“This is Fearghus’s mate.”
“She who bore the twins,” Bríghid went on. “The twins who should not exist.”
“But they do. And, although they are human in body, they are dragon in spirit.”
Bríghid snorted. “The humans can’t handle them, eh?”
“The nannies run away.”
“Can’t their mother care for them?”
Annwyl, always easily insulted, stepped forward, but Dagmar jumped in front of her. “The queen, of course, does what she can. But she has a kingdom to run. A kingdom to keep safe. You and your herd, as you call it, are free to run through these lands as you like, my lady, because Annwyl is queen and has no desire to enslave you. Would you prefer someone else take her place who may not be as…open minded? I believe that hunting your kind was a favorite sport of her father’s at one time.” Eyes narrowing, Bríghid pushed Keita and Morfyd aside and walked forward, hooves now stomping on the ground, until she stood before Dagmar and Annwyl. Leaning in, she brought her face close to Dagmar’s and asked,
“Do you know what I am, human?”
Keita watched her brother’s mate closely. For such a tiny thing, she showed no fear. Instead, she leaned around a bit and said, “Based on the large horse’s ass attached to you”—Dagmar moved back, her gaze fixed on Bríghid’s—“I’m going to go with centaur.”
Bríghid, straightening up, folded her arms over her bare chest. “And who are you?”
Years from now, they’d never know why they did it, but before Dagmar could say a word, their small group recited as one, “She’s Dagmar Reinholdt. Thirteenth Offspring of The Reinholdt, Only Daughter of The Reinholdt, Chief Battle Lord of Dark Plains, Adviser to Queen Annwyl, Human Liaison to the Southland Dragon Elders, and mate to Prince Gwenvael the Handsome.”
“She’s also known as The Beast,” Talaith tossed in for good measure.
And it was The Beast who turned on them. “Was that really necessary?”
It was only a glimpse, but Keita saw the brief smile on Bríghid’s face.
The centaur quickly hid it and said, “At three thousand and eight winters, I am much too old to be running around, chasing somewhat human children.” Keita remembered well how stubborn Bríghid could be. Especially once she’d made up her mind. If she put her hoof down now, there would be no going back. Desperate, she quickly looked to her sister, and Morfyd said,
“Of course you deserve your time to relax, Bríghid.” Wondering how her sister could be so stupid, Keita lifted her hands and mouthed, What are you doing?
Morfyd mouthed back, Shut up! She placed her hand on Bríghid’s hip, where her human form met her horse form. “But perhaps you have someone you can recommend. Someone Fearghus will trust as he would trust you.
Someone who—”
“I’ll do it.” Bríghid’s body tensed as a young female separated from the herd. “I’ll do it.”
“Princess Keita, Princess Morfyd, Queen Annwyl…this is my daughter, Eadburga. We call her Ebba for short. She’s my fifth oldest and—”
“I’ll do it.”
“And apparently quite eager to leave the herd.” Bríghid leaned over and said low in her daughter’s ear, “Although I hope you’re leaving for the right reasons.”
“I am.”
Bríghid straightened up. “You commit to this, Ebba, you are to stay and help raise the children until they are of age. For humans that’s at least their eighteenth winter. My commitment to the Dragon Queen was much longer, but I made it and stuck by it. You agree to this, you swear to the same as I’ll not have you bring shame to this herd by flitting off.”
“I have nowhere to flit to.” Ebba’s tail flicked nervously against her back. “Let me do this, Mum. We both know I’m ready.”
“Perhaps you are.” Bríghid kissed her daughter’s brow and nuzzled her jaw. She stepped back and, after clearing her throat, said, “Let’s see this queen.”
Keita motioned to Dagmar to move, but she shook her head. Damn difficult humans!
Keita reached over and yanked Dagmar out of the way. Bríghid motioned to Annwyl with a crook of her finger, and the queen approached.
Bríghid examined Annwyl for several long moments, her expression getting darker and darker the more she looked.
“What’s wrong?” Keita asked.
Bríghid stared at Annwyl and asked, “Do I know you?” Dagmar whispered against Keita’s ear, “By all ancient reason, she killed one of them once, didn’t she?”
Ragnar walked in to the Great Hall. Although none of the royals were up, his brother and cousin were already at the dining table eating.
“Where have you been?” Vigholf asked once Ragnar sat down and reached for bread.
“Out.”
“What’s wrong, brother? Did Her Majesty leave you all to your lonesome last night?”
In answer, Ragnar grabbed the back of Vigholf’s head and slammed it into the table.
Curses and blood oaths followed, but Ragnar ignored them, instead choosing to dig in to the bowl of hot porridge placed in front of him by a servant.
“I thought you’d want to know,” Meinhard said to Ragnar.
“Know what?”
