by G. A. Aiken
“The song of death—”
“I don’t care,” Gormlaith cut in. She cleared her throat. “Because no one has died. So . . . no need for any of it. We, here, are just more . . . reserved than the human queen of the Southlands. That’s the dragon way.”
“Is it?” Zoya asked, clearly surprised. “Brannie, she is dragon. She dances, yes, Brannie? Dances and drinks!”
“Well, Branwen the Awful is . . . is . . .”
“Low Born?” Aidan asked. “Is that what you mean, Mother?”
“Can’t we just eat and enjoy our meal? Or must you ruin everything?”
“I don’t have to ruin everything . . . but I can—”
“Or,” Brannie cut in, desperately wiping tears from her face, “we could just eat.” She chuckled a little more. “This does look good.”
“And so does that,” Caswyn grumbled under his breath, his eyes looking past the empty throne-like chair.
She was shy, eyes cast down, her long gold hair parted in the middle but managing to hide a good portion of her face, hands laced in front of her, shoulders curved. But no matter how hard she might try, she couldn’t hide the beauty of her human body. And, Gaius would guess, in her natural form, she would be stunning.
Aidan immediately stood, placed his hands on the back of Caswyn and Uther’s necks and snarled, “That’s my baby sister.” Then he slammed their heads into the table.
“Understand?” he asked the friends who were now rubbing growing knots on their foreheads.
They nodded, however, even as they winced.
“Excellent!”
The warning given, Aidan rushed to his sister’s side, leading her to a chair next to Brannie. Then he forced Caswyn and Uther to move so he could sit on his sister’s other side.
“King Gaius,” Aidan said, grinning, “this is my baby sister, Orla. Orla, this is King Gaius Lucius Domitus.”
“Lady Orla,” Gaius said, nodding his head, noting the pride on Aidan’s face. “And, please let me introduce you to my friends—”
“Later!” Lady Gormlaith barked. But she quickly cleared her throat and forced a smile before again saying more calmly, “Later. Why don’t we enjoy our lovely meals first?”
“Of course,” Gaius obliged.
Kachka leaned over and softly whispered in his ear, “You are what charming Celyn calls, ‘a bit of a dick.’”
“No, no,” Gaius corrected. “I’m a major dick.”
“The food,” Zoya announced, “it tastes also like you are mourning. Are you sure no one is dead?”
That’s when Nina Chechneva offered, “I can sing song of death again.”
“No!” most of the Foulkes de chuid Fennahs yelled.
Nina shrugged. “Fine, but let me know if you change mind.”
They were halfway through their meal—and Zoya was right, the food at this place was bland, not like the food of Queen Annwyl—when guards marched into the hall. They preceded an older man or, Kachka was guessing, a dragon in human form. His gold hair was streaked with silver, and he moved quickly, glaring as he stomped to his chair. He dropped into it, gold eyes glowering at the entire table. Kin and stranger alike.
“Why are we sitting here, eating like humans?”
“A feast in honor of King Gaius Lucius Domitus, my love,” Gormlaith easily replied, most likely used to the moods of her mate. “He brought with him some humans, so it seemed like a good idea to enjoy a meal together.”
“A feast?” the dragon asked, eyeing Gaius. “For an Iron?”
“The queen has an alliance with King Gaius now, Jarlath.” She briefly glanced at him. “Remember?”
“Why so much food?”
“To celebrate.”
“Did anyone taste it yet?”
“It is bland,” Zoya said, even while she continued to eat.
“Not for flavor, barbarian. For poison.”
The Southlanders immediately spit out their food, but Kachka and her Riders kept eating, as did Gaius.
“You’re not worried about poison?” Lord Jarlath pushed, staring at Gaius.
He swallowed before replying, “The first thing every Sovereign’s mother does is to protect her hatchlings from poison. Mostly because the best poisoners in the world are from the Quintilian Provinces.”
“How do they protect you?” Cinnie asked.
