissed him hard. The cheering around her grew intense and for the first time in her life, Elina felt like she was . . . home.
With their lips still locked together, Celyn slid his hands under Elina’s ass and lifted her until she had to tilt her head down to keep the kiss going. It was a gesture meant to let every dragon in the hall know . . . she was with him.
Possessive, he knew. But Celyn couldn’t help himself. And he wasn’t even sure he wanted to help himself.
Elina finally pulled away, her cheeks bright with color, her lips slightly bruised from their kiss; but her grin was wide and she didn’t seem to mind the cheering crowd of Celyn’s family at all.
In fact, the personalities that made Elina and her sister sometimes off-putting to Southland humans made them fit in perfectly with the Cadwaladrs. And their unwillingness to back down kept them from being pushed around by Rhiannon’s royal offspring.
The music picked up again and Kachka grabbed her sister’s hand and yanked her free from Celyn’s arms. She swung Elina out into the middle of the floor and they clapped their hands as they moved around each other. Kachka gripped Elina’s right hand with her left and the pair crouched, then leapt up, using only the power of their legs to keep them moving.
A circle was formed around them as everyone clapped and cheered.
Brannie walked over to him, her mouth opening to say something. But Celyn raised his finger, waved it twice. “Not a
word,” he told her. “Not one word.”
As he asked, she said nothing. But she did hug his upper arm with both her hands and rest her head against his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long while as they watched the sisters dance.
“And then,” Var went on, oblivious to the dancing and merriment going on around him, “Uncle Bram had me catalog all the books he had stacked in one corner of his house. It took me ages because there were so many. But some of them were very interesting about the history of dragons from the human perspective and the history of wars of Annwyl’s great-grandfather. It was said he was never as happy as when he was right in the middle of battle, which reminds me of Annwyl. Even though I’ve never seen her in battle.”
“So you enjoyed yourself then? At your uncle Bram’s house?” Dagmar asked.
“Oh, yes. It was just hours of quiet. Wonderful, wonderful quiet. Then at dinner last night, I was able to talk to King Gaius and his sister, Princess Agrippina. Life in the Sovereigns sounds very interesting. After dinner, Uncle Bram pointed out some books about living there that I could read later.”
Var took a brief break from talking when he guzzled back a tall chalice of milk. Dagmar glanced over his head at her nephew, Frederik. He gave her a small smile, but she knew what that smile really said. Your son will be moving in with Uncle Bram and away from you. Forever.
Placing his nearly empty glass down, Var took another bite of the cake he’d been eating and said, “I’ll be heading back with him tomorrow morning. So I can’t be up too late tonight.”
“You’re going back already? We didn’t discuss that, Var.”
“I have more books to catalog, and I think Uncle Bram is going to let me help him organize his papers. Auntie Ghleanna says they’re a mess. He can never find anything. You know how good I am at organizing. If I organize it, I know it will be done right.”