Once Éibhear placed the weapons aside, the two guards moved out of the way, allowing them to enter.
Gods.
Up to this point, Ragnar had been a bit disappointed with the queen’s court. All stark, dank walls and cold caverns. But this… this was what Ragnar had expected to see all along: mountain walls plastered in pure gold, the history of the Fire Breathers etched into each section; chalices, made of gold, crystal, or ivory, held by dragons of noble birth, some of them wearing items made of the finest metals and gems; the floors lined with furs so the nobles’ precious talons wouldn’t be forced to touch actual stone; fresh meats turning on spits over big fire pits while uncooked and unseasoned meats rested a few feet away so the royals had their choice of meals.
It was as decadent and wasteful as Ragnar had been led to believe by his kinsmen, making him wonder how much of a threat the Southlanders could possibly be to his kind. Ragnar couldn’t imagine even one of these pampered lizards raising a claw in defense against a dragonfly much less a powerful Dragonlord Chief of the Hordes.
As the small group walked by, the royals turned away from their conversations to watch them. The females focused on the Blue, their cold eyes turning calculating at the sight of him; the males focused on the princess. Then one male, a Red, pushed through the others, his expression angry, his demeanor threatening. Ragnar felt the way he had when dealing with that human noble at Castle Moor. But this time Ragnar wasn’t trapped in his human form. He wasn’t weakened by another’s Magick. So when the Red moved too close in Ragnar’s estimation, Ragnar faced him and slammed his tail down between them.
The strength of the Northland tail ensured that the metal spiked tip tore through the fur they stood on and straight into the stone floor beneath.
“Move out of my way, low born,” the Red ordered.
“You need to calm yourself and step away.”
Frustrated, the Red yelled out, “Keita! Don’t walk away from me!” Keita stopped, her front claw barely catching hold of her baby brother’s forearm before he could run over and beat the Red to death.
“I know,” she said, without turning around, “that you didn’t just bellow at me as if I were some barmaid.”
“You will talk to me.”
“Tragically for you, I’ve never been desperate enough to take orders from anyone. Now if you’ll excuse us, our mother awaits.” The Red tried again to pass Ragnar, his rage exploding when Ragnar shoved him back, determined to keep him away from Keita.
The Red swung his fist at Ragnar, but a black-scaled claw closed around it before it could connect, black talons engulfing red ones and squeezing.
The sound of cracking and breaking bones echoed through the now-silent hall. Having met the black dragon once before, Ragnar recognized the Queen’s consort and Keita’s father. Bercelak the Great, as he was known in the South—in the North he was still called Bercelak the Vengeful and Bercelak the Murdering Rat Bastard Scum—did not warn others off. It simply wasn’t in his nature, although Ragnar guessed that was especially true when it came to Bercelak’s daughters.
The older dragon, without saying a word, kept up the pressure on that red claw until he’d completely crushed it, leaving the Red weeping like a babe on the fur-covered floor. The Fire Breather’s gaze moved from the sobbing noble to Ragnar. He studied him closely with those cold black eyes before motioning to a set of stairs. “My Queen waits for you, Lightning. She doesn’t like to wait.”
Now Ragnar remembered why striking directly at Queen Rhiannon’s court was something even his father had avoided. Not because of the nobles—they seemed relatively worthless—but because of their battle dogs: Lord Bercelak and the Cadwaladr Clan.
The nobles should be grateful for the presence of the low-born dragons, because they were the only ones who kept the wolves from the door, to use a common human phrase.
Ragnar moved around the Queen’s consort and walked up another set of stairs. At the top stood the Blue and Keita. She waited until Ragnar was in front of her and her brother entered the next chamber.
“He seemed attached, that Red,” Ragnar observed, looking over his shoulder to see the Queen’s consort eyeing everyone until they looked away.
“Don’t blame me,” Keita contested. “I promised neither him nor DeLaval anything and was very honest from the beginning about what they would get from me.” She reached up and brushed her claws against Ragnar’s shoulders as if she was wiping away lint on clothes he wasn’t wearing.
“Most appreciate my honesty, but there are some who think they can get around that, that they can change my mind.” She looked up at him through her lashes, and he knew this was more about him than that idiot Red or DeLaval.
“Some of us at least have to try, my lady. But there’s a definite line between being determined and just being a pushy prat.” Keita laughed and headed into the next chamber. “I’m glad to see that you apparently know the difference.”
Keita stepped into the chamber. This one had a few nobles but many more of her father’s Clan in attendance, which, in her mind, always explained the presence of more weapons and guards and less high-priced royal trappings.
Instantly, Keita saw her mother at the other end of the hall. The queen had her arms around Éibhear, hugging him to her.
“My sweet, sweet hatchling,” Rhiannon crooned. “I’m so glad to have you home, safe and alive.”
“I missed you, Mum.”
“And I missed you.” For the first time with any of her offspring, Queen Rhiannon raised herself on the tips of her talons in order to reach Éibhear’s forehead and kiss it. Then she kissed each cheek before pulling back and looking him over. “By the gods, son. You’ve gotten huge! You’re looking more and more like your grandfather every day.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
Crystal blue eyes focused past Éibhear and onto Keita. Mother and daughter’s gazes locked, the same way they had—rumor had it—when Keita broke out of her shell at hatching. It was said that although Keita had no fire at the time, she sent a ball of smoke at her mother’s head. Something Queen Rhiannon had yet to forgive her second-hatched daughter for.
As always, Keita braced herself for what was about to happen, which was the same thing that happened every time mother and daughter met. The same horrifying, ridiculous display that, if unleashed, could destroy the innocent minds of an entire countryside of peasants.
“Remember, warlord,” she softly warned Ragnar, watching her mother step around Éibhear and move toward her, “that no matter what you see here, I am no more or less than what you thought of me before.”
“What in all the hells does that mean?”
Keita let out a breath. “You’ll see.”
Rhiannon, still safely across the hall, lifted her mighty white head, pulled her lips back over bright white fangs, opened her arms, and cried out,
“Keita! My lovely daughter!”
Keita opened her arms and shouted back, “Mumsy!” Ragnar watched in fascination as the two females moved across the hall and made what seemed to be an attempt to hug each other but then not quite bothering. Instead they kept their arms held out and kissed the air around each other’s heads rather than cheeks.
Rhiannon stepped back and, looking her daughter over, said, “Keita.
Look at you. You look absolutely…” Ragnar waited for the queen to finish that compliment, but instead she finished with, “You!”
“Mumsy,” Keita replied, the queen’s eye twitching the tiniest bit.
“Look at all that beautiful gray in your hair. It really does fit your face…
now.”
“And you, my sweetest daughter. With all that fiery red hair! Like a blessing from the gods!” She lowered her voice—a little. “It seems they even blessed your chin a bit.”
“Nothing that can’t be plucked away! Like you do with your chest!” Smiles still firmly in place, the two females looked at each other and said as one, “You! ”
“Don’t I get a hug?” Bercelak asked from beside Ragnar, and the smile that was on Keita’s face now was as warm and true as any he’d seen from her before.
She ran back across the hall and into her father’s arms, each hugging the other tight.
But it was while he had his daughter in his embrace that the queen’s consort mouthed at She Who Rules These Lands, Be nice!
The queen shrugged and mouthed back, I am!
When Keita stepped away from her father, the queen motioned to the Blue beside her. When Bercelak said nothing, the queen gestured again until her consort let out a great sigh and mumbled, “Boy.” The queen scowled at her mate, and Bercelak added, “Glad you’re home.” The Blue’s eyes crossed. “Gee. Thanks, Dad.” Queen Rhiannon patted her son’s shoulder. “Now I have to talk to Lord Ragnar for a bit. So why don’t you and your father go chat?” Ragnar had to quickly look away because the expression of pure panic on the Blue’s face was so hilarious he knew he would be unable to keep the laughter in if he kept watching.
“Talk?” the Blue asked, his voice nearly cracking.
“Yes.” She pushed her hatchling toward Bercelak. “We won’t be long.” She motioned to Ragnar with a snowy-white talon, and he moved across the hall, those in the chamber watching him closely. Again, he was reminded that the royals weren’t the worry when it came to the Southlanders. It was these dragons. All of them—even the females—were warriors, fighters, killers.
He’d neared the queen when she said, “You stay, too, Keita.” Keita stumbled on her claws; she’d been following her father and brother out. “Me? Why?”
The queen laughed, placing her claw on Ragnar’s forearm. “Isn’t she funny, my little hurricane wind? Pretending she doesn’t know how to follow orders from her queen. She always makes me laugh.” Bercelak motioned to his daughter and, her shoulders slumping a little, Keita walked toward her mother and together the three of them moved into the queen’s private chamber.
Chapter Fourteen
Queen Rhiannon, ruler of all Southland dragons, dropped down onto her throne and gazed at her daughter and the handsome Northland dragon with her. “So where is my sister?”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the Northlander replied, “but when I arrived she wasn’t there.”
“I see. She just disappeared, then?”
Keita snorted. “More like she escaped before you could get your claws on her.”
Rhiannon snarled a little at her brat, but the Lightning quickly stepped in front of her. When she heard Keita gasp and demand, “What do you think you’re doing?” Rhiannon had to fight hard not to giggle.
“From what we could tell, Lady Esyld had not been in that house for some time, Your Majesty.”
“There was nothing that told you where she might have gone?”
“We looked. There was nothing.”
“Was she captured?”