“Cute, tall nieces who aren’t actually blood relations, but have the most adorable smile known to man or the gods?”
“Can we just go? ” he bellowed, storming past her.
“No, no, brother. I guess I was wrong. You’re clearly not avoiding anyone.”
Ragnar was waiting to leave, the two suns rising higher as it grew later. He had a talon tapping when the siblings returned. The big blue royal stomping along like a cranky child and his sister running up behind him, yelling, “Just admit it! Just admit how you feel!” The Blue picked up his travel bag. “Let it go, Keita.”
“Just admit it! You’ll feel better.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Make me.” She went up on her back legs and brought her front claws up, curling them into fists. “Let’s go. Right here. Right now. You’re not so big and tough that I can’t still take you.”
Vigholf leaned in and whispered to Ragnar. “She has no idea the truth of that.”
Meinhard slammed his back claw into Vigholf.
“Ow!”
With the elegance of a wounded animal, the princess danced around her brother. “Come on. Take your best shot, little brother.”
“I’m not hitting you.”
She ducked; she weaved. And all of it quite badly.
Vigholf sighed. “This is what happens when you let females think they can fight like the males.”
“I hear their human queen is good,” Meinhard remarked.
“She’s not half bad,” the Eastland dragon stated. “Although I have heard she is no friend of the Minotaur.”
Vigholf snorted. “Our Aunt Freida, with her one arm and missing foot, would be good too, with five thousand legions at her back.”
“No, Keita!” the Blue yelped. “Not the tickling! Stop it!”
“Think we should rescue the royal from his sister?” Meinhard asked Ragnar.
“If we hope to leave before the end of time…” Briec the Mighty, second oldest in the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, fourth in line to the throne of the White Dragon Queen now that his eldest brother had bred his demon spawn twins, Shield Hero of the Dragon Wars, Former Lord Defender of the Dragon Queen’s Throne, Benevolent Ruler of the fair Talaith’s heart, and proud father of two amazing daughters who were perfect merely because they were his daughters, located his eldest brother in the war room.
Fearghus stood behind the large table, an extensive map open in front of him. Brastias, General of Queen Annwyl’s armies, to his left, and Dagmar Reinholdt, the only female capable of tolerating his younger brother, Gwenvael, on his right. A small group of Annwyl’s elite guard stood around the table.
Fearghus looked up from the map. “What is it, Briec?”
“I just heard from Éibhear. He’s heading home.”
“Good.” Fearghus returned his focus to the map.
“And Keita’s with him.”
“Yes!”
Fearghus’s head came up again, and both he and Briec looked over at several of the soldiers who were grinning and slapping each other on the back. When Briec made black smoke come out of his nostrils, they looked away and stopped smiling.
Briec stepped farther into the room. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the map.
“Dagmar heard from Ghleanna—” Fearghus began.
“Izzy?” Briec immediately asked.
“She’s fine, brother. Ease yourself.”
Briec’s eldest, Iseabail, a soldier with Annwyl’s army, had been out with his Aunt Ghleanna’s troops for nearly two years now. And although he was not Izzy’s father by blood, he worried for her every day. Blood or not, Izzy was his daughter. She would always be his daughter.
“Then what is it?” Briec asked.
“More problems in the west. Entire towns destroyed near the Aricia Mountains.”
“I thought the army had a handle on the barbarians in the west.”
“The ones near the Western Mountains, yes, but we haven’t even moved past them yet.”
“Still? How hard is it to drive barbarian cretins back to the mud huts from which they came?” He glanced at Dagmar. “No offense.” Cold grey eyes shielded by small circles of glass looked up from the map. “Since my mud-hut-living, barbarian, cretin people are not from the west…none taken.”
“We’re getting calls for assistance from the western kings,” Brastias explained.
Briec didn’t see the problem. “So send another legion.”
“I don’t like it,” Fearghus grumbled.
“You don’t like anything.”
“Not you, of course, but I lie and tell our mother I do.” Fearghus looked at Dagmar. “Have you heard anything?”
“What makes you think that I—” A room filled with males snorting in disbelief cut the Northlander off. “I wanted to get more information,” she admitted.
“More information on what?”
“Possible problems coming from beyond the Aricia Mountains.”
“Beyond?” Frowning, Briec studied the map. “The only thing beyond the Aricia Mountains is…”
The room grew silent, and Dagmar raised her hands, palms out. “Let me get more information before we jump to any conclusions.”
“A problem coming from that far west,” Brastias murmured, “cannot be ignored by Annwyl.”
“She’s not ignoring anything.” And Briec could hear the snap in Fearghus’s voice. “Far from it.”
