The Dragon Who Loved Me (7 page)

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Authors: G.A. Aiken

BOOK: The Dragon Who Loved Me
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“Yeah . . . and?”
“I’d think a little rage or something would be in order. Some ranting, arms flailing.” Vigholf needed some emotion from her. Something.
“And I do all that . . . what does it change?”
“Change?”
“Yeah. What does it change? Nothing. Will I still have to follow orders and escort my cousin and Ren to Garbhán Isle anyway?”
“Well—”
“Of course I will. Will Keita ever stop being a spoiled, entitled brat who does whatever she wants and gets away with it because we’re all terrified of her mother, who’s a homicidal queen?”
“Uh—”
“Doubtful. So what’s the point?”
“Well—”
“Exactly. There is no point. Now get those two fed and I’ll get us some fresh water from the stream. We can decide whether it’s safe enough now to fly or if we should get horses instead when I return.”
She walked off and all Vigholf could do was watch her until Keita stood beside him.
“When she gets like that,” Keita confided, “it’s best just let her go. You can never win.”
“She didn’t even let me get a word in . . . and she answered her own bloody questions. Why ask them then?”
“That’s Rhona’s way. Don’t let it bother you.” Keita tugged the sleeve of his chain-mail shirt until he gazed down at her. “You don’t think I’m entitled, do you?”
“Of course not,” Vigholf lied.
“Because if I am, it’s only because I deserve it! I deserve everything I want. Don’t you agree?”
Rather than lying even more, Vigholf handed Keita his pack. “Here. There’s beef in the bag. You two eat. I’ll be right back.”
 
 
Rhona filled up her flask with water and thought about next steps. Should they stay on foot or risk taking to the skies? After hearing the truth about this trip, she thought flying might be the wisest move. But she worried about Ren’s strength. Flying could be tiring, even for dragons and Ren didn’t even have wings! He just sort of... flew. And if human forces on the ground attacked them while they were in the air, would Ren be able to dodge, much less fight?
Analyzing, she stood and asked the Lightning who’d been standing silently behind her. “Horses or flying?”
“What?”
“Should we get horses or fly?”
“I’m not good with horses.”
“What do you mean you’re not good?”
“I mean, they get my scent and they bolt.” He shrugged. “I really like horse meat.” He gazed off. “I’m so hungry.”
Not having time for this, Rhona walked around him to head back to the others.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked.
“Plan?” Rhona faced him, shrugged. “Do what we’ve been doing, I guess. Get those two back to Garbhán Isle.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“We’re heading into a war zone, Sergeant. Possibly. According to your cousin, we’ll be caught between some pissed-off barbarian tribes and the Kyvich Witches. That is
not
a good place for anyone to be.” He stepped closer. “And if you think the Kyvich are going to let that foreigner traipse off with those children after they’ve committed to one of their gods to protect them at Garbhán Isle—”
“All right, all right.” Gods, he could ramble when provoked. “What do
you
suggest we do?”
“We need to find out what we’re looking at with these Western Tribes. Are they bringing one legion, two, a thousand? We should escort these two past the Dark Plains border and then go off on our own. Head toward the west and see how close this army is.”
“Okay,” Rhona agreed. “We’ll do that.”
He scowled at her, but she didn’t know why. “Or you can give me your opinion.”
“My opinion?”
“Opinion. Suggestion. Ideas.”
“Ideas?”
His scowl worsened. “You do have ideas, don’t you?”
“I do, but you outrank me so—”
“First off,” he angrily cut in, “don’t pull that ox shit with me. We’re not here with an army that needs to be controlled. It’s just you, me, a weakened foreigner, and a poison-and-torture-happy princess. We can’t afford for you to only take orders. I don’t know this terrain and I think we both know you don’t want your orders to come from Keita. So, Sergeant, we need to do this together—as a team. So I ask you again—what’s your opinion?”
Rhona knew Vigholf had a point, no matter how rudely that point was made. And although she was completely unused to giving her opinion—only Dragonwarriors had that luxury during battles and missions—she did as he’d asked.
“I think our job is to get Keita and Ren into Garbhán Isle safely. That alone will be hard enough. The Western Tribes, the Tribesmen, are riders and nomads used to moving quickly all year round. They’re not marching on Dark Plains, Commander. They’re racing there, hoping to take advantage of Annwyl’s absence. It’s too risky to send Keita and Ren off on their own. And once we get them to Dark Plains, those two can also deal with the Kyvich.”
The Lightning studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded. “You’re right.” She was? And he was admitting she was? “I didn’t know about the Western Tribes. My Horde has never fought them. So you’re right. We can’t let those two off on their own. At least in Garbhán Isle they’ll have some protection, and from what I remember of that territory, it will be easier to defend.” He looked around. “We keep moving. I can carry the foreigner if need be.”
Although Ren wasn’t a large dragon, especially compared to Rhona’s own kin, he would be no light burden for anyone. “And how long can you keep that up?”
Those clear grey eyes locked on her. “As long as I need to.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “All right then.”
“Let’s get moving. There still may be Iron scouts out this far.”
And without another word said between them, they walked back to Keita and Ren.
Chapter 6
 