“They poison you. With a whole . . . host of things. You throw up a lot when you’re a Sovereigns youth, but eventually . . . it passes. And you’re either dead or you have a cast-iron stomach.” He smiled. “As it turns out, we have a very healthy population in the Sovereigns Empire.”
Jarlath looked at Kachka. “And you?”
“We are Daughter of Steppes,” she said with shrug. “You do not survive Outerplains without strength.”
“But poison—”
“We had an Anne Atli who was poisoned by enemies once. It took her thirty years to die and she ruled with steel fist entire time.” Kachka briefly pursed her lips. “Yet many still saw her as weak for dying at all. Poison is for . . .” Kachka looked over the table of Southlanders. “You people.”
Brannie snorted but quickly dropped her head.
Lip curling, Lord Jarlath asked, “Who are you?”
Annnnd Gaius introduced all of them again.
“And this, Lord Jarlath, is Nina Chechneva, the Unclaimed,” Gaius finished.
But unlike his mate, Lord Jarlath didn’t even attempt the basic rules of Southland and Sovereign Empire etiquette. He seemed greatly focused on his eldest son, watching him the entire time Gaius was speaking.
“Why aren’t you eating, boy?” Jarlath asked Ainmire.
Blinking slowly, Ainmire looked up from his untouched food, and glanced around the table as if he’d never seen any of them before. Not even his own kin. “What?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Harkin asked.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You seem . . . strange.”
“I’m just glad to be back with my family.”
“How long were you gone?” Brannie asked.
“Ummm . . . three, four years.”
“You were sent off for training? Like Aidan?”
“No,” the dragon replied. “I just . . . left.”
“I see.” Brannie looked back at her plate and whispered to Gaius, “My mum gets upset when she doesn’t hear from Celyn in two days.”
“Your mother obviously pampers him.”
Eyes wide, Brannie adamantly replied, still in whispers, “I know! But she doesn’t see it. He’s just a big, fat baby!”
“Why are you back?” Ainmire asked Aidan.
“For the love of my family,” he replied and, in response, his family blankly stared at him. “It’s been so long, I just had to see you all again.”
When there was still nothing, Brannie muttered, “Wow.”
The silence stretched on so Gaius turned to Lord Jarlath and said, “Perhaps when we have done eating, Lord Jarlath, you and I can talk for a few minutes.”
The Southland royal shook his head while picking at his food. “No.”
Brannie suddenly sat up in her seat, the playful, goofy Brannie gone, and Captain Branwen the Awful of Her Majesty’s Army now present. And pissed off.
“Lord Jarlath,” she admonished, her voice no longer that of an annoyed baby sister. “King Gaius is a very close ally to Queen Rhiannon, which means that all lords of her queendom give him the utmost respect and consideration. That, my lord, includes you.”
“My dear—”
“Quiet!” Jarlath barked at his wife before focusing on Branwen. “Who are you? Some pet of the queen?”
“I’m Branwen the Awful. Captain of the First and Fifteenth Companies.”
“You’ve heard of them, haven’t you, Father?” Aidan asked, his grin wide. “The nicknames for those companies, I believe, are Destroyers and On Pain of Death. And if I also recall correctly, Captain, your Uncle Bercelak was also once Captain of the Destroyers and On Pain of Death, but he never command
ed them together. That means you have quite the body count to your name. Oh! And in case you’re wondering, Father. That’s Bercelak of the Cadwaladrs. Just like his sister and Branwen’s mother, General Ghleanna the Decimator.”
Aidan’s mother nervously fussed with the collar of her gold dress before gently suggesting to her mate, “Dearest, it couldn’t hurt to spend a little time with King Gaius. He is our guest after all.”
“Your guest,” Jarlath snapped. “Not mine.” He stood and walked off, his guards quickly falling behind him and following him out.
“I’m so sorry, King Gaius,” Gormlaith said, her embarrassment evident on her human face. “My mate is—”
“Rude,” Brannie boldly stated, but Gaius quickly placed his hand on her knee under the table. She had to let this go. They still needed Jarlath, even if he was incredibly difficult.
