Light My Fire

by G. A. Aiken

  Celyn pulled on his clothes and went in search of Elina, since he couldn’t leave without seeing her first. Thankfully, he passed his mum in the hallway.

  “Can you get to Devenallt Mountain? I shouldn’t be too long.”

  His mother smiled. “Your oh-so-important queen has more than enough guards surrounding her precious ass.”

  “I know that. You know that. You know who doesn’t know that?”

  “Me idiot brother?”

  “I should round up a few of my brethren who like to spend their off-duty hours at the human pubs. Plus, I have to find Elina before I go. I don’t know how long Uncle Bercelak will have his bad feelings about the day.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what he said. That the day felt wrong to him.”

  “Huh.” Ghleanna nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “You go. Take care of what you need to. I’ll be by Rhiannon’s side until you get there.”

  “All right. Thanks, Mum. Oh . . . and Mum?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do me a favor.”

  “Another one?”

  “Don’t fight with Rhiannon over Da. She just does that to make you and Uncle Bercelak crazed.”

  “What are you talking about?” his mother asked, eyes wide as if she was completely confused by what her son was saying. “Me? Argue with dear, sweet Rhiannon? Celyn . . . don’t be foolish.”

  Celyn let out a sigh. “Uh-huh.”

  Annwyl walked deep into the forest, following the screams until she reached the edge of royal farmland.

  The screaming came from panicked cows, including the one the old She-dragon had pinned to the ground with the help of a long tree trunk engraved with runes that she held in her left claw. She tore open the animal’s midsection and dug her snout deep inside, devouring her fill while the cow held on to life longer than Annwyl was used to. All the dragons she knew, if they craved fresh meat, killed their prey quickly before eating. Usually with a quickly snapped neck.

  It seemed that Brigida the Foul enjoyed her meals more when they thrashed about.

  When the old She-dragon finished sucking in the cow’s entrails like soup noodles, she suddenly turned that hard-to-look-at face toward Annwyl.

  “What do you want?” that raw voice asked.

  “Are you sure?”

  Brigida tore off the cow’s leg and proceeded to munch on the hoof the way Annwyl tended to munch on chicken bones during quiet dinners when she was able to spend most of her time reading a book.

  It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps she should stop that little habit.

  “Sure about what?” Brigida asked around the hoof.

  “That you can fix Elina Shestakova’s eye?”

  “You get me a fresh eye, I can fix it.”

  “How fresh?”

  “Very.”

  “If I ride to and from the Outerplains . . . ?”

  Brigida shook her head, the sound of munching filling the valley. It was making Annwyl queasy.

  “Nah. That’s too long. By the time you get back, that eye will be dry as a raisin and that hole in her head won’t be much better.”

  “That’s disappointing,” Annwyl said softly.

  “Ain’t ya got some prisoners? You can take it from one of them.”

  “If they’re in jail it’s because they haven’t done anything to warrant getting their heads cut off. I’m not mutilating one person for another.”

  “You mean . . . unless they deserve it.”

  “It just seems fair,” Annwyl snapped back, already preparing the argument she’d have with Dagmar. “Her mother took her eye for no damn reason, so her mother owes her an eye.”

  Annwyl abruptly scratched her head. Her hair itched. Not her scalp. Her hair, which even she knew was kind of a bad sign. But she was getting frustrated by all this.

  Very fucking frustrated.

  Spitting out some cowhide, the She-dragon asked, “What if I told you I could get you there and back from the Outerplains in a day?”

  Annwyl immediately dropped her hands to her sides. “I’m not giving you my soul.”

  “Don’t need your fucked-up soul. Got me own, don’t I? If I was going to take a soul, it would be a pure one. And I ain’t seen a pure soul around Garbhán Isle in many a century.”

  “Then what do you want? I know you want something. I’m not stupid. I know how these magicks work.”

  “Little girl, you know nothing. But that’s what I like about you. Your fists are hard. Your brain relatively empty. And your soul . . . mean. You and me? We can do things together.”

