Annwyl crouched beside him. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping well for months, often leaving their bed before the two suns rose. It might be her dreams that drove her from their bed, for when she did sleep, she tossed and turned; Fearghus’s presence beside her not easing her as it usually did.
Annwyl leaned in, waiting until Fearghus turned his face toward her so she could kiss him. Her lips were soft and sweet, her tongue wicked and ruthless, her mouth warm and delicious. He knew he shouldn’t be so paranoid about what she was up to when she was off training, but he couldn’t help it. Something was going on with her and she wouldn’t tell him.
She used to tell him everything.
She pulled back with a soft sigh. “I’ll see you later then?” And he heard the hopeful note in her tone.
“You need a bath,” he told her, his gaze moving over the courtyard. “I can scrub your back, if you’d like.”
“I never can reach it,” she murmured, her fingers trailing to his neck and across his shoulders. Fearghus closed his eyes at the feel of her hand on his bare skin and through his chain-mail shirt. Of course, those fingers felt even better against his scales and wings. “So your help will be much appreciated.”
Then she was gone, into the Great Hall and up the stairs to see their twins.
And Fearghus was left alone a little longer to brood and wonder what the hell was going on with his mate.
Bare feet walked across ice; nak*d bodies knelt in the snow, uncaring of the violent snow and ice storm swirling around them while heads bowed in honor of the god before them. This was not all their number, merely those who would lead this mission. For their strength was not in their number, but in their power. In their rage. In their willingness to kill without question, without regret, without thought.
Because of what they were willing to do, all in the name of their gods, they were the most feared in the Ice Lands. The most despised. But none of them cared about the outsiders. Not when they had their weapons in their hands and spells on their lips.
Go, the harsh winds roared around them, for this god would not speak directly to them. Not like the others. Instead, the Ice Land winds would give them their mission. The hard-packed snow and ice would enhance their strength and power for the long journey ahead. And the two suns would lead them to death or glory.
Go! the winds ordered again. Then, the screeching winds whispered, Annwyl.
Chapter Four
“I have to admit I’m a bit surprised, Lord Ragnar. I thought you would have killed all those humans.”
Ragnar gulped several mouthfuls of water from his flask. They’d traveled deep into the thick forests of Outerplains, not stopping until they found a freshwater lake.
“And I thought you wouldn’t allow yourself to be executed. Guess we were both wrong.”
The royal rolled brown eyes. “Of course I wouldn’t allow myself to be executed.”
“Then what were you doing exactly?”
She shrugged and, without asking, took his flask from him rather than filling her own from the lake as he’d done. “Seeing if I could talk them out of it.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Why not?” She studied his flask before using a bit of her gown to wipe the mouth of it. He didn’t know which annoyed him more.
The fact that she took his flask, the fact that she wiped it first before using it, or the fact that the gown she used was absolutely filthy.
“It’s all a game to you, isn’t it?” he asked.
After taking several gulps of water, she gave him that smile. She had many smiles, most of them as contrived as she was. But this one, where the left side of her mouth went up just a tad higher than the right and her eyes looked up at him through those thick lashes—this one was the true Keita.
His brother and cousin refused to see this Keita.
“Why were they trying to execute you anyway, Keita?” the Blue asked his sister.
She handed the flask back to Ragnar. “They believed I’d killed Lord Bampour.”
“Oh, Keita,” the Blue whined. “You didn’t.”
“Actually, I didn’t.” When her brother raised a dark blue brow, she insisted, “I didn’t!”
“Then why did they charge you?” Ragnar asked.
“They found me in his room.”
“With the body?”
“Yes. But it wasn’t me.” Why did Ragnar feel there was a “this time”
missing from that declaration?
“What were you doing in his room?”
She stared at Ragnar a moment, then replied, “Wishing him a good morning?”
“Is that an answer, princess, or a question?”
“Och!” She threw up her hands. “Does it matter? I didn’t kill him.” She pouted a little, her nose scrunching up—it looked vaguely adorable.
“They wouldn’t even listen to me. Just kept insisting that I had to have done it, simply because they found me alone in his room, the body still warm, and carrying a vial of poison.”
The males all stared at her, but when no one else asked, Ragnar knew he must. “And why were you carrying a vial of poison?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m fairly certain…quite a bit.”
“No. It doesn’t. Because the point is—the vial was still full, which meant it hadn’t been used, which means I didn’t kill Bampour.” Ragnar was willing to play along. “If you didn’t kill him…who did?”
