“I can do something that will hurt less, but you’d take longer to heal.
You’d be bedridden for a few days, though.”
Celyn forced his eyes open, gazed at Ragnar. “Do it.” Ragnar went down on his knees and raised his front claws over Celyn.
He closed his eyes and let the power stored in the ground beneath him rise up through his body. When he had what he needed, he unleashed that power through his claws and into the Fire Breather’s body.
Celyn growled in pain, fangs clenched together, while his bones locked back into place and knitted themselves whole.
Although some would probably take the less painful but longer healing route, Ragnar knew why this one wouldn’t—Iseabail. Celyn wasn’t about to let his cousin have any time alone with her. Not if he could help it anyway.
Ragnar had seen it before. The fight between kin over a female.
Something that rarely ended well.
After fixing the last bone, Ragnar checked to make sure he hadn’t missed anything that could lead to hemorrhaging later. Once he felt confident about that, he lowered his claws, and his body dropped back. He’d have hit the ground if his brother wasn’t there to catch him.
Panting, he nodded at his kin. “Thanks.”
“Here. Something for you to eat.”
Vigholf helped Ragnar to the still thrashing cow, letting him be the one to finish it off by wrapping his maw around its neck and breaking it.
Then Ragnar fed until he felt his strength return.
By the time he offered the remainder of his meal to his brother, Celyn was sitting up. A lot of blood still covered his body and Ragnar was sure he’d be sore for days, but he was alert.
“Thank you,” Celyn said with a nod.
“You’re welcome.”
The young dragon got to his feet but stumbled a bit.
“I better help him back.” Vigholf walked off with Celyn, and Ragnar stayed behind picking cow flesh out of his teeth.
He’d just dislodged a good-sized rib bone when Keita walked toward him. She’d changed into another gown, her hair tied into a loose ponytail down her back, and still no shoes. What did she have against shoes?
“Hungry?” he asked, offering her what was left of the carcass.
“No, thank you. How’s Celyn?”
“Better. I fixed his bones, and stopped the bleeding. How’s your brother?”
“Playing the self-righteous Lord of Gloom by one of the lakes with Morfyd as his adoring nursemaid.”
Ragnar shifted to his human form. “You sound angry with him.”
“I am. Very angry. And I’m angry at Celyn. Playing this game with poor Izzy caught in the middle of it.”
“‘Poor Izzy’ can hold her own.”
“I guess.”
She was pacing, tense. “What’s wrong, Keita?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why do you seem fit to crawl the walls?”
“I don’t know. I just feel that…”
“Something’s coming? Coming to destroy all you love?” Keita stopped pacing and faced Ragnar. “Actually, I was going to say I just feel like I wouldn’t be happy until I saw you, and I had no idea what any of that meant.”
“Uh…oh.”
“But I sense the ‘something’s coming to destroy all you love’ should be a bit more of my concern right now, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well…”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Do not f**k me about, warlord.
What haven’t you told me?”
“It’s something Vigholf told me about your human queen. It has been bothering me since.”
“Gods, who did she try to kill now?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just…she’s been having dreams.” Keita’s arms slowly lowered to her sides. “What kind of dreams?”
“Of brutal warriors riding on demon horses that are coming for her children.”
Keita paced away from him again, her gaze on the ground. “Human warriors?”
“Humans, yes. But witches. If I’m guessing right, she’s dreaming of the Kyvich. Warrior witches from the Ice Lands.” Keita stopped pacing, her back to him.
“Ragnar…do their horses have horns?”
Annwyl had canceled her training today, and she was glad she had too. There was simply too much going on for her to be able to concentrate.
And not being focused meant more damage than she was in the mood to tolerate at the moment.
She walked in to the Great Hall, coming in the back way, and found Talaith at the dining table. She had food in front of her, but seemed to be picking more than eating.
“How’s it going?” Annwyl asked, dropping into the chair beside her friend.
“It could be worse, I suppose. I wish it were better.”
“What has you worried? Other than the obvious, I mean.” Talaith shoved her plate back. “I worry that Izzy’s going to make stupid decisions just to irritate that idiot I adore like my own son.”
“It is frustrating when you love them but still want to smash their faces in, isn’t it?”
“They’re too young for all this.”
“I can send her to another troop. She can deal with the raiders on the coast.”
Talaith scrunched up her face. “That kind of makes it her fault, doesn’t it? She adores her unit, but we’ll be sending her away because of this…this…”
“Centaur shit?”
“Exactly. By the way,” she said, abruptly changing subjects, “I adore Ebba.”
