Feel the Burn

by G. A. Aiken

  “And you should also know . . . that Brannie complained to her mum about your father.”

  Aidan let out a breath. “So we have less than twenty-four hours now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Got it.”

  “King Gaius,” Cinnie trilled as Aidan’s two sisters walked over to him. “My sister and I have a little dispute we need you to settle.”

  “Who’s going to fuck him first?”

  A question that got Aidan backslapped across the face.

  Aidan snarled, his hand going to his jaw.

  Gaius quickly stepped between the siblings, sure Aidan was about to punch his sister back. Not that he would blame the dragon. The backhanding was a rude, disdainful act, born of obvious contempt.

  “I’d love to help, Lady Cinnie,” Gaius said in his most royal-soothing tones.

  “But he cannot,” Kachka announced as she stepped in, her hand gripping his arm. “He must go to bed with me so we can fuck night away. Have good sleep, alone, She-lizards.”

  Then Kachka dragged him off, Aidan’s laughter ringing out over the hall until it turned to, “Owwwww! You bitch!”

  Which then led to Brannie’s voice begging, “No, no, no, no, no! Everyone just calm down!”

  Once they were in Gaius’s room, he closed the door, and turned to Kachka, slipping his arms around her waist.

  “No,” she said, moving away from him. “You must sleep, but I must stay awake and protect you from dangers here.”

  “You do know I can take care of myself, don’t you?”

  “You are a very sweet royal,” she said while dismissively patting him on the cheek. If she could have reached his head, Gaius was sure she would have patted him there instead.

  Gaius watched Kachka pull her sword and stand facing the door.

  “You’re going to stand there all night?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that seems logical to you?”

  “Yes.”

  Fully dressed, Gaius stretched out on the bed, arms behind his head.

  “You could stand there all night, guarding my precious royal body . . . or you can just lie here. I’m sure both of us will be ready for whatever attempts to come through that door.”

  She glanced over, and Gaius raised a brow and nodded his head toward the empty side of the bed.

  “Come on,” he urged. “You know you want to.”

  “Only because I am tired. Not because I want you.”

  “You do want me, yet I will allow you to keep lying to yourself because that is the kind of benevolent king I am.”

  Kachka slammed her sword back into the sheath and removed it from her waist. She settled on the bed beside him, the sheathed sword between them.

  Gaius rolled toward her and smiled. “Thank you for rescuing me from Aidan’s awful sisters.”

  Turning on her side to face him, Kachka said, “They were awful. If Elina was like either of those two, I would not have saved her from our mother.”

  “And I would not have blamed you.”

  Kachka suddenly looked down until she finally admitted, “My comrades make fun of me. Because of you.”

  “Because you like me?”

  “Yes.”

  She sounded so dejected, it broke his heart a little. “I’m glad you like me, Kachka Shestakova.”

  “Of course you are. Because I am a Daughter of the Steppes and this is great honor for imperialist dog.”

  “That’s very true.” He leaned in a bit and kissed her forehead. “And I like you despite your saying things like that to me.”

  She laughed. “You are right. That was bitchy. Even for me.”

  Gaius reached out to put his hand on her waist, but she gripped his index finger and tossed it back to him. “No,” she said firmly. “We do not fuck until we are some place safer than this.”

  Gaius growled but had to grudgingly agree. “All right. But if Aidan doesn’t work something out with his father by tomorrow, no one will enjoy my attitude.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Aidan couldn’t sleep, so he decided to go and search out his father.

  He and Aidan’s mother had not shared the same room or cavern in decades, so he knew he’d at least find him alone.

  As Aidan eased out of his room and made his way down the hall, he quickly noticed that his eldest brother, Ainmire, sat on the top step of the stairs.

  Ainmire had been acting strange all night. He’d always been strange, but now he was managing to be stranger. He’d said nothing at the feast, not even bothering to insult Aidan, which had been the dragon’s one true passion for several decades. It was like Aidan wasn’t even in the room.

