The stranger picked up the head by its hair and held it high for all of them to see, slowly turning once so they could get a good look. Then he pitched it to the ground at the claws of the remaining Spikes, chuckling when the head bounced up and hit the Spike’s leader in the snout.
The stranger turned from the Spikes and faced Ragnar and his kin. Talons reached up and pulled the hood of the fur cloak from his head so that braided blue hair spilled out, pieces of leather and animal bone weaved throughout the strands. Just like the Ice Landers wore.
“Maybe this Ice Lander wants to immigrate,” Vigholf suggested. “Not that I blame him. . . . Are those bones in his hair on purpose?”
“I think so. Perhaps it’s a fashion thing. Like Keita and her dresses.”
“Maybe the Ice Landers make you wear bones in your hair.”
The Ice Lander walked over to Ragnar and stopped. “Oy.”
Surprised by his familiar tone, Ragnar frowned, but he quickly caught hold of Meinhard’s arm to stop his cousin from pulling his battle axe and chopping off the Ice Lander’s head for rudeness to the Dragonlord Chief.
“Yes?” Ragnar asked.
“Where’s my sister?”
Ragnar frowned again. “How the hells would I know?”
The Ice Lander blinked. “What did she do? Leave you?” He shrugged. “Well . . . you did last longer than most.”
Completely confused and annoyed, Ragnar released his cousin’s arm so that Meinhard could take the whelp’s head and they could finish this bloody battle with the bloody Spikes and get on with their bloody lives! But a female voice behind them stopped Meinhard from striking.
“Éibhear?”
Ragnar glanced back at Rhona the Fearless, Vigholf’s female, as she moved through the crowd of soldiers, removing the helmet she’d made herself as their lead blacksmith. Most blacksmiths didn’t involve themselves in battles, but Rhona was such a damn good soldier, Ragnar didn’t complain. Vigholf certainly didn’t either—he knew better.
“Éibhear’s here?” Vigholf asked. “Where?”
She pointed at the Ice Lander. “Right there.”
Shocked to his core, Ragnar looked first at his brother, then at his cousin . . . then at the boy. The useless, ridiculous, love-sick boy that they’d summarily dismissed, briefly respected, then had no longer been able to tolerate until the blue dragon’s father had him assigned to some other unit within the Dragon Queen’s army.
Mouth hanging open, Vigholf shook his head, and Meinhard muttered, “It can’t be.”
“Éibhear?” Ragnar asked again.
“Yeah. My sister?” he pushed.
“What?”
“Keita. Remember her? Gods, how long ago did she leave you?” he snapped, annoying Ragnar again. Rude whelp!
“She hasn’t left me, you worthless little sh—”
“Then where is she?”
Vigholf, his mouth still hanging open, pointed toward the mountains where they’d left Keita with a battalion of soldiers to protect her.
“Good.” Éibhear looked behind him. “Mì-runachs—with me.” He walked into the crowd of Northland soldiers, patting Rhona’s shoulder as he passed. Ragnar watched him for a long while until another Fire Breather dressed in the fashion of the Ice Lands stood in front of him. This one held out a blood-covered white dragon head to him. “You want this?”
Without thinking, Ragnar took the head of the one-time Spikes leader, wondering when the young leader had been killed, since less than a minute ago he’d been quite alive.
“You know the scariest part of all this?” Vigholf asked as he stepped aside to allow the three other Mì-runachs to follow Éibhear.
“What?”
“Since we last saw him, that blue bastard actually got bigger.”
Keita lay stretched out on the floor, a book on the topic of poisons in front of her. She went through each kind, trying to find which could best be used to poison the water supply of the Spikes. She longed to return to the warmth of her Southland home for a little holiday, but these constant battles with these ridiculous Ice Landers had made it impossible. Honestly, these Northerners! All they did was fight! Constantly! It was like living with her Cadwaladr kin all the time.
She turned another page. “Oooh,” she sighed, when she saw a root that might be perfect for what she needed. But before she could read further, she heard one of the soldiers who guarded her cavern give a warning cry, then the sounds of battle.
Keita quickly got to her claws and swiped up some Ved bark. If necessary, she could force it into a dragon’s mouth and end him quite quickly.
An Ice Land dragon stalked through the cavern entry.
“Keita,” he said, his voice indescribably low. She was shocked that he knew her name.
The dragon moved toward her, but she quickly raised her empty claw, halting him. “You’ll never take me alive!” Then she thought on that proclamation a bit and added, “All right. You can, of course, take me alive. But most importantly, try not to damage this face.” She lowered her head a bit and looked up through her lashes. “Or these beautiful fangs.” Then she smiled.