“Some nak*d blond girl who was in his room when I got there.”
“I see. And what happened to her?”
“I threw her out the window.”
“Of course you did.”
“Don’t worry,” the foreigner tossed in. “I caught her and set her gently down.”
“See?” the female said.
“See what?”
“I rescued her. Saved her life. And yet they wanted to execute me.
How is that fair?”
Ragnar nodded. “Let’s pretend you’re not lying.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure why you would rescue a murderess.”
“Well, she was only doing the rest of the world a favor.”
“I see.”
“He was not a nice person.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He had to die!”
“And why is that? Did he not give you enough…things?”
“Oh, but he did.” She touched the necklace around her throat. “He gave me this.” She touched the bracelet on her wrist. “And this.” She touched the earrings. “And these…oh, wait. No. He didn’t. That son of his did. Shame the little blonde didn’t get a chance to deal with that one too.”
Ragnar gestured to the jewelry. “I’m surprised they let you keep all that.”
“I don’t think they’d planned to. But after I ate the dog, they refused to come near me except to put on the chains.”
“Keita!” the Blue blurted out while the foreigner laughed.
“I was hungry! I hadn’t had first meal, they wouldn’t give me anything to eat, and…and that dog tried to bite me! It was very close to self-defense!”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“You,” she said to Ragnar, “can just be quiet.”
“All right, all right, all right,” the Blue cut in. “Let’s forget all that.
The important thing is, you’re safe.” The princess smiled at that until her brother added, “And you can travel with us back to Garbhán Isle.”
“Oh.”
Ragnar leaned back against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, and watched Her Royal Majesty try to work her way out of this. Because he knew, just by the look of panic in her eyes, she was desperately trying to work her way out of this.
“Garbhán Isle. That’s an option.” She glanced at her foreign friend, but he didn’t seem to be in the mood to help her either. “And…why don’t I meet you there? At some point.”
“Meet us there? Why can’t you come back now?” her brother asked.
“I have something to do?”
“Is that a question or an answer?” Ragnar asked again, and the glare he received would have lacerated a lesser male.
“But what about the feast?”
“Feast?” She shrugged. “There’s always a feast, Éibhear. Our family does love a feast.”
“But it’s to celebrate the twins’ birthday. I mean, I missed the first one because I was in the heat of battle—”
Ragnar briefly but quickly moved his gaze to the ground after he heard Vigholf snort.
“—so I can’t miss this one. But I guess since you did go to the first one, I could explain it away to the family.” Perhaps Ragnar was watching her too closely, but the way her face became perfectly blank, her brown eyes wide as if she was afraid the truth could be read there, had him asking, “Why don’t you tell us about that first feast, my lady? All the details. Down to the last dessert.”
“I don’t really—”
“Oh, come on. You must remember something. And I’ve always wondered what a Southland celebration is like. For instance, what was the human queen’s gown like?”
“Gown? I doubt she wore—”
“Doubt?” Ragnar asked. “Don’t you know?”
Gods. Did she just hiss at me? Yes! I think she just hissed at me!
“You didn’t go?” the Blue asked.
“Éibhear, I was quite busy. I didn’t have time.” The Blue’s eyes narrowed, and he studied his sister for a long, painful moment. “When was the last time you were home?”
“The Southlands are my home, Éibhear. And I’m always—”
“Don’t play with me, Keita. When was the last time you were at Garbhán Isle or Devenallt Mountain?”
“When you look at how long we live, time is such a transient thing.” Ragnar began to have an uneasy feeling, clearly remembering the look on the princess’s face when he’d released her. Not when she’d stabbed him with her tail—although that moment was etched into his memory until his last breath—but before that. When he’d told her the queen had offered nothing for her daughter’s safe return. True, royal anger eventually took over everything, but before that, he’d seen pain on her face. Acute pain.
Having grown up with a father who enjoyed picking his other sons over “that weak, strange one” for important Horde business, Ragnar knew how much a careless action from a parent could hurt their offspring. He’d realized later that the queen had said such things because she’d known, as only a true witch could know, that Ragnar would never harm her daughter.
He’d never drag Keita off against her will. Not after what had happened to his own mother. Not after watching her trapped in a life she’d never wanted with only one wing and a dragon mate she detested. Ragnar had grown up under his mother’s avid protection, his father deciding early on that he loathed the hatchling who spent most of his days in books and learning.