by G. A. Aiken
“How do you live like this, Bram the Merciful?” Kachka asked. “So much unmovable stone. Do you not feel trapped?”
“Dragons normally live in caves. Castles aren’t much different.”
“I do not like,” Kachka sniffed. “I would feel like I could not breathe.”
“Do not complain so, sister. It’s not like you will be trapped by walls of stone.” Elina pointed at Bram. “Just the dragon. So if walls fall on him and crush his sad head, we will be outside under the stars . . . safe.”
Bram nodded. “Thank you both for that.”
“You are welcome,” they said together.
“Uncle Bram,” Var said, “I’m hungry.”
“Come, little Abomination,” Kachka ordered. “We will hunt your food down.”
Var, his face twisted in disgust, pointed at Bram’s castle. “I’m sure Uncle Bram has food. He always has food. Food I don’t need to hunt down and kill.”
“Horse gods of death, what have these dragons been teaching you, boy? How to live off others when you are perfectly healthy to go and hunt for yourself?”
“That’s exactly what they’ve taught me, and I find it perfectly acceptable.”
“No.” Elina rode over to the boy, reaching down and hauling him onto the back of her horse. “You will not turn into lazy Southlander. Not when you have potential to be a perfectly acceptable husband one day.”
“I don’t want to be an acceptable husband one day.”
“You all say that, but then on knees you beg. ‘Pleeeeease make me husband. I will do anything to be your husband.’ But you are too pretty to beg. The warriors will come to you and offer so much to have someone so pretty raise their children.”
“Uncle Bram?” the boy begged in a whiney voice Bram had never heard before, making Bram choke back a laugh. It was always nice when his nephews’ dragon-human offspring actually acted like children for once.
“Learn to hunt, Var. It’ll be good for you.”
“We won’t be long,” Elina told him.
Wondering if he’d remembered to bring those scrolls that Dagmar had given him last night, Bram began to dig into his travel bag. They had to be in here somewhere.
“Bram!”
Bram looked up, quickly realizing the two Riders and Var were staring at him. “Yes?”
“Close gate after us,” Elina said. And based on her tone . . . she’d said it more than once.
“Right. Close gate. I will.”
“Good.”
The sisters rode out with young Var, and Bram walked toward his gate. But by the time he reached it, he was headfirst into his bag, trying to find those damn . . .
“Here they are!” he called out triumphantly.
Bram glanced around, quickly realizing he was talking to the air again. That was always awkward.
He turned and walked toward the castle steps, shifting to human as he did so. And the whole time he walked, he sensed he’d forgotten to do something . . . but damned if he could remember what it was.
Izzy finally made it downstairs and into the Great Hall by early afternoon. Éibhear was already at the dining table, but he had his head resting on his folded arms and she might have heard snoring.
Gratefully taking the tea one of the servants handed her—they’d been through enough Cadwaladr family feasts to know how to treat any lingering morning-after effects—Izzy pushed at her mate’s shoulder until he sat up and she could settle on his lap.
“We are never drinking like that again,” Éibhear promised as all the Cadwaladrs promised.
A promise they never kept.
She leaned in, kissed him. “Drink some of this tea.”
“What will tea do?”
“It is Morfyd’s recipe. It’ll help.”
“Morning!” Brannie announced before dropping into a chair next to Izzy and Éibhear. Both of them growled at her, but she only smiled wider.
“I was smart,” Brannie noted. “I didn’t drink nearly as much as you two.”
“Only because you were running around, gossiping, all night,” Izzy noted. “I had no idea you could be as bad as Morfyd.”
“This is about my brother. How could I not gossip? Our older sisters will definitely want to know what’s going on. I have to have all the information.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure that’s it.”
“Your sarcasm bites, old friend.” Brannie reached over and took the tea out of Izzy’s hand before Éibhear could take a sip, eliciting another growl from the dragon. But if Brannie noticed . . .
