Rhydderch Hael, the father god of all dragons, appeared. He did not come out of the darkness as much as he was a vast part of it. His dragon body stretched for what looked like miles and his hair glowed in the moonlight. She’d seen him three times now like this. Before her mum had sacrificed herself to save Izzy seven months ago, she’d only met Rhydderch Hael in her dreams. If it was urgent, she’d hear him in her head.
Lately, however, things had changed. He’d appeared the first time while she’d been off practicing with her spear by one of the lakes. She’d tried to hug him, but she couldn’t even hope to reach her arms around him, so she sort of ended up squeezing his enormous dragon neck. They’d talked for hours, and Izzy had promised never to tell that he’d come to her in physical form. But his voice could still pop in her head unbidden. Like it had that morning when he told her it was time for Annwyl’s babes to be born.
She’d given her childhood heart to Rhydderch Hael a long time ago. And then she’d given her soul in order to save her mother.
“We all make sacrifices, little Izzy.”
“You’re a bastard,” she snapped. “A right bastard.”
His dark violet eyes flashed and his twelve-horned head lowered a bit. “And I’m still the god you’ve committed your life to. Your loyalty is to me.”
“My loyalty is to my kin. And they’re my kin. You’re not.”
“You say dangerous words, little Izzy.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care because my queen is dying. And it’s all your fault.” She wiped her face and realized at that moment that she was crying. “I know you’re a god, and we mean nothing to you. But just remember, those babes are your creation. No one will protect them like their own mother. Like Annwyl. No one.”
Rhydderch Hael yawned and motioned her away with his claw. “Go home, little Izzy.”
His black dragon body shimmered, and then he was gone. And she felt the betrayal all the way to her bones.
* * *
Dagmar stood outside Gwenvael’s door. She’d almost knocked three times. This wasn’t like her. Not knowing how to handle something. She handled everything. But she didn’t know whether stopping by would be … inappropriate? That seemed the best word.
Their one night together did not mean anything more than what it was.
But she was worried about him. Everyone seemed to be taking all of this so hard. Even the servants and the soldiers. On her way in, she’d passed poor Izzy running out. She didn’t bother trying to stop her, knowing the girl needed her own time to deal with this.
She knew Gwenvael loved Annwyl, and she felt the almost overwhelming need to care for him, which seemed absolutely ridiculous.
Besides, would Gwenvael even want that kind of comfort? At least from her?
She hated feeling like this. Insecure and confused. It wasn’t like her, but she guessed everyone had these moments.
The door was snatched open and she looked up into Gwenvael’s face.
“How long were you going to stand out here?”
“I didn’t want to bother you. I just—”
He grabbed her hand and dragged her into the room, slamming the door shut. He pulled her over to the bed and pushed her onto it.
“Roll onto your side,” he ordered. “Facing the window.”
“All right.” She did as he bade, the bed behind her dipping a bit as Gwenvael, fully dressed, crawled in behind her. His arm wrapped around her waist and he moved in close behind her. He rested his chin against the top of her head, and they both lay there staring out the window.
Neither spoke, nor moved, and they remained where they were until the two suns rose the next morning.
Chapter 25
Keita the Virtuous, a name recently given to her that would cause her brother Gwenvael to roll around the floor and laugh like a hatchling should he hear it, stared out over the cold, hard lands of the Northlands. She was in Horde territory, standing on the flat mountaintop of the Olgeirsson Horde lair, and all she could see for miles and miles in either direction were more snow-covered mountaintops.
But for nearing two weeks now, she’d been trapped in this place … with these dragons.
She had yet to meet a Lightning who wasn’t a barbarian. Appalling manners, distasteful habits, and brains the size of cooked peas. Every day had been a new experience in dealing with idiots.
Yet, as with most idiots, they were crafty enough.
Her talons brushed the steel collar locked around her neck. A long chain went from it to the spike buried in the floor and surrounded by several-feet-deep marble.
Aye. Crafty cretins, one and all. They weren’t smarter than her, but she’d realized quickly that aggression would only put her in deeper. They were used to Southland females like Keita’s mother, Queen Rhiannon. No matter the situation, Rhiannon only reacted with aggression and violence. Morfyd had always been weaker, but she wasn’t above using her Magicks to fight off her enemies. Unfortunately for Keita, her Magick skills were basic. She was a dragon, so automatically a Magickal being by nature, but she had no spells that could move mountains or turn a dragon’s blood to metal spikes. When she shot flame, it came out straight and true. Her mother’s flame could snake around corners and into crevices. She used it like a whip.
Her brother Briec also had skills far superior to many dragons, Fearghus a little less. But Keita, Gwenvael, and Éibhear only had the dragon basics, which meant she had to find other ways out of this hell.
What helped her, though, was the fact that there seemed to be nothing but males around her. Big, lonely males who were ready to settle down with a mate and have hatchlings of their own. Because females were so scarce, they’d have to fight for her in a tournament called The Honour. Brother against brother, kin against kin—all to be the one to Claim Keita. To put their brand on her, as if she were some farmer’s cattle.
That may have been her mother’s way, but it wasn’t what Keita wanted. It never would be. She liked her life just as it was. With human males hard and ready at the asking, beautiful gowns, and the freedom to go anywhere she pleased at any time. She answered to no one, and that included her mother or some male who thought he might own her.
For two weeks, she’d been amusing herself with the idiot kin of Olgeir the Wastrel, blocking her whereabouts from her parents and siblings. She knew her brothers well enough to know they’d come for her. They’d die for her, and she’d die for them. But after one night among the Olgeirsson Horde, she knew the risk they would most surely take would be unnecessary.
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 f**k 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.