  Of course, when Aidan thought about it, it was like none of them had been in the room. Like Ainmire was just floating along . . .

  And where had he been for the last three years? None of the rest of his kin seemed to know or care. He was Jarlath’s eldest son and heir to the Stone Castle and surrounding territories. Yet his absence didn’t seem to mean any more than Aidan’s.

  That realization made Aidan slow down, his eyes searching for signs of a trap. Perhaps his petty brother wanted revenge for being so ignored. For being treated no better than Aidan.

  When Aidan didn’t see anything, he carefully eased his way over to his brother.

  “What are you doing?” he asked the back of his brother’s head.

  “Thinking.”

  “That’s new for you, isn’t it?”

  “Ahhh, yes, Aidan the Gold’s sense of humor. How could I forget?”

  “It’s Aidan the Divine now.”

  Ainmire snorted. “Given to you by the queen, no doubt. What did you have to do for such an honor, little brother?”

  “Watch what you say, Ainmire. Such words are considered treacherous by those of us who protect the queen, which includes Bercelak the Great. Her very protective mate.”

  “Do you think the Cadwaladrs scare me? That anything scares me anymore?”

  “They should. The Cadwaladrs should scare you greatly.”

  “You were always a fool, brother. Always so eager to please. So eager to be loved by all.”

  Aidan frowned. “Who are you talking about?” Because it couldn’t be him. He might be known as divine, but Aidan had never been known as “eager to please.”

  “They said I wasn’t ready to commit. That I wasn’t ready to give myself . . . completely. So they sent me back.”

  “Who sent you back?”

  “They sent me back here and I then realized they were right. I couldn’t go on like this. Like them. Mother and Harkin and . . . you.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “So beholden to the whores.”

  Aidan’s hands curled into fists. “If you have any sense, brother, you’ll shut up now.”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me for betraying a She-dragon unworthy of your devotion? So very foolish, brother. Now I have made my commitment. Now I am ready to act.”

  Slowly Ainmire stood and, just as slowly, faced him.

  Horrified, Aidan stumbled back. “Your eyes, brother. Where are your eyes?” he screamed.

  “I do not need eyes to see the evil before me, boy. You come here and bring true evil with you, without once questioning. Without thinking. Because you are beholden to them.”

  Ainmire suddenly lifted the axe he’d held low against his side and swung it at Aidan’s head.

  His aim, even without his eyes, was true, and the only thing that saved Aidan was his speed. He’d learned to move fast among the Mì-runach.

  He dropped to the ground and scrambled back, away from Ainmire. His brother lifted the axe again, his eyeless gaze locked directly on Aidan.

  Aidan didn’t know if it was because it was his brother or just general fear, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. All he could do was wait until that axe came down.

  And it did. Right for Aidan’s head. But a hand reached out of the dark of the hall, grabbing Ainmire’s wrist and stopping t
he axe before it met its target.

  Marina Aleksandrovna stood behind Ainmire. She yanked his arm back with one hand and drove her blade into his chest with the other.

  Without a word, she shoved the dragon off her blade and over the stone banister to the floor below.

  “We move. Now,” she ordered, walking away from Aidan and going down the hall to wake up the others.

  Forcing himself to get to his feet, Aidan moved to the banister and looked over. There was blood where his brother had landed, but . . .

  Aidan scanned the floor and saw his brother, still in his human form, stumbling toward the front doors. Ainmire had his hand over his chest, and there was a trail of blood behind him.

  But, by all rights, Aidan’s brother should be dead. A dragon in human form, impaled directly in the heart, does not survive. But giving his soul—and eyes—up to his new god, must have changed everything about him.

  For Ainmire was not only surviving . . . he was on the move.

  “Out!” Aidan yelled, running down the halls of his kin, and banging on the doors. “Everyone, out!”

  His mother yanked her door open. She probably never slept in these rooms, but tonight she’d wanted to be as close to the Rebel King as she could manage.