“Do you think Celyn will really take Elina as his mate?”
“Yes,” Izzy and Éibhear answered together.
Their quick and confident response surprised Brannie. “Why? Because he feels sorry about what happened to her eye? Because that was her mother’s doing. My brother—”
“Brannie, Brannie,” Éibhear said in a tone that suggested he was talking to a small child. “This has nothing to do with the loss of her eye. Your brother will choose Elina Shestakova as his mate because she fucks him stupider than he already is.”
Izzy laughed at that, but Brannie didn’t.
“You’re talking about my brother, worthless Mì-runach.”
“Don’t act like an innocent with me, cousin. I’ve been on campaign with you, and seen more than one battle-weary soldier tossed from your tent when you were done with him . . . or them.” Izzy cringed at that, ready to step in if the fight between cousins turned physical. Gods, she hated when it turned physical while she was still recovering from the prior evening’s drink. “So don’t pretend with me. Ever.”
“I’ll have you know, Éibhear the Idiotic, that I—”
Brannie’s words stopped when Fearghus walked into the hall. “Morning, Izzy. Brannie. Have either of you seen Annwyl?”
“You can’t even be bothered to greet me? I’m your brother.”
Fearghus looked Éibhear over, said nothing, and focused again on Izzy, his eyebrows raised in question.
Izzy shook her head, trying not to giggle at the torture of her mate. His brothers were so mean to him. Still! After all these years!
“No,” she replied. “Haven’t seen Annwyl. Why?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t been able to find her and—”
“So she’s gone?” Izzy asked as she curled her fingers into her hand and dug her short, battered nails into her palm to help keep herself calm.
“I’m sure she’s around some—”
“I’m sure she’s around somewhere, too. Why don’t you go outside and look for her?”
“I should probably go check the library fir—”
“Great idea. Go check the library.”
Fearghus frowned at that, but then shrugged and walked off. When he had disappeared deep into the bowels of the house . . .
“Dammit!” Brannie slammed her hand against the table as Izzy jumped off Éibhear’s lap and began to pace. “I told you, Izzy. I told you she was not going to let that thing with the Rider go. Not in a million years.”
“All right, all right.” Izzy put her hands to her head. “Let’s not panic.”
“I don’t know why you two are worried,” Éibhear calmly reasoned. “I’m sure Annwyl is just—”
“I said not to panic!” Izzy yelled into Éibhear’s face.
The dragon leaned away from her, his hands raised. “I wasn’t.”
“We have to go get her.” Brannie stood. “Now. Before anyone realizes she’s gone.”
“Éibhear, get Gwenvael and Daddy. Have them meet us outside the gates in fifteen minutes. Do not tell Dagmar or Mum. Morfyd either. They’ll just get upset. We especially don’t need for the Iron dragons to hear of this either.”
“She couldn’t have gotten far,” Brannie desperately reasoned. “It takes days to travel to that part of the Steppes. She’s on horseback. If we fly, we’ll catch up and bring her back before it’s even late afternoon.”
“Honestly,” Éibhear insisted, “I can go by myself and
bring her back if she’s really on the road to—”
“Are you insane?” Izzy barked. “When she gets like this, she won’t stop. Ever.”
“Ever,” Brannie echoed.
“Just do what we say, Éibhear. Get Daddy and Gwenvael, but keep this from Fearghus. It’ll just upset him.”
“With good reason,” Brannie agreed.
“And meet us outside the gates.”
“All right,” Éibhear stated as he got out of his chair.
“And remember . . . quiet. Very quiet. We don’t need panic.”
“Okay, but—”
“No panic!”
Éibhear reared back. “I’ll go find Gwenvael and Briec.”
“You do that.”
Izzy watched Éibhear walk out of the hall, then focused on Brannie. “We should have seen this coming, Bran.”
“Don’t worry, Iz. We’ll find her.”
“You better hope so. We all better hope so. . . .”