Or, as Gaius’s sister would say, “An asshole. He’s an asshole!”
“It’s fine, Lady Gormlaith. Perhaps Lord Jarlath will be more comfortable talking tomorrow. After a good night’s sleep.”
“Of course, of course.”
But one look at Kachka’s face told Gaius she wasn’t about to wait for Jarlath or anyone else to help her meet with the dwarves.
Kachka was not about to wait for some ridiculous royal to give her permission to go see the dwarves. She’d been sent here for a reason and she had no time for this sort of thing.
And she was just about to point that out to the entire table, when Gaius suddenly leaned over and kissed her on the side of the head. To those watching, it probably looked like the sweet gesture of one male fucking one female. The She-dragons of Aidan’s tribe gawked at Kachka as if she’d abruptly grown another head—because they didn’t hear Gaius softly growl against her skin, “If you try to go off and handle Jarlath without me, I will lose my gods-damned mind.”
Kachka felt herself smirk but didn’t argue the point with Gaius. She’d quickly learned that arguments in front of others brought out the worst stubbornness in the royals. She’d seen it again and again every time Annwyl and Dagmar got into one of their disputes in the Great Hall. So why turn this into a struggle that neither would really win?
They needed each other. At least for now. Besides, Kachka was simply in no mood to fight with him. Not here. In this place. Where she knew damn well they weren’t safe.
She watched the royals pretend everything was perfectly fine, which was such a lie. There was nothing perfectly fine here. Absolutely nothing. She’d never disliked a place as much as she disliked the Stone Castle and this tribe. The Foulkes de chuid Fennah. Every one of them—save Aidan, of course—were liars. The kind of royals that Tribes leaders talked about. True imperialist dogs. They were the ones who held back the workers. Who had no respect for the servants, the farmers, the people who dug the soil, hunted the elk, cleaned their mess.
Unlike Annwyl and Rhiannon, these royals didn’t get involved with “the little people.” Whether those little people were human or dragon.
No. Kachka didn’t like these people. And she knew from their silence that neither did her comrades. They wouldn’t be searching out a pub tonight as they did when they were in Garbhán Isle. She doubted any of them wanted to be here longer than was absolutely necessary.
She’d give these dragons the night to get Lord Jarlath under control. If they couldn’t, he’d be facing her in the morning. Kachka waited for no male.
As she pushed her half-empty plate away—Zoya was right, the food was bland—Kachka noticed Aidan’s brother Ainmire suddenly get up and walk out the front doors. None of his family seemed to notice or care, and Kachka just found it odd.
Then again, was there anything about these dragons that was normal?
Gaius had never been so happy to have a meal end. At least not since the Thracius days. And even then his uncle had ensured the food was excellent, the entertainment actually entertaining, and the company interesting.
Sadly, none of these things held true for this dinner at the Stone Castle. Gaius couldn’t remember ever being so bored before. Except when he tormented the Foulkes de chuid Fennah, that is, which he only did because it seemed to bring such joy to poor Aidan and his youngest sister, a sweet but painfully shy—and a little sad—dragoness.
Now they stood around in the hall, sipping wine and waiting for this night to mercifully end.
“I don’t like him.”
Gaius blinked and looked down at a narrowed-eyed Brannie, who studied everyone in the hall as if she expected a massacre at any time.
“Don’t like who?”
“Jarlath mostly. But all of them.”
“Is that what you told your mother?”
Feigning innocence with those big brown eyes of hers, Brannie asked, “My mother?”
“You said something to your mother, didn’t you?”
Unable to keep up any façade, she snapped, “He’s bordering on treason.”
“I’d say he’s more than bordering, but I don’t need a herd of angry Cadwaladr storming the gates here to make that point. Not yet.”
“I didn’t tell her to send anyone. I just told her what happened.”
“Do you think she’ll tell your Uncle Bercelak?”