  “What?” she barked at him. “What’s happening?”

  “We need to go.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “In.” He grabbed her arm, yanking her out of her room. Aidan pointed toward the cave entrance that began at the back of the hall. “Go.”

  By now, his two eldest sisters and other brother were out in the hall.

  “Go,” he ordered. “To the caves.”

  “What for?” Cinnie demanded. “You’re home five minutes, and already you’re annoying the hells out of me.”

  Caswyn and Uther, already dressed and ready for battle—they probably had gone to bed clothed and with weapons, if they went to bed at all—stalked toward him.

  “Take my mother and sisters,” he commanded.

  “And your brother?”

  Aidan rolled his eyes. “Who cares?” he asked as he moved off in the opposite direction.

  “I care!” Harkin complained. “I care very much!”

  Aidan saw Brannie coming toward him. “I have to find my sister Orla.”

  Brannie pushed her door open. “Come on.”

  He leaned into the room and saw his sister crawl out from under Brannie’s bed.

  “What—?”

  “I was going to sneak her out with us when we were done. Figured she could stay at Devenallt Mountain.”

  “It looks like that will be happening anyway.”

  He kissed Orla’s forehead before pushing her toward the others.

  Brannie began to follow but he caught her arm, held it. “Thank you. For looking out for her.”

  “It’s the little sister club,” she replied, giving him a wink. “I’m a founding member.”

  Aidan released her and watched the Rebel King stride up to him. He was no longer Gaius, dragon searching out and eliminating the rogue elements of his kin. Now he appeared kingly and very royal. A dragon ready for anything.

  “What’s happening?” the king asked. A cold but prepared Kachka Shestakova stood by his side.

  “My brother Ainmire . . . we’ve been betrayed, King Gaius.”

  “How badly?”

  Aidan glanced at his mother, brother, and sisters as they made their way down the stairs. “His eyes are gone. Torn out of his head since the feast.”

  “So,” he said simply, “very badly.”

  “I fear he’s not alone. I fear he’s—”

  Aidan froze. He knew that sound. He’d been in enough battles over the years. Enough attacks. Seen them. Caused them. Been blindsided by them.

  “Down!” he commanded, staying by the king and Kachka, instinctively knowing that Brannie would watch out for Orla.

  Everyone dropped as the first boulder rammed into the front of Stone Castle.

  “What is that?” Gormlaith screamed.

  “We’re under attack! Everyone go!” Aidan jumped up and motioned for them all to head down the stairs.

  As they moved, more boulders hit the front of the castle and Aidan could hear the cries of soldiers coming from outside.

  Then it stopped and Aidan turned to see his eyeless brother standing in front of the open doors. The hand pressed over Ainmire’s chest was covered in a massive amount of blood, but still he lived.

  Zoya stopped by Aidan’s side, saw what he was looking at.

  “Nina Chechneva! The doors!” she ordered.

  The witch spun around, lifted her arms, and brought her hands together. The massive stone doors shut in Ainmire’s face, closing him out.

  “Come, handsome dragon,” Zoya said, tugging on Aidan’s arm. “We must go and you must go with us.”

  Aidan took one more second to stare at the hall he’d been raised in before turning and following after the others.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  They reached the end of the cavern. There were two ways to go from there. East or west.

  Gaius stopped when Kachka did. She looked up at him. “My plans have not changed, dragon king.”

  “We still need to meet with the dwarves,” Gaius said to Aidan.

  The Gold nodded. “Do we have any idea where Father is?” he asked his kin.

  The blank looks on their faces told Gaius all he needed to know. It was as if Aidan were asking about a stranger.

  Eyes crossing, Aidan turned to his Mì-runach brothers. “Take Orla out of here,” he told them, pointing toward the eastern tunnel. “She knows the way. Follow her down that tunnel and get her to Devenallt Mountain.”

  “And leave you here to face your mad eyeless brother and his fanatic friends alone?”