“Come now. Don’t sound so worried. Annwyl’s on horseback and she just left. How far do you really think she could get?”
Andreeva Fyodorov practiced with the new bow one of her daddies had given her. Her mother said that since she wasn’t sure which of them was Andreeva Fyodorov’s father, Andreeva would call all of her mother’s husbands, “Daddy.”
It didn’t matter to Andreeva. They made her bows. They healed her wounds. They trained her to ride and hunt, but it would be Andreeva’s mother and aunts who taught her how to fight. How to be a warrior. What else mattered for the Daughters of the Steppes?
Andreeva raised her bow and pointed it at the back of her little brother’s head. But her older sister slapped the bow from her hand.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“You only aim your bow when you plan to shoot. And we don’t shoot those born of the Steppes. Ever. Remember, we are the . . . the . . .”
Andreeva’s sister looked around, as did the others nearby. The cold, bracing winds of the Steppes had suddenly begun to rise. But not from the north or south, east or west. But from the ground . . . up.
The land beneath their feet pitched and rolled. Andreeva’s sister picked her up in her arms and held her close to her chest as the winds whipped their hair and clothes around, their tents shaking as if they might blow away.
Then, just as quickly as all that wind whipping and ground shaking began . . . it stopped.
And they were there.
An old hag with a tall walking stick and a younger woman wearing a sleeveless chain-mail shirt, chain-mail leggings, and leather boots, and with brands on her scarred arms. She had many weapons.
The woman looked around, her gaze briefly falling on Andreeva. Instinctively, Andreeva leaned back, but her sister wasn’t having it. She placed Andreeva on the ground and pushed her forward.
“Never show fear to a Southlander,” her sister hissed angrily at her. “An imperialistic, corrupt society that is not worthy of our fear or our attention. Never forget that, Andreeva.”
Andreeva nodded at her sister’s command and, boldly, she walked up to the woman.
“No, no! Andreeva, wait. That’s not what I meant!”
But Andreeva ignored her sister this time. She was too close to the woman not to be curious about her. Her weapons were fine, of very high quality. Her chain mail fit her perfectly. As did her boots. But she was very scarred and unkempt otherwise. As for the old hag . . . she was just horrifying to look at, so Andreeva didn’t bother.
The woman suddenly looked down at her, her golden-brown hair falling into her face, nearly covering those eyes.
“Glebovicha,” the woman said.
Andreeva knew her. She was one of the tribal leaders who reported to the Anne Atli.
So she took the woman’s hand and led her to the tent where an all-tribes meeting was taking place.
The tent of her mother.
The tent of the Anne Atli.
So focused were they on Annwyl, none of the Riders noticed Brigida before she blended in with the surroundings so that she could no longer be seen by anyone but Annwyl, and then only because she was allowing Annwyl to see her.
Brigida stood at the tent entrance and watched the human queen walk into the center of all the tribal leaders sitting cross-legged on the ground.
Brigida knew all of them. Over time she’d met them or their mothers . . . or their mothers’ mothers. Long ago, Brigida had made it her business to know anyone whom she might one day need. Whether it was for trading or food or souls.
The Daughters of the Steppes had a mighty power among them, one that Brigida wasn’t afraid to use when necessary. But her question was, would this human queen be able to use their power? Or had she been so tamped down by logic and reason and royal duty that she no longer knew who she was or what she could do?
That’s what Brigida needed to know.
She needed the truth.
Anne Atli, the leader of the Daughters of the Steppes, watched the human queen from her raised spot on the tent floor, but she said nothing. Instead it was her sister, Magdalina Fyodorov, who spoke, as Anne Atli’s second in command.
“Who are you, Southlander?”
“I am Annwyl the Bloody.”
“The Southlander queen? You?” Magdalina frowned. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“All right.” The Rider shrugged. “So I guess you are here to discuss that alliance between our people and—”
“No,” Annwyl cut in, her gaze still sweeping over the other tribal leaders.