  “Will I have to look at your face a lot?” Annwyl asked, closing her eyes. “Because it’s freaking me out.”

  The old She-dragon cackled like she’d just heard the best joke ever. And when Annwyl opened her eyes again, Brigida was walking toward her as a flame-covered human, her walking tree trunk now shrunk down to a six-foot walking stick, the runes carved into it glowing.

  By the time Brigida stopped in front of Annwyl, the flames were gone, but the blood-covered carcass of a mean old woman remained.

  “Come on then, Annwyl the Bloody.”

  “Come where?”

  “First to that stream over there. I need to get this blood washed off. Then me and you . . . we’ve got somewhere to be.”

  “I should tell Fearghus I’m leaving.”

  “You don’t need to tell no male nothin’. Just come on. We’ll be back before anybody notices.”

  Annwyl watched Brigida walk off and it suddenly occurred to her that she had no limp today. She was just walking along toward that stream as if she didn’t have a care or pain in the world.

  Annwyl really didn’t know what to make of this old bitch. She really didn’t. But she knew that she owed it to Elina to at least try to make things right. And something told her that Brigida was the only one willing to do that.

  Glancing around and seeing nothing that changed her mind, Annwyl followed Brigida the Foul.

  Celyn came into the Great Hall, hoping to see Elina at one of the dining tables. Instead, he found an exhausted and forlorn-looking Frederik.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked the Northland male while reaching for the fruit sitting in a bowl on the table.

  Frederik sighed, long and loud. “Nothing.”

  Celyn rested his ass against the table and stared down at the boy. “Did Kachka toss you out of her room when she was done with you this morning?”

  “Yes. She did. She used me and tossed me aside.”

  “She did use you.”

  “Thank you very much, Celyn.”

  “But so what? From the sound of it when we passed her room this morning, you were enjoying every second of that using.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point? That she gave you the time of your life? Would you have preferred to have that idiot Gwenvael hire you a girl to break you in proper? Because trust me, if you’d kept showing up with those little peasant girls and prissy royal brats you were trying to woo . . . eventually he would have offered. And among the Cadwaladrs it’s hard coming back from that shame.”

  “I didn’t know everyone took an interest in who I . . . I . . .”

  “Fucked. The word is fucked. If you can’t say it, you won’t be able to do it. Look,” Celyn went on, “my suggestion is that you just take this experience and enjoy it for what it was.”

  “And what was it?”

  “An amazing night of fucking with a one-hundred-and fifty-four-year-old woman.”

  Frederik froze and slowly looked up at Celyn. “Pardon?” “She didn’t mention that?”

  “No. Her age never came up.”

  “Elina’s her younger sister. She’s a hundred and forty-five.”

  “I had sex with an old woman?”

  “No. You had sex with a Daughter of the Steppes, and you should be grateful.” Celyn grinned, and he knew his grin was wide. “I know I am.” He bit into the fruit, decided he didn’t like the taste,
and tossed it back into the bowl. “Speaking of which, have you seen Elina?”

  “I saw her heading toward the training area with her bow.”

  “Of course.” He patted Frederik’s shoulder. “Don’t fret. Kachka won’t be considered an old woman by her people for quite a few more centuries. And in a few days, this will all be just a glorious memory for you.”

  Celyn walked out of the Great Hall and down the stairs into the courtyard. That’s where Gwenvael caught his arm and yanked him around.

  “You need to keep your Rider females from my lady’s sight today.”

  “First off,” Celyn stated calmly, “get your claws off me.”

  “Listen, Low Born, don’t—”

  “Second, I will cut that pretty face of yours.”

  Gwenvael gasped and stepped away. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “So deep even your sister won’t be able to heal the scars.”

  “Bastard!”

  “Now what’s the problem?”

  “Your whorish Riders—”

  “Watch it. I’m a Cadwaladr, raised by Ghleanna the Decimator herself. I always have a blade at the ready.”