The dragon leaned back from her, a look of disgust on his face. At least, it looked like disgust. Hard to tell with all that blue hair in his face. Wait . . . shouldn’t his hair be whiter? Or silver? Or something that easily melded in with the snow-covered world of the Ice Lands?
“It’s me, you little idiot,” the invader said.
She crossed her forearms over her chest. “I can say with all honesty that I’ve never f**ked an Ice Lander before. And I’m not about to start now!”
The invader closed his eyes, sighed long and deep. “It’s me . . . Éibhear.”
“Éibhear who?”
He threw down his blade. “Your brother!”
Keita’s arms slowly fell to her sides and her mouth opened as she stared at the dragon in front of her. Then she exploded into laughter that rocked the cave walls.
“How do you forget your own brother?”
“Don’t blame me!” Keita argued around her hysterical and, to be honest, quite annoying laughter. “How was I supposed to recognize you when you look like the lowest barbarian known to dragon or gods?”
“I’ve been in the Ice Lands for a decade, you snobby cow! I had to blend.”
“Well . . . blend you did.”
Disgusted, Éibhear turned to go. Sorry he’d ever come. But before he could take more than a step, Keita grabbed his forearm and caught hold.
“I’m sorry.” Although she was still laughing. “I’m sorry.” She stepped in front of him and wrapped her arms around his chest. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“Really? It was a bit hard to tell.”
“You have grown quite a bit, baby brother.” Her head fell back so she could look up at him. “I can’t even get my forearms around you! You’re gargantuan!”
“I’m not that big.”
“Hopefully you’ve finally stopped growing or you might cover the world, my handsome, majestic brother.”
“You’ll not fool me with your centaur-shit platitudes,” he muttered, even as he put his own forearms around her and hugged her tight. “No matter how sweet you may act. I know the truth about Keita the Viper.”
“Of course you do. You’re a prince of the mightiest dragons on earth. I’d expect no less.” She rested her head against his chest and sighed. “So . . . what brings you here?”
“Come to kill some cannibal dragon for the Northlanders, then I thought I’d go home for a bit. Since I haven’t been in a while.”
He felt his sister tense against him. “You’re going home? Now?”
“Aye.”
“Huh.” She pulled away, moved around him. “Does Mother know? Or Fearghus and the others?”
“No. Why?”
“Oh . . . well, I think that there’s some very important assignment they need you involved in.”
“What assignment?”
“Not sure of all the details, but I’m certain I can find out. But I think you’ll need to take care of that first before you return home.”
“Really?” Éibhear slowly turned so that he could keep his sister in sight.
“Aye. I’m sorry, love. I know how much you want to go home and see everyone. I’m sure this assignment will take no time at all.”
“How long, do you think?”
“Two . . . three weeks at most. Then you can be home and we can all spend some time together.”
“You’re lying, Keita.”
Keita gasped and spun around to face him. “Éibhear! How could you say something like that to me? Me?”
“Because I know when you’re lying. And you’re lying. There’s no assignment. If there was, my commander would have told me about it. So then my question becomes, why don’t you want me to go home? After ten bloody years?”
“Of course I want you to go home. Go! Ignore your duties. I’m sure everyone will be very happy to see you, little brother.”
Éibhear crossed his forearms over his chest and tapped one talon of his back claw. “Tell me, Keita”—and he knew he was practically begging because he was so damn annoyed—“tell me this has nothing to do with Izzy.”
“What? Of course not! That’s a ridiculous thing to even ask. What would Izzy have to do with anything?”
Again, he knew his sister was lying. This had everything to do with Izzy.
Little Izzy the Dangerous. At least that’s how he’d thought of her when he’d first met her. She’d only been sixteen then. Pretty but awkward. All long legs and gangly arms. And a child. Even worse than that—his niece. No. Not by blood. But his brother had taken Izzy’s mother as his mate and the entire family had accepted both mother and daughter as their own. Something that wouldn’t have been a problem if Izzy had just stayed that awkward, gangly child. But she hadn’t, had she? She’d kept growing, getting stronger and more beautiful nearly every day. Something that probably wouldn’t have been a problem if his kin had just left the whole thing alone.
But they hadn’t then, and it seemed they wouldn’t now.
“Izzy?” Ragnar said as he walked into the cavern, Meinhard and Vigholf behind him. “Is he going to pick her up instead of us?”
Keita flinched the slightest bit, but Éibhear saw it . . . and smirked.
“Oh, I’ll pick her up,” Éibhear quickly offered, not even knowing where the hells the woman might be and not remotely caring.
“No, you will not,” Keita said, panic in her voice.
Vigholf pointed outside the cavern. “What did you do to the guards, boy?”
“They got in my way,” Éibhear explained before refocusing on his sister. “And why wouldn’t I go to get my dear niece?”
“Because I said so.”
“Did you actually tell the guards who you are?” Vigholf continued on.