“Adore,” Annwyl agreed. She raised her hand. “Listen. She’s keeping them quiet, but you don’t have that sense of dread that we’ll be hearing her horrified screams at any moment.”
“It’s wonderful.”
“Uh-oh.”
Talaith cringed. “What?”
Annwyl motioned to the open Great Hall doors, through which Éibhear and Morfyd were walking.
Talaith tapped her fingers against the table. “I shouldn’t get involved.”
“No. You shouldn’t.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“No. It’s not.”
After three seconds, Talaith slammed her hands against the table. “I can’t let it go!”
Annwyl rubbed her nose to keep from laughing, watching as Talaith rounded the table, heading for a wide-eyed and completely panicking Éibhear, while Morfyd stepped in front of her brother, ready to defend him.
“I’m so mad at you right now, I don’t have words.”
“Celyn is taking advantage of her,” he argued.
“That’s none of your business, Éibhear.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I offended you, Talaith—”
“Me? You need to say that to Izzy.”
“—but she was lying to everyone!”
“Again that’s none of your business.”
Annwyl saw Izzy charge down the hallway and take the stairs, probably having heard Éibhear’s voice. She’d just hit the last step when Annwyl met her and caught hold of her arm. “Why don’t we go for a walk?” Annwyl offered/ordered.
“You!” Izzy screamed over her shoulder while Annwyl led her out the back way. “Are a self-righteous prat!”
“I was thinking of you, you dozy sow!”
“Sow? ”
Annwyl yanked her niece out the door and kept going, confident that if she stopped even for a moment, Izzy would run right back inside and rip every blue hair from Éibhear’s giant head.
Ragnar watched Keita closely. “You’ve dreamed about them too?”
“Once…maybe twice.” She scratched her throat. “I didn’t think much of it because I’m not much for having prophetic dreams.” She stepped closer. “How bad is this?”
“The Kyvich?” He gave a little laugh, but they both winced at the sound of it. “I’ve never seen them in battle, but I’ve heard that a warlord or monarch losing a war can change his fate should the Kyvich take up his cause. Half a Kyvich legion—and their legions have far less than a normal army’s legion—can lay a city to waste. They walk the path of the warrior and the witch perfectly. They kill without thought or remorse, and have been known to break the souls of men who annoy them, until they turn them into their own personal battle dogs, I guess you’d call them. Unleashing the poor sods during battle to wear the enemy down a bit, feeling nothing when the men are killed.”
“And what else?” She tightened the arms she had folded over her chest. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”
“There are few Kyvich born into their ranks. They…”
“Say it.”
“They take girls from their mothers. Usually before they’re old enough to walk. Often their mothers hand them over rather than risk the rest of their children or their entire village. Not that I blame the mothers for their reluctance. The training of the Kyvich is brutal and…ruthless. And starts by the time the girls are five or six winters.”
“And Talwyn would be perfect for them, wouldn’t she?”
“From what you told me. Also, right now, Talwyn has no loyalty to any god because of her age and her parents. But if she becomes a Kyvich, the war gods, at the very least, would ensure she’d be working for them through her allegiance to the Kyvich.” He took a breath. “Keita, if I’d known you’d dreamed about them as well—”
“We can’t worry now about what we should have done, Ragnar.” And all that royal training came to the fore, Keita showing no panic or fear. She simply said, “We have to warn Annwyl and Fearghus.”
“I agree.” Ragnar headed across the field back toward the castle. “I think this is what Annwyl has been training for without even realizing it.”
“Any idea when they’ll get here?”
They entered the forest that surrounded the fortress walls. “Not sure.
I’ve heard their skills and gifts are immense. That they can move quickly and go for thousands of leagues undetected. Truthfully, for all we know—they could fly.”
“Well, at least most of the family is here to protect—” Ragnar stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Keita?” He walked back to where he’d last heard her voice. “Keita?”
“Lord Ragnar?” a voice asked.
He turned and looked at Éibhear, who came stalking into the woods.
“Have you seen my sister? Keita?”
“Didn’t you see her?”
Éibhear gazed at him. “Sorry?”
“Didn’t you see Keita? She was right here.”
Éibhear shook his head. “No, sir.”
Ragnar didn’t understand. “But she was just here.” Ragnar heard her voice in his head. It was faint, but it was definitely Keita’s.
Up.
He looked up and then pushed Éibhear back toward the castle. “Go.
Get your brothers, your sister.” He pointed at the royal standing there looking confused. “Go! Now! Tell them to follow my scent!” Then Ragnar shifted and took to the air.