Last Dragon Standing (8 page)

“You forgot about him, didn’t you?” Ren demanded.

“I had other things on my mind.”

“How do you do that? How do you just…let it go?” Keita lifted her hands and dropped them. “What can I say? I’m much too beautiful and benevolent to hold grudges. Besides”—she took her friend’s arm—“isn’t being mad at a Northlander like being mad at a stampeding bull or a rabbit that keeps breeding or a startled bear that mauls?”

Ren gazed down at her. “Are you actually comparing a fellow dragon to dumb, mindless animals?”

50

Keita’s grin was wide as they headed back to the Northlanders. “Why yes, Ren. Yes, I am. And that’s what makes me so lovely—because I accept them
despite
their faults.”

“By the gods of thunder, Keita—you
are
giving.”

“I know!”

51

Several hours later they landed in a dense forest in the Outerplains.

An area Keita knew quite well. Too well. It was the place her aunt had chosen to live quietly and anonymously the last few centuries. The aunt her mother and court still considered a traitor.

Feeling a tinge of panic, she glanced at Ren, who could only shrug.

“Are we camping here for the night?” she asked the warlord while her baby brother went off in search of something warm and bloody for them all to eat. And, for the first time since they’d taken off from outside Bampour’s lands, Ragnar spoke to her. “Not unless we have to.”

“We’re just taking a break here then?”

“Yes.”

She waited for something more, but he ignored her after that, and began whispering to his brother. When he was done, Ragnar walked off, and Keita did not like the direction the Lightning went in.

Keita brushed up against Ren, appearing impossibly playful, her tail tugging with his. But as she giggled and teased, she leaned in and whispered,

“Do you see where he’s headed?”

“Aye. I do.”

“I’ll kill him. You take care of the other two.” She started to follow after Ragnar, but Ren pulled her back.

“Are we still forced to have this conversation?”

“What would you suggest then, Duke No-Kill?”

“You
delay
King Big Head. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Fine.”

Ren kissed her cheek and backed away from her. He moved around until he caught the attention of the other two Lightnings. It wasn’t hard—

they’d been watching Ren with something very close to fear since they’d first seen him. At least, as much fear as any Northlander was willing to show. All they knew was that Ren was different; and clearly different made them nervous.

While they watched, Ren leaned up against a small hill—and vanished.

“What the bloody—”

Knowing the Lightnings would spend ages searching for him, Keita followed after Ragnar.

52

Dagmar Reinholdt, also known as The Beast among her Northland kinsmen, went to the kennels to do a midday check on all the dogs. Her latest batch of puppies were doing well, and the men she’d handpicked to train and work the dogs during battle were better than she’d hoped.

Always thinking ahead, Dagmar planned to be prepared with strong battle dogs for the Southland Queen and her troops.

She ensured they had been fed, that all were looking healthy, and that they all had fresh water in their runs. Once she’d done all that, she walked down the line, speaking to each animal while noting any changes and thinking about their training.

But as she reached the last cage, the barking dogs, always so chatty when she was around, suddenly fell silent, and Dagmar felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up the slightest bit.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said after a moment.

“Do what?”

She faced the god behind her. Many gods enjoyed visiting her now, no matter how annoying Dagmar found their presence or how inane their conversation, but Eirianwen, human god and consort to dragon father god, Rhydderch Hael, liked to call Dagmar her “friend.” Which was strange since Dagmar still didn’t worship any god. They were simply too annoying to be worshipped. “Do not sneak up on me.”

“I’m a god, Dagmar. I don’t sneak up on anyone. It’s not my fault I can simply appear wherever I’d like.”

Dagmar’s head tilted to the side. “Where’s your arm?” Eir examined her left shoulder. “Oh. Right. Lost it in a fight.” She shrugged with her right shoulder. “It’ll grow back.”

“How nice for you.”

Not the most pleasant thing to see before luncheon. Of course, it could be worse. A few months back, the god had shown up missing half her head.

After Dagmar finished retching, though, they had a very nice conversation.

“So how goes it?” Eir asked.

“Well enough.”

“And your queen?”

Dagmar knew the sneaky cow wasn’t here merely to check up on her.

“She’s fine.”

“Liar.”

“But you already knew that about me.”

“Excellent point.” Eir walked over, a trail of shit and blood and mud left in her wake. She must have come right off a battlefield somewhere by 53

the looks of her. “I thought I made it clear to you, my friend, that your queen needs to toughen up.”

Annoyed the god had the nerve to say that, Dagmar replied, “If she were any tougher, she’d be nothing but muscles, eyes, and a sword.”

“I don’t mean physically, and you know it.”

“She’s doing the best she can. You can’t actually blame her for worrying about her children. Not after what your consort did.”

“Don’t blame him.”

“Why not? This is his fault.”

“You still haven’t forgiven him, have you?”

“After throwing me to Minotaurs? You must be joking.”

“You humans take everything so damn personally.”

“When I’m thrown to Minotaurs—you’re right.”

“Fine. Be that way.” The door behind Dagmar opened, and Eir walked out, brushing past her.

Dagmar watched her and finally asked, