“You are al barbarians.”
“Even Ragnar?”
“Wel . . . no. But he’s different. Special.”
Vigholf ’s left eye twitched and she suddenly felt fear for Ragnar’s safety. But, after a moment, Vigholf went on. “And has any of my brethren tried kidnapping one of you, forcing you into a Claiming?”
Rhona rol ed her eyes. “No.”
He took a step toward her, slowly closing the gap between them. “Have some of us not proven ourselves to be excel ent strategists in battle rather than berserkers you need to leash between fights?”
“I guess.”
Another step. “Haven’t we been polite and considerate to al the female warriors even when they’re throwing ale, starting fights, and general y being a bit crazed?”
She let out a breath. “Most of you, yes.”
“Then how about giving us a break? Giving me a break?” Another step. “Since we’re al doing so wel , that is.” They were nearly touching now, his grey eyes gazing down at her.
“I have to get this meat to Ren,” she said. “He needs to eat before we can return to the skies.”
“Al right.”
But he didn’t move or stop looking at her that way. She couldn’t explain what that way was—but it was that way. So Rhona forced herself to walk around him and slowly headed back to her cousin and friend.
Although to be honest, she real y wanted to make a run for it. She just didn’t know why.
Chapter 8
Morfyd the White, Eldest Daughter and Third-Born Offspring of Dragon Queen Rhiannon, Heir to the Queen’s Magicks, and Battle Mage for Queen Annwyl’s Army, tracked down her human mate.
She rode her horse around hurrying troops, cooks, riders, scouts, and al the others that made up a human queen’s army.
“Morfyd?” Her human mate, Brastias, general of Queen Annwyl’s army, pushed his men aside to stand by her. “What is it?”
“We move now for the Euphrasia Val ey.”
“So soon? I thought we had a few more—”
“The Sovereigns aren’t pul ing back. They’ve moved out. Heading to the Val ey.” Brastias glanced out over what had been their battleground for nearly five years. His laugh was a little bitter. “I’d hoped they’d been running from our relentless onslaught.” He looked up at her. “But they’re off to help the Irons.”
“Aye. They’re already heading there.”
“You’ve seen it.”
“I’ve seen what the gods have shown me.”
“Could the gods be lying?”
“Of course. But we both know they aren’t this time.”
Brastias nodded. “So we fol ow.”
“Take the Eastern Pass. If I remember the terrain correctly, you’l be able to cut the Sovereign army in half.” He nodded, turned to the commanders of Annwyl’s legions. “We move. Now,” he ordered. “Bring only what each man needs. No more.”
“And Annwyl?” one of the commanders asked.
So Brastias wouldn’t have to lie to his men, Morfyd quickly answered, “I go to her now. But everyone is moving at this moment. Understand?” The commander’s eyes narrowed a bit, but he wasn’t about to chal enge Morfyd. Although her reputation was nothing like Annwyl’s—Morfyd simply didn’t have the body count to her name—they stil knew Morfyd was a She-dragon not to be trifled with.
The men left to get their legions moving and Brastias wrapped his hand around her ankle, sweetly squeezing it.
“Anything?” he asked, his voice very quiet.
“No. Annwyl and the others are blocked from my sight.”
“Also down to your helpful gods?”
“I real y don’t know. The west, past the Aricia Mountains, has always been blocked from my sight and my mother’s. Whether that’s due to the gods or a very powerful witch or mage . . . I do not know.”
“Don’t worry, luv. If there has always been one thing I’ve had faith in, it’s been our mad queen.” Morfyd leaned down in her saddle and kissed Brastias. When she pul ed away, she whispered, “Watch your back, my love. There are always those working against our queen and those loyal to her.”
“Aye,” he answered sadly. “That I do know.”
She left him then, knowing she’d stay behind for a bit. She’d stay behind and wait. Although she had no idea why. And watching Annwyl’s men scramble to head off for more blood and death in battle under Annwyl’s banner, Morfyd realized she no longer had any choice but to do what she’d been resisting since she’d realized Annwyl had gone off with Morfyd’s cousin and niece.
She would now have to contact her mother.
When they were no more than three miles outside of Garbhán Isle, Ren suddenly stopped, bringing the rest of them up short. The Eastlander looked so tired that if Dark Plains had been any farther away, Vigholf would have had to carry him.
“What is it?” Rhona asked Ren.
“They know I’m here. The Kyvich. And they are not pleased.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps they know what I’m doing. I don’t know.”
“You wait here.” Rhona motioned to Vigholf. “Watch them while I let the others know we’re here. The last thing we want is the Kyvich to panic over Ren’s presence and al my cousins need to see is a bloody Lightning about before they—” Rhona shoved him. A good thing too with that giant, steel spear shooting straight at him. But Rhona’s brown claws caught it in mid-flight, the steel tip inches from Vigholf’s throat. The pair stared at each other.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“You’re welcome,” Rhona replied just before a big fist slammed into the back of Vigholf’s head, shoving him forward.