“Heard some of those Cadwaladrs talking outside earlier this morning—they know about Keita and Esyld. I didn’t know what they were talking about until one of their females cornered me, and asked about our trip here through Outerplains.”
“And?”
“I told her everything—mostly. Figured that’s what you’d want. But you should have warned us beforehand.”
“You’re right,” Ragnar admitted. “Sorry.”
Meinhard watched him for a time, until Ragnar demanded, “What?”
“So when you going to tell her?”
“Tell who what?”
“Keita. Tell her that she’s yours?”
“If I really want her to be mine?” Ragnar sighed. “Never.” When Bríghid combed her fingers through the left side of Annwyl’s hair, Keita thought she’d have to shift, grab the human queen, and make a desperate run for it.
“When I met you,” Bríghid remarked, “this wasn’t here.” Annwyl shrugged, her gaze focused on something far past Bríghid’s arm. “My brother had shaved it off the night before.”
“Aye.” Bríghid released Annwyl’s hair but gripped her chin, lifting her face. “It was you.”
“That was a long time ago, mistress.”
Bríghid smiled. It was that warm, indulgent smile she usually reserved for the royal hatchlings of dragon queens. “That only makes it more meaningful. Not a lot of…what were you then? Eleven?”
“Twelve.”
“Right. Twelve. Well, not a lot of twelve-year-olds would risk their father’s wrath by releasing a stranger from his dungeon. Your father knew he’d caught himself a centaur, but you didn’t, did you? I had only two legs by the time you found me, and you thought I was human. Why would you risk that for some female in your father’s dungeon?”
“You were nak*d and alone in a dungeon. I knew I couldn’t leave you there.”
“How did you know that? You were only twelve.” Annwyl’s far-off gaze spoke volumes. “I knew I couldn’t leave you there.”
Bríghid nodded. “If she hadn’t released me,” she explained to the others, “they would have tried to use me for hunting.” Releasing Annwyl’s chin, Bríghid moved back and held her hand out. Her daughter placed her hand in her mother’s, and Bríghid said, “Queen Annwyl, I present my daughter Eadburga. She would be honored to raise the twins of the one who once rescued a lone woman in a dungeon.”
Annwyl cleared her throat. At first, Keita thought maybe Annwyl was embarrassed by such praise, but another part of her wondered if Annwyl’s father had found out what she’d done. If she had suffered for her betrayal.
Quite a few of the scars that covered Annwyl’s body were not from her battles against men with swords.
“Talaith’s daughter, too,” Annwyl added. “If that’s all right with you?
The three of them don’t like to be separated.” Ebba nodded. “That’s fine with me.”
“Then go.” Bríghid released her daughter’s hand. “With my blessing and my heart.”
Ebba hugged her mother, and the small group of humans, dragons, and one centaur stood on the ridge as Bríghid and her herd returned to the canyon. When they were gone, Ebba faced them and, sounding much like her mother, said, “Let’s get started then.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ragnar heard gasps, and someone dropped plates on the floor. Then he heard his brother and cousin growl in appreciation.
“Now that’s a fine-looking woman,” Meinhard muttered around his fourth serving of porridge.
Curious, Ragnar looked over his shoulder. His breath caught, and he immediately rose from his chair. He reached back and grabbed his brother and cousin, forcing them both to their knees. He went down on one, too, his head bowed out of respect but also necessity. He’d be able to look at her over time, but for now, her Magick shone too brightly, blinding him.
“Uh…cousin?” Meinhard whispered. “A little much for a nak*d woman, isn’t it?”
“She’s not a nak*d woman, you idiot.”
“Anyone else smell horse?” Vigholf asked, earning himself a punch to the head.
“Horde dragons,” the nak*d female said. “How interesting this place is.”
A soft hand reached out and stroked Ragnar’s head. He felt Magick flow through him that was as old as time, as powerful as the ocean. “Don’t worry, Lord Ragnar,” she said. “It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it.” And, she said in his head, you are nothing like your father. So you can let that fear go.
She took her hand away, and he immediately felt the loss of her power. She touched Meinhard’s chin and Vigholf’s head, where he’d had a very nice lump growing. “The honor of you three astounds me. You’ve chosen your allies well, Queen Annwyl.”
“Just Annwyl.”
“Whatever you choose to be called, you are still queen.” With that, she headed toward the stairs. “I’ll see the children alone.” Then she was up the steps and gone.
A dirty bare foot tapped in front of him now, and Ragnar slowly raised his head. Keita had her arms crossed over her chest, her lips pursed. “I think you still have some drool hanging from your lips there, warlord.”
“She’s a centaur.”
“I know.”
“But she’s a centaur.”
“And I am a dragoness.”
“But she’s a centaur.”
“Perhaps I should just slap the drool from your mouth.”