“What part of ‘Let me get more information before we jump to any conclusions’ were all of you not clear on?” Dagmar asked.
“Fine. Get the information. Then Annwyl can decide what she wants to do.”
It wasn’t that the human warriors said anything, they didn’t. It was their silence that spoke volumes.
“What?” Fearghus asked. “What is it?”
“If Annwyl plans to hole up here for the next sixteen years, Fearghus, you’re going to have to find another to lead our men into war. If,” Brastias added, glancing at Dagmar, “war is coming.”
“Isn’t that your job, general?”
“My job is to lead the troops into battle. But Annwyl’s our queen. She has to lead us into war.”
Fearghus let out a great sigh. “And she can only do that by leaving her children?”
“No. But she can’t keep avoiding war either. Trying to patch up problems with a troop here, a legion there isn’t doing anyone any favors. It’s just pulling her army apart.”
Briec watched his brother. Fearghus knew the general was right, but that didn’t make the situation easier for him.
Catching Brastias’s attention, Briec suggested, “You may want to warn Morfyd that Keita’s coming home.”
“Warn her?”
“Trust me, general. Warn her.” Then Briec gave a small jerk of his head toward the door. Brastias nodded and left with his men.
Once the door closed behind them, Briec dropped into a chair across from his brother, propping his feet up on the table. “All right, what don’t I know?”
Fearghus muttered something, but rather than get the dragon to repeat himself—always a chore since Fearghus was a born mutterer—Briec focused on Dagmar.
“Annwyl has become reluctant to make decisions that might thrust us into war,” Dagmar said.
“I’ve seen your female, brother. She looks ready for war to me.”
“She’s torn,” Fearghus admitted. “She’s ready to stomp out whatever is terrorizing the territories past the Western Mountains, but she’s terrified to leave the children.”
“Why? They won’t be alone. They’ll have us. The Cadwaladr Clan.
She couldn’t ask for better or stronger protection than that.”
“I can’t explain it, Briec. She’s not talking to me. I just know that to get her any farther than my cave these days has become near impossible.”
“And,” Dagmar added, “to discuss problems that might be occurring outside Garbhán Isle is also a challenge.” Dagmar walked around the table and leaned against it, her arms crossing over her chest. “It’s hard to convince her the children will be safe without her for a little while when we can’t even keep a nanny for longer than a moon or two.”
“Wait. What happened to the last one?” Briec asked.
Dagmar shook her head, and Fearghus let out a long sigh before facing the wall behind him.
Briec grimaced. “Oh.” Thankfully, Briec had no problems like this with his younger daughter. His girl was sweet beyond imagining—something she must have gotten from him, since there was no way she could have inherited that trait from her mother. So he had no worries when he left her alone with anyone. All that worried him was what weight she possibly carried on those tiny shoulders. He’d never seen someone so young look so serious—all the time. She never smiled. Ever. She simply gazed at all around her with those eyes that anyone could get lost in. He had heard a few say that when she stared at them, it was as if she were staring into their souls.
To be honest, Briec thought she was.
But none of that helped his brother now. Because a paranoid, well-trained, ready-for-anything Annwyl with no war or battle to head off to was nothing but a volcano waiting to explode. Everyone at Garbhán Isle knew it—and that’s what had everyone so on edge.
“I’m sure we’ll figure out something. Maybe Keita can help. When she gets here.”
Fearghus sniffed. “Two years and no word from her. And she’ll come back like none of it happened.”
“You know how Keita is. She blocked us all, even Éibhear.”
“Yes, but it’s not like she’s Gwenvael.”
“Because we actually care if she’s dead or alive?”
“Exactly.”
“You two do know I’m right here?” Dagmar asked.
“It’s not whether we know you’re here or not,” Briec explained. “It’s whether we care that you’re here or not. And, I’m sure to your surprise, tiny crushable human, we actually don’t. Care, that is.” Dagmar adjusted her spectacles. “Actually what surprises me is that Talaith has not killed you in your sleep yet.” Briec grinned while Fearghus laughed. “Aye. It amazes her as well.”
Chapter Eight
They were still in the Outerplains when they took their first break in the afternoon. It should have been only a quick break of thirty minutes or less, but the princess shifted to human and put on a dress, which was strange enough. Then she dug into Ragnar’s bag and threw his chain-mail leggings and shirt at him. “Get dressed,” she ordered.
“Why?”
“Don’t question—just do.” She grinned and walked off. Ragnar kept on eating the dried meat from his bag until Vigholf shoved him with his shoulder. “Go on then.”
“Go on where?”
“Wherever she’s going. Don’t be an idiot.”
“I’ve got more important—”