  “As long as I know my sister is safe—”

  “And your mother!” Gormlaith tossed in, her grin wide as her eyes pleaded with her son.

  Aidan stared at his mother for several seconds before turning back to his friends. “As long as Orla’s safe, nothing else matters.”

  Uther placed his hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “For our queen, for our honor, brother.”

  “For our queen, for our honor,” Caswyn repeated.

  Kachka motioned to the Khoruzhaya siblings, Nina Chechneva, and Tatyana. “Go with them, comrades. Make sure to keep the She-dragon and the Mì-runach safe.”

  “And the rest of Aidan’s family!” his mother tried again.

  “The rest of us,” Kachka went on, ignoring Gormlaith, “will go and get our prize before the idiots do. We will meet back in the Southlands. Yes?”

  Aidan hugged Orla and kissed her forehead.

  She stepped away from Aidan and turned to Brannie. “You’ll go with Aidan, won’t you? Keep him safe?”

  “You don’t think I can take care of myself?” Aidan asked, smiling a little.

  “She’s a Cadwaladr, brother. And meaner than you.”

  “She’s right,” Brannie agreed. “I am meaner than you.”

  He smiled down at his sister. “Go. I’ll see you soon.”

  She nodded and took Uther’s outstretched hand. Together, with Kachka’s comrades, they headed down the tunnel, the rest of Aidan’s kin following without even bothering to tell Aidan good-bye.

  “I like your sister,” Zoya noted, “but rest of family I do not like.”

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “Neither do I.”

  “And what about your father?” Gaius asked.

  “My father trusts few, but I doubt he left the mountain.”

  “So you think he’s with the dwarves.”

  “I do.”

  “And will his presence still help us or hurt us now?”

  “King Gaius . . . I honestly don’t know the answer to that.”

  Dagmar barely managed to hold on to the pile of books in her arms until she reached her study. Once she was inside, she dropped them on her desk and let out a relieved sigh.

  “Didn’t t
hink those books or you would make it.”

  She sat in the back of the room, curled into a chair like a cat. Long black hair, parted in the middle, reaching to the floor, framing a beautiful face. Her armor was made of leather and steel; small blades were threaded through the jerkin and leggings, ready to be used at any moment. Dark brown eyes watched Dagmar impassively, as the pair stared each other down.

  Finally, Dagmar admitted, “I hate when your kind insists on dropping by.”

  “Most beings would be honored by my presence before them.”

  “Then go find those beings. I have work to do.”

  She laughed. “I see why Rhydderch Hael has always spoken so highly of you.”

  “Rhydderch Hael is not a friend of mine,” Dagmar practically snarled, the father of dragons having pissed her off all those years ago when Annwyl’s twins were born. “But he should have told you, when he spoke so highly of me, that I worship none of you.”

  “He did mention that. You’re a follower of Aoibhell. That great bastion of reason.”

  “And who are you exactly?”

  “Mingxia, goddess of war and love.”

  “I thought Eirianwen was the goddess of war.”

  “Goddess of war and death and she is. But I am the Eastland god of—”

  “By all reason, I don’t care!” Dagmar finally snapped. “Why are you here? What do you want? Because if it’s just to chat—”

  “It’s begun.”

  “What’s begun?” The god raised an eyebrow and Dagmar felt air leave her body. “But how? Are they right outside now?”

  “I know you think that everything begins and ends in Garbhán Isle, my dear. But it doesn’t.”

  “Really?” Dagmar asked, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re giving me attitude?”

  “I think this is a bad idea, Uncle.”

  Rhys the Hammer, third born to Ailean the Wicked, and one of the few Cadwaladr known for his patience, stopped long enough to let the hammer he favored slam into his nephew’s snout.

  “Any more questions?” he asked his kin as his brother Addolgar’s son rolled on the ground, knocking over trees and holding his cracked snout between two claws. “No? Good! Let’s keep moving.”

  “That was a little harsh, Daddy,” Rhys’s eldest daughter gently chided.