They ended up risking the skies when the first set of wild horses they came upon stampeded at the first scent of the Lightning. A moment that he could only shrug at and mutter, “Sorry.”
And although they made good time with only short breaks along the way, they were still forced to get some real sleep that night.
Rhona, though, feeling more awake than tired, took first watch. In her human form, she went up high in a tree, using its leaves for cover. She briefly thought about letting the triplets know what was going on, what had changed, but decided against it. She trusted them, but if they worried for Fearghus and Briec’s offspring, they would most certainly alert the rest of the siblings and the rest of the siblings would tell Mum and Mum would make a straight line to Fearghus and Briec to complain about Keita using one of her soldiers—no, not her daughter, but one of her soldiers—for her “nonsense,” which was what Bradana called almost anything that Keita did. So it was best to say nothing.
After a few hours, Rhona felt a tap and looked down at Vigholf. And with a lightness belied by his great human size, he pulled himself up until he sat across from her. The old tree groaned, but the limbs did not break under his weight as he settled in.
“All clear?” he asked, his voice low.
“ Aye.”
“Good.” He handed over a cloth with meat and bread wrapped in it before turning his gaze to the land around them, grey eyes watchful. “Can you explain to me why the Tribesmen hate Annwyl so much?”
“Who says they do?”
“I doubt that just because a Quintilian monarch offers them payment they’ll jump at the chance to take on Garbhán Isle.”
“Well . . .” Rhona let out a little sigh, toying with the cloth holding her food. “Annwyl does not like slavery or slave traders, which is the Tribesmen’s top means of income. She struck first a few years back, hoping to convince them, in her own way, to give up slavery in exchange for her not wiping them from the planet. They never took her up on her offer, and then this thing with the Irons and Sovereigns happened and she stopped worrying about the Tribesmen. Especially when she found out that most of the Tribesmen’s patrons were Quintilians.”
“And in Annwyl’s mind, kill the ones demanding the product and the suppliers will go out of business?”
“Pretty much. For Annwyl it’s not about power but about everything being what she thinks is . . . right. She thinks slavery is wrong, so she tries to stop it. She thinks the Sovereigns ruling everything is wrong, so she tries to stop them.”
“You’ve fought by her side before?”
“More than once. As human. When the Cadwaladrs have no dragons to fight, we’ll join human armies.”
“Your royal cousins do the same?”
Rhona had to laugh at that. “
My
cousins? Direct bloodline from the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar? Hardly. Even my Uncle Bercelak, their father, a true Cadwaladr, never had much use for humans except as a quick-moving snack. Then Annwyl came along . . .” Rhona shook her head. “Nothing’s been the same since Fearghus found that female dying outside his cave about twelve or so years ago. Then there was Talaith and Dagmar. . . . Then the offspring were born and all bets were off.”
Vigholf nodded slowly. “I see, but your cousin, Keita . . .”
“What about her?”
“She hides something.”
“Keita hides much,” Rhona admitted. “She is a Protector of the Throne. She will do all in her power to safeguard the throne of our kind, even to her death.”
“She’d go that far? Even to risk her young nieces and nephew?”
“I doubt Keita thinks she’s risking them. And she has and will risk her own life. I know now that’s never a question.” For tiny Keita had faced the wrath of their bitch cousin Elestren, who was anything but tiny. Elestren had believed Keita a traitor and, without orders, set about sending Keita to the salt mines on the Desert Land borders. All because Keita had embarrassed the Dragonwarrior by taking her eye during fair combat training. Unfortunate, perhaps, but Rhona’s own mother had lost the tip of her wing while training with her sister Ghleanna. Something that affected her flying, but over the centuries she’d learned to manage it. And she’d never held it against her sister.
Yet Keita had faced Elestren bravely, proving what Rhona had always suspected about her cousin—Keita was
nothing
like she seemed.
Taking Rhona’s word for it, he motioned to her food. “Eat.”
“Thanks for this.”
The Lightning grunted before asking, “And Keita’s grand scheme—you all right with it?”
Around the dried beef she chewed, Rhona replied, “It is what it is.”
“So you just accept it then?”
She shrugged, biting off a piece of bread. “Why wouldn’t I accept it?”
“But you didn’t ask anything. Push for more answers from Keita. What if this isn’t what it seems at all? What if it’s worse?”
“Then I’ll adjust. Because that’s what a good soldier does. I follow orders. I adjust. That’s what I’ll do now.”
 
 
Vigholf didn’t understand this female. She never asked questions, she never disobeyed, and she never did more than follow the orders given. Yet she was in no way lazy or stupid or incapable. Although female, she fought extremely well and deserved her title of sergeant. But Vigholf couldn’t help but see more for her. Just like the rest of her siblings, who, to be honest, he didn’t find nearly as capable.
So then what was it? Why did she seem happy to simply settle for being an order taker?
“Do you even like being a soldier?” he asked. “Because it never sounds like you do.”
Her eyes widened a bit and he realized he’d surprised her with his question. Had no one asked her if she’d
wanted
to be a soldier? Then again . . . after knowing Rhona’s mother, he doubted that anyone had asked Rhona anything. It was probably a given.
“I like it well enough,” she eventually answered.
“Do you love it?”
She took an even longer time to answer that, slowly chewing her food and staring thoughtfully out over the land.
“I’m good at it,” she finally replied, dark brown eyes focusing on him. “I am, point of fact, the best soldier you’ll ever meet. The most loyal, the most dedicated, the most skilled. But I am no more than that. I am no more than the best soldier you’ll ever meet.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.” To be honest, he’d kill for a troop filled with nothing but soldiers like Rhona.
“Among my kin . . . it’s a disappointing thing. So when I talk about it, what you hear isn’t hatred over what I do. Just resignation.”
She handed over half the meat and bread he’d given her. “You’ll need to keep your strength up, too, Commander. We’ll be back in Dark Plains in another day and a half,” she added, expertly climbing down from her perch, “and I sense we’ll need your Northland strength.”
Then she was gone and Vigholf spent his watch thinking about brown eyes and the resignation he’d seen within them.

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