“Well . . . uh . . . maybe.”
“So how long before your extremely protective and easily pissed-off uncle tracks down one of his brothers or sisters in a nearby town and sends them, along with a bunch of other Cadwaladrs to kick the unholy shit out of Jarlath and his sons?”
Brannie glanced off before finally admitting, “About twenty-four hours.”
“Or less.”
“Or less, but it’s kind of late and they’ve probably already started drinking.”
“Then I guess I’d better get Jarlath to help us in the morning before your kin arrive.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
Kachka and her comrades sipped their tepid wine and coldly eyed the royals of the household.
“What do you want to do?” Marina asked in their own language, voice very low.
“Siblings, you take first watch.”
“I’ll take second,” Marina offered. “Tatyana, you’ll take third?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Kachka glanced over to make sure none of the others were paying them any attention. And like true royals, they weren’t. “Everyone stays with weapons close at hand.”
“What do you think they will do?” Zoya asked. “These”—she looked them over, lip curling in disgust—“royals?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t trust them and neither does Branwen. She has very good sense of things. So, we will be ready. I will stay with the king tonight to ensure his protection.”
Tatyana snorted while the others smirked at Kachka.
“What?” she asked. “What does that mean?”
“Yes, Kachka Shestakova,” Nina suddenly said. “Protect the king—with your very strong pussy.”
“I like it better when you do not talk, witch.”
“If anyone can protect a royal with her pussy, it’s Kachka Shestakova,” Ivan laughed.
“All of you, shut up.”
“It’s all right if you like him,” Zoya explained. “I’ve liked several of my husbands.”
“I know that was hard for you,” Ivan muttered.
“Shut up, hysterical male.”
“Are you all done?” Kachka asked.
“At least we don’t have to worry about getting drunk from this weak wine,” Marina complained. “It’s like drinking water with some flavor thrown in.”
“You know, Kachka Shestakova,” Zoya suddenly said, “I’m thinking of trying a dragon male myself. You seem so happy with the dragon king’s cock.”
“It is effective.”
“And that’s all a Daughter of the Steppes wants,” she said, sagely. “An effective cock.”
Brannie dropped down in a chair next to Aidan’s sister, Orla.
“You couldn’t look more uncomfortable if you
were covered in acid,” Brannie noted.
“I only came out to see Aidan.”
“I understand. I’m close to my brother Celyn. We’re only twenty years apart, so we might as well be twins.”
“Did he ever leave you behind?”
“All the time! It drove me crazy. He got to do such fun things and I was left back at the cave. Always with a ‘you’re only forty, you’re too young to go.’ It drove me mad. But I always had aunts, uncles, and cousins around that I liked. They taught me how to fight, how to grill my meat properly, and how to destroy an entire village without killing absolutely everyone. Things every She-dragon needs to learn.” She patted Orla’s hand. “But you can shift now, which will make it easier for you to get around.”
“Aidan says it’s still not safe for me to go with him. Especially with the war coming. He thinks I’ll be safer here.”
“He does?” Brannie asked.
“It’s hard to destroy the Stone Castle walls. They were built to withstand pretty much everything.”
Brannie was forced to shrug. “Well, he’s not wrong. . . .”
“But you wouldn’t leave me here.”
“As miserable as you look? No. But brothers focus on how safe their sisters will be. That’s all they care about.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t be sad. He does love you. Very much.”
“How do you know that?”
“You’re the only one here he hasn’t purposely tried to destroy emotionally.”
Gaius stood by the stairs as Aidan made his way over to him.
“How are you holding up?” Gaius asked.
“Fine. Sorry about my father. I know he’s—”
“A prat?”
“Basically.”
“I do have to say he didn’t seem insane. Paranoid perhaps, but then so am I.”
“I’ll work on him.”
“We don’t have tons of time here, Aidan.”
“I know.”
“And we can only get the Riders to wait for so long before they’ll decide to move on their own.”
“I’m also aware of that. Just leave it to me.”