  “Fine then. Kachka Shestakova fucked Frederik Reinholdt.”

  “And?”

  “Dagmar is not happy.”

  “What does any of this have to do with the Shestakova sisters?”

  “While her only son is with your father, Frederik is all Dagmar has. She still sees him as her little orphan nephew.”

  “His father may be quite the bastard, but Frederik is not an orphan. Plus he’s past his twenty-third winter, six-four, and well over two hundred pounds.”

  “And he’s still her little orphan nephew!” the dragon bellowed.

  “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  “Just get the Riders out of Dagmar’s sight. Right now I’ve got her holed up in her study with her weird little assistant for the next few hours. It would be nice if when she comes out for luncheon, reminders of her nephew’s lost innocence were removed.”

  “He wasn’t a virgin.”

  “I’m guessing that compared to what he’d had before Kachka Shestakova . . . he might as well have been.”

  Celyn was about to argue the point until he shrugged and nodded, realizing his idiot cousin was right.

  “Just get them out of here for a day. Maybe two.”

  “And where, exactly, do you want me to take them?”

  “Your father is going back to his house and taking Var. Let the sisters go with them. They can keep an eye on the boy.”

  “I’m surprised Dagmar’s not sending you to watch out for Var yourself.”

  “She tried, but unlike my mate, I’m confident he’ll be just fine under your father’s boring care. But your Riders will be great protection with their bows and bad manners.”

  “I don’t know why you’re being so mean to them,” Celyn chastised. “Kachka herself told me that you’d fetch nearly a kingdom of gold among the tribes for your good looks.”

  Gwenvael grinned. “Really?” He shrugged. “Well . . . I am beautiful.”

  “And I’ll still happily slice that pretty face right open.”

  “Stop saying that! Bastard. Just get your women out!”

  “Only one is my woman,” Celyn barked back. Then he grinned, realizing the meaning of his statement. “Aye. One is my woman.”

  “And surprise. She’s not Izzy.”

  Celyn had his blade out, but Gwenvael immediately covered his face with both his arms.

  “You cover your face but leave all your major organs exposed?” Celyn demanded, disgusted by his royal cousin. Always so disgusted.

  “I’m protecting the most important thing about me besides my hair.” Gwenvael peeked around his arms. “According to castle rumor, it is worth a kingdom of gold.”

  Celyn rolled his eyes, already regretting telling Gwenvael that, and tucked his sword back into its sheath. “You are pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.”

  “But I am handsome.”

  A young squire placed more arrows in Elina’s quiver and then brought a bucket filled with even more arrows, which he placed at her feet.

  She nodded her thanks and nocked another arrow, waiting as a second squire moved in a new target since the last one was now covered in the arrows she’d already unleashed.

  It was hard going, adjusting to the loss of her eye. But she was glad to see her aim getting better with each arrow shot.

  “Elina?” Fearghus asked as he moved next to her from her sighted side. “Have you seen Annwyl this morning?”

  She nodded at Fearghus’s question. “I have. She was standing in the courtyard, staring off toward the trees.” She gestured with her bow. “She seemed . . . preoccupied.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something vexed her, but she would not tell me what.”

  The handsome dragon nodded and patted her shoulder as he quickly moved by. “Thank you, Elina.”

  With a fresh target in place, Elina automatically turned her head far left, then glanced right, to take in her surroundings. But when she turned her head back toward the left she saw someone moving silently up behind her. She had her bow raised and the arrow loosed before her mind could actually make out who that someone was.

  Thankfully, her target was fast of hand and the arrow was caught before it made contact.

  Holding the arrow, the head pointed right at where his heart was, Celyn calmly explained, “This is one of two ways to quickly kill a dragon in human form. So let’s avoid doing that to me or anyone in my family.”

  Elina turned her whole body and snarled at Celyn, “My left side will forever more be my blind side, you dolt! Move toward me from that direction and I will shoot arrow first and mourn your loss second.”

