What a Dragon Should Know (38 page)

Even more importantly, it would also be unnecessary to let her mother know Keita had gotten herself into this mess. And, oh, how Rhiannon would love to know about all this. There were few things in this world Keita dreaded, but her mother’s mocking laughter was definitely top of her list. From her hatching, the great Dragon Queen had made it perfectly clear Keita was not remotely what she’d wanted for an offspring. No great Magick like her older sister and no battle-honed skills like her brothers. “She’s good enough for a fist fight, I suppose,” Rhiannon would often say, “but I’d never put a battle lance in her claws.”

In the end, letting her mother know she’d been captured by the Horde was unacceptable, but more importantly it was unnecessary. Although it would take time, she knew she’d get out of here without even having to crack a talon.

And, steadily, every day, she’d been nearing that goal. Until last night. Until she felt pain like she’d never felt before. Not physical as she’d briefly felt from Gwenvael almost a week ago. Something else. Something from her Fearghus that tore into her like a spear.

She’d felt his loss. Felt it as if it were her own. She knew then she had to get home. She’d played with these fools long enough and she’d run out of time. As had Annwyl, apparently.

“Lady Keita?”

She gave herself one more moment to stare off into the distance before she turned to face the Lightning behind her. He threw down a half-eaten carcass at her feet.

“For you,” he said gruffly.

It took everything not to let out a sigh and roll her eyes, but she plastered on her sweetest smile, making sure her fangs twinkled in the torch light. “That is so kind of you,” she said sweetly. “I was just thinking I was a little hungry.”

He stepped closer. “The Honour is to take place in three days, my lady. I will make you mine then.”

She lowered her eyes and sauntered toward him.

“Your words,” she said against his ear as she passed him, her tail easing up his chest, “arouse me, my lord.”

She heard his panting, knew he wanted her. It did not surprise her when he suddenly turned and grabbed her, pulling her until their scales touched. He was much bigger than her; she had to bend her head back to get a good look at him.

“I will make you mine,” he growled.

“Lady Keita, I—”

The younger Lightning stopped as Keita jerked out of the other’s arms. She made sure to look alarmed, confused—weak.

The younger Lightning slammed down his gift on top of the older one’s. Keita blinked.
Good Gods. Is that a tree? Who gifts a tree?

She absolutely dreamed of the day she could tell Gwenvael this story.

“You cheatin’ bastard.”

“Back off, little snake. Wouldn’t want you to lose your head over somethin’ you’ll never get.”

The younger one—who had yet to learn to control his passions, whether love or hate—went for his brother.

Keita moved back as much as she could with the chain still holding her in place. But as she knew it would, the sound of their scuffle lured the others.

“What’s going on?” one of the older ones demanded.

“He was going to fuck her! I caught him!”

She almost laughed outright. Cocky bunch of dumbasses, weren’t they?

But with more of Olgeir’s brood joining in, the fight was getting ugly and the guards were called. She moved toward the door as two dragon guards ran in.

“Stop them please!” she begged. She’d convinced them all she only wanted the best for Olgeir and his kin—as if she cared. They rushed forward, first one and then the other. It was the other’s neck that Keita’s tail whipped around, yanking him back at such an angle that it snapped his neck clean. A lovely trick her father had taught her. “You may be smaller than the males,” he’d always told her, “but you can use their weight and stupidity against them. Never forget that.” She hadn’t.

She snatched the key ring hanging from his breastplate and unlocked the collar at her throat.

Backing into the shadows, she waited as more kinsmen tore into the room and joined the fray. Then she inched her way to the edge of the flat mountaintop. She gave herself another second, enjoying the spray of blood beginning to cover the floor, and then she dropped backward off the landing.

She stayed silent as she fell toward the ground, her eyes focused on the area she’d just escaped from. The fight continued, but calls of her disappearance didn’t come.

Grinning, Keita flipped forward and unfurled her wings. The power of the wind at her back took her and she headed south.

Nothing stopped her and she stayed near the tops of the trees. Eventually they’d realize she’d gone and would send out scouts to track her down. She’d have to be wily and fast to stay out of their grasp. But her brothers needed her, and she wouldn’t let anything stop her.

It was when she passed over the Torment River that she knew she had two males on her tail. She did her best flying, using trees and rocks and even birds to keep them off her back.

They were persistent, though. Determined. Finally throwing a net over her. She sneered, her talons slashing against the soft material. But when nothing happened, she looked down. Yet it was not her claw she saw … but her hand.

“What in all the hells—”

The net closed fully around her human body, and Keita fell like a stone. She screamed as land rushed up to meet her, the sound cutting off abruptly when strong dragon arms caught her and carefully brought her to the ground.

“Here we are, Princess Keita.” Lightning strikes dotted around her for a moment as the Lightning shifted from dragon to human before he carefully placed her on the ground. “Nice and safe.”

She waited while the net was slowly removed, biding her time. She stayed curled on her side, panting.

“Is she hurt?” another voice asked.

“No. But she wants us to believe she is. Don’t you, my lady?”

Realizing she had no more time to spare, Keita came up. She had her hands curled into fists and punched twice, knocking her abductor back several steps. She ran, needing to get her feet off that cursed netting. But she didn’t get far as her abductor’s arm swung out and, without him even touching her, sent Keita flying back. Her squeal of surprise and outrage at the brutal use of Magick was cut short as her human form rammed into the base of the nearby mountain.

Now she wasn’t pretending anything. She couldn’t move or speak, too exhausted to fight as the Lightning crouched beside her and clipped the small, human-sized collar around her throat. The power of that Magickal item plowed through her, leaving her a shuddering pile of human flesh at his feet.

Big fingers brushed her hair from her face.

“Red,” another voice said about her hair.

“Pretty,” said another.

“Tricky,” said the one looking down at her. He smiled when she glared up into his face. “Hello, Princess Keita. I’m Ragnar. I am sorry I had to end your trip back to your brother and his dying pet, but I have need of you. And until I tell you differently, princess … you’re mine.”

Dagmar closed the doors to Violence’s stables. She’d brought him and his mares a basket of apples and stayed with them until Violence finally ate. The stable dog whined on the other side of the door, more than ready to follow her back to her room. He was a very sweet dog, but he had other responsibilities.

“Quiet now,” she said through the thick wood. “Go lie down.”

The mutt sniffed a bit under the crack, but eventually went back to his warm bed and cold food.

Dagmar turned to head back to the castle but stopped short when she saw Queen Rhiannon standing behind her—staring.

“You have a way with animals, I see.”

“Yes, my lady. I raise dogs for my father’s troops.”

“You do?” She frowned in disapproval. “Is that an appropriate task for the Only Daughter of a Northland warlord?”

“No. But my father could not deny my talents.”

The dragoness moved toward her. She seemed to glide, in a way. “My son tells me you have other talents.”

Dagmar couldn’t help it. Her eyes widened in shock and she felt as if she’d wandered into the Great Hall completely naked.

The queen frowned again and then gasped. “Oh, gods! No, no. Not like that.”

The pair began to laugh and immediately stopped, realizing how out of place it sounded and felt. But they had both been startled.

“I forget sometimes that Gwenvael is not like his brothers. What I meant to say is he told me you have a skill with words and negotiations.”

This time Dagmar was surprised but flattered. She’d had no idea Gwenvael had praised her so to his mother. “I … have helped my father when—”

The queen raised her hand and swiped it through the air. “Please, Lady Dagmar. I am in no mood for false modesty.”

Dagmar folded her arms across her chest. “Is this about Ragnar?”

She snorted. “I can handle that Horde hatchling myself. He’s a mage, you know? Not a bad one either. I can feel his power among the lines of Magick. But I guess all that means nothing to you as a follower of Aoibhell.”

“I’m not a follower. I agree with her teachings.”

Rhiannon gave a small snicker. “Even suggesting you may worship Aoibhell herself is an insult to those who believe in her word.”

“To turn her into a god would go against everything she believed.” Dagmar briefly glanced at the ground. “What is it you want from me, my lady?”

“I’ll be blunt since I’m not good with subtlety. I’m having an issue. It involves Annwyl’s twins. I need the help of a devious mind combined with a …”

“Barbarian will?”

The Dragon Queen leered. “Exactly.”

“I can help you.” As she’d promised to help Annwyl. And as long as the human queen breathed, she’d keep that promise.

Dagmar motioned away from the stables with a wave of her hand. “Tell me everything, Majesty, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

Olgeir stared out over the edge where he’d guessed Lady Keita had made her escape. At his feet, one of his favorite guards lay dead from an expertly broken neck, and behind him were the idiots he called sons.

“We’ll go after her,” his oldest said. “We’ll find her.”

“It’s too late!” He turned and his sons backed up. He may be old, but for dragons that only made them harder to kill. “Can’t you smell him? On the air? He already has her.”

“Who? Who has her?”

“The boy. That treacherous, bastard boy.”

One of his younger sons raised a brow. “Ragnar would never be fool enough to come back here.”

But Olgeir knew he had. Knew his son was fool enough to risk everything to become warlord of the Olgeirsson Horde.

“We’ll find him, Da,” his oldest said, the others roaring behind him. “We’ll find him and kill him. Bring his head back to you.”

“No.” Olgeir sneered. “Stay here. I’ll handle the boy. Like I always have.”

He stormed off, motioning to three of his best guards to follow.

Olgeir would bring Ragnar’s head back himself and mount it over his treasure.

His idiot offspring’s mother would complain, but she’d have to get over it.

For three days the Blood Queen of Dark Plains held on. For three days the entire kingdom had been in mourning.

Yet the pain felt by the dragons who considered her family was a palpable thing, rippling through them all. Every day she’d see servants rush from the castle so they could sob among their own without upsetting the dragons any more than they already were. Even those cousins and aunts and uncles who hadn’t had a chance to get to know Annwyl before the birth mourned for the loss their kin suffered.

To be blunt, Dagmar simply wasn’t used to it. The Northlanders didn’t show their pain. They didn’t mourn. They simply set their dead to flame, either on pyres or at sea, and once the remains were nothing but ashes, three to five days of drinking ensued. Neighbor enemies didn’t attack at these times, probably one of the only lines not even Jökull crossed when at war. Drunken tears and sobbing were allowed only because they could be written off. “It was the drink,” she’d heard her kinsmen say more than once. “More than six kegs of ale and I’m a blubbering mess.”

Yet there had been no drinking in Dark Plains. Only the grim readying for battle and defense, and the painful expressions of those who were feeling the loss of Queen Annwyl.

To combat all of it, Dagmar had kept busy doing what she did best: planning, plotting, and executing.

A good portion of the defenses were up and ready. Some of them were buried deep in the ground beneath them, ensuring it would at least be hard for the Minotaurs to break through into the Garbhán Isle dungeons. Others were topside and at the ready. And a few were tests she’d insisted upon. She’d argued over the tests with Brastias, who seemed grateful to have something else to focus on. He thought they were simply too limited and specific, which may have been correct, but Dagmar still liked to test out her ideas when she could.

While the defenses were being built, the merchants and prostitutes had been moved from inside the main gates to a town about a league away from the edge of Garbhán Isle. This way the servants didn’t have to travel too far to get daily supplies, but strong defenses could now be erected that would protect the main gate.

Dagmar had happily helped with all that as well, glad to be of some assistance during this time. Yet there was still much work to be done, and she had every intention of making sure as much as possible was finished before she returned home.

As Dagmar walked across the enormous courtyard studying her list carefully, wind whipped around her, lifting the hem of her dress and her hair. It reminded her she had yet again forgotten to braid her hair and wear her scarf over it. She raised her gaze to the sky, her eyes momentarily blinded by the two suns blaring overhead. She saw the dragons at the last minute, dashing to the side as five of them landed.

She didn’t recognize them as any of Gwenvael’s kin, but she could tell they were old. No matter the color of their scales, their manes were nearly white and grey with age. They landed and looked around. The old Gold in front looked down at her and she knew immediately this male was a problem.