Rhona flew out of the way when Vigholf was suddenly moving toward her due to that silver-scaled fist to the back of his head. Then another fist, this time black, slammed into the Lightning, forcing Vigholf back. But it wasn’t some enemy dragons who’d fol owed them to Dark Plains, but her Uncle Addolgar, the Silver—and good gods! Her father!
While both males mercilessly pummeled Vigholf within an inch of his life, Rhona shoved the spear into Keita’s hands, ignoring the royal’s squeal when it nearly dragged her to the ground below, and quickly flew between the battling males.
“Daddy! Addolgar! No!”
Her father stopped immediately, but Addolgar kicked Vigholf in the face, sending the Lightning flipping back in midair.
She cringed, feeling bad for the Northlander. But seeing her father again . . .
Heartless female! He was getting battered by the wench’s kin, and instead of coming to his defense, she was busy hugging some bloody Fire Breather. Where was the loyalty?
The older silver dragon had his broadsword out, aiming it toward Vigholf’s head. Vigholf yanked his hammer off his back, swinging it through the air, mostly to block the sword. But if he happened to hit the dragon’s head in the process . . .
But before Vigholf’s hammer could hit anything, it was caught and held in a strong claw, as was the older dragon’s sword.
“My daughter,” the big black dragon with red-tinged scales told them calmly, “said to stop. So you’l stop. Even you, Addolgar.” The Silver snarled and yanked his broadsword away. “Someone should have warned us you were coming here, Northlander. Thought you were a threat. Didn’t realize you were just more Lightning scum.”
“I’m so glad we have that truce with you,” Vigholf muttered, wiping the blood that dripped from his nostrils.
“Uncle Addolgar fought against Northlanders in at least three wars, including against your father,” Rhona explained. “So you shouldn’t take it personal y that he sees you al as worthless scum.”
Vigholf stared at the female. “How does that help the situation?” he demanded.
“I’l escort you back,” the black dragon told them al , his smirk reminding Vigholf of Rhona, “so the Lightning can arrive without being accosted.
Poor, weak little thing.”
“Daddy,” Rhona—barely—chastised.
The dragon laughed and, after taking the steel spear from a stil -struggling Keita and tossing it back to Rhona, headed toward Garbhán Isle, Keita and Ren beside him. Vigholf caught Rhona’s forearm. “Daddy?”
“Be glad he was here, Lightning. He’s one of the few strong enough to stop my Uncle Addolgar from doing anything.” Rhona made her way back to the castle, flying over the gates and landing in the courtyard.
The castle grounds weren’t at al like Rhona remembered. Instead of the cheerful place with al the vendors in the courtyard and outside the castle grounds, it had become a military outpost. Siege weapons lined the inside of the wal s and someone had begun to build a moat. Only a smal portion was finished, but already there was something alive and rather unfriendly looking swimming in the murky water.
No. This wasn’t the place she remembered.
Rhona nodded at cousins, smiled at aunts and uncles, but it was her father she ran to, her father whose arms she threw herself into.
“My girl,” Sulien the Smithy whispered, gripping her tight. “My beautiful, precious girl.”
“Oh, Daddy, I’ve missed you so.”
“And I you.” He stepped back, looked her over, and smiled. “So beautiful.”
She handed over the stainless steel spear that had nearly impaled the Lightning. “Not one of yours,” she noted.
“You know my work.” He leaned in, whispered, “This is shoddy.” He motioned to the emergency spear strapped to her back. “And where’s your spear?”
Rhona glared over at the Lightning who’d landed behind her father. “It’s in pieces,” she complained.
“It was an accident,” Vigholf shot back. “I told you I was sorry.”
“But you didn’t mean it!”
“Don’t worry,” her father soothed. “I have something for you anyway.” His brown eyes sparkled. “Something better.” Rhona grinned, feeling real excitement. “What? Tel me!”
“Get settled in first. I’m sure you’re here for a reason, so finish al that, then find me at the forge.” Her father smiled at her, his claw petting her cheek. “Glad you’re back, little one. Wil you be staying long?”
“I’l probably head back tomorrow.”
“Then we’l make the most of our time today.”
Chapter 9
“We’re heading back tomorrow?” Vigholf asked Rhona once her father was gone. “You don’t think they need us here?”
“Unless my orders change . . .”
“Right, right.” Gods, this woman and her bloody orders. “I just don’t want to leave this place undefended.” For a brief moment he saw the concern on Rhona’s face, but then one of the Kyvich walked between them, ignoring the much bigger dragons surrounding her. The witch carried the head of some human male. It looked to be a foreigner, but stil .... “Jesel a,” the witch cal ed out and tossed the head to another witch. “You know what to do with that. Tonight’s a ful moon.”