“Pssst,” Brigida called out. “You kind of are.”
“I don’t care about fucking alliances,” Annwyl shot back. “I’m here for Glebovicha Shestakova. Where is she?”
“I am Glebovicha Shestakova,” the Shestakova tribal leader called out. “What do you want, imperialist dog?”
Annwyl placed her hands on her hips. “You owe your daughter an eye.”
Grinning, Glebovicha slowly got to her feet. And she kept getting to her feet as she surpassed Annwyl to eventually tower over the human queen.
“Then,” Glebovicha snarled down at a suddenly pale Annwyl the Bloody, “come and get it for her.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Celyn tracked down the off-duty Queen’s Guards and instructed them to spread out and look for anything unusual. If his uncle was worried about the day, then Celyn would take him seriously. Though to his face, he’d rather mock his uncle a little. There was just something about Bercelak that begged for a bit of mocking.
Once he’d sent the guards on their way, Celyn cut through town, stopping at a few of his favorite places to chat with the owners.
“Everything all right here, Stenam?”
“Quite well. Business is good. I’ll have to start getting my youngest son up to speed with his brothers and sisters so he can help with the new workload.”
“Where is young Robert?” Celyn asked as he drank water from the jug Stenam kept for that purpose.
“Off with his friends.”
Celyn grinned. “Playing spy again?”
“Of course. Although when I was their age, I liked to play soldier. But these little bastards are a sneaky bunch. So they play spy. And with these new people cutting through town the last few days, their interest has been caught, but good.”
Celyn, with a mouthful of water, stared at the blacksmith as he pounded a sword blade into submission.
Finally gulping that water down, Celyn asked, “New people? What new people?”
“Don’t know. They’ve been cutting in and out of town for the last few days. I just figured they were more workers that Harold the Stonemason hired. He says the queen has been pushing him a bit to get her tower done before the first snows. So I know he’s hired some outside people.”
“And they just started arriving?”
Stenam shrugged. “I guess. Maybe in the last week or so.”
“Do these new people know each other?”
“Not so’s I could
tell. Don’t see them talking or traveling together.”
Celyn put down the water jug. “Thanks, Stenam.”
“Everything all right?” Stenam called after him as Celyn strode away.
“Aye. Everything’s fine. Thanks.”
But Celyn was lying. He didn’t think a damn thing was fine.
Briec found Fearghus standing outside the tower in progress staring off into the distance.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Annwyl’s gone missing.”
Briec threw up his hands. “I warned all of you she wouldn’t—”
“Quiet, quiet,” Fearghus said softly before forcing a grin.
Princess Agrippina walked past them. “Prince Fearghus. Prince Briec.”
“My lady,” the brothers said together.
“Off for a walk?” Briec asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you shouldn’t have guards?”
“I have no intention of going far.” She faced the two dragons. “I promised my brother I’d stay. And stay I will.”
“Stop acting like you’re doing us a bloody favor—ow! Those are my ribs you’re banging with your pointy elbow, brother.”
“What my brother Briec means to say, Princess, is that all we care about is your safety.”
“Of course you do. But I’m sure that . . .” Agrippina’s words suddenly faded away and she wrapped her fur cloak tighter around her human shoulders.
“Princess? Are you all right?”
She glanced up at the sky. “Yes. Of course. I just . . .” She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”
Fearghus watched the Western royal walk off, wondering what she’d sensed.
“You want to go look for Annwyl?” Briec asked.
“You’ll come with me?” Fearghus couldn’t help but be surprised by the offer.
“Gods know, you can’t drag that woman back here by yourself.”
Fearghus laughed. “Good point. Should we tell the others?”
“No. They’ll just panic. And we shouldn’t be too long. Doubt she got far.”
Talaith walked through the Great Hall, stopping to look around. The room was unusually empty and everything was so . . . quiet.