  Grinning, he leaned in and kissed her. “And a good morning to you, too, ray of suns-shine.”

  Elina snatched back her arrow. “Foolish dragon! What do you want?”

  “I have to return to the queen’s side for a bit—”

  “It is your job to protect the Dragon Queen, is it not?”

  “—and I was wondering,” he continued on, “if you and your sister could escort my father and young Var back to Bram’s home?”

  Elina smirked. “That Northland female wants us gone from Garbhán Isle, yes?”

  “Just for a day or two. Until the sting of your sister twisting her nephew like dough around her naked body is more of a faint memory.”

  Elina rolled her eye. “I do not understand these Northland females at all. It is not like Kachka made him one of her husbands.”

  “She has husbands?”

  “Not yet, but she will. She has much to offer a cadre of handsome men.”

  “Well . . . she can offer whatever a cadre is to someone who is not related by blood to Dagmar Reinholdt.”

  “Will we ever be allowed to return here?”

  “Yes,” Celyn said, his voice vehement. “I said a day or two, not a lifetime. And I have no intention of hiding you and your sister away on Devenallt Mountain to live life among those snooty royal dragons.”

  “Why would we live there?”

  “Because I’m there.” He kissed her again. “And where I am—” And again. “—I want you to be.” And again.

  When he pulled away, Elina licked her lips and nodded. “That is acceptable for now.”

  “For now? Really? And when should I start expecting you to leave?”

  “Eh.” She shrugged. “I am Daughter of Steppes. I have more time than most, so I am in no rush to make such a decision. But do not become too comfortable, Dolt. I could make change of mind at any time in the next century or two.”

  “I’ll attempt to remember that,” he murmured as he leaned in for another kiss.

  “Morning, sister and her dragon whore!” Kachka’s voice boomed, startling Celyn away from that tantalizing kiss. Much to Elina’s annoyance. “I hope death finds both of you well this glorious morning!”

  Elina g
lanced over at her sister. “You have caused problems, Kachka.”

  “Me? How? I did not start one fight last night, just as I promised you. Nor did I spit again on floor after first time, and I set nothing on fire.”

  “Fire?” Celyn asked.

  “That is what we do when we raid town,” Elina explained. “Burn everything to ground as warning to other towns that dare challenge us. We also sometimes do that to individual people . . . when they annoy us enough.”

  “How lovely.”

  Elina faced her sister. “You fucked that boy—”

  “He is certainly man now.”

  “—and the Northlander female is not happy.”

  “We should have wiped the Northlanders out and taken their men when we had the chance.” She nodded at Celyn. “No offense.”

  “None taken. I’m a Southlander.”

  “Well, we did none of those things,” Elina went on, “and now the Northland female whines. So we will go with Bram the Merciful to his home. Protect him and the boy.”

  “The little smart one?” Kachka nodded. “He takes after father and one day he will be glorious to look upon.” She grinned. “And I will still be here, waiting for that day.”

  “I am begging you,” Celyn said, his eyes briefly closing, “never say that again, ever, within a thousand leagues of this place. Not unless you are hoping to be executed. Just . . . never.”

  Kachka reached up and patted Celyn’s face with the tips of her fingers. “I see why my sister likes you so. You are so adorable when there is fear in your black, soulless, dragon eyes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Just as Bram landed in the courtyard of his castle home, the two Riders came through the gate that, once again, he’d forgotten to close.

  “Am I that old?” he asked Var. “That I can’t out-fly horses now?”

  “Those are Steppes horses, Uncle Bram,” the boy patiently explained as he slid off Bram’s back. “They are known for their speed and endurance.” He patted Bram’s side. “And you are getting old.”

  Bram nodded. “Thank you, dear boy. Your honesty is so refreshing in this day and age.”

  The horses trotted close to Bram, showing no fear. The same way the women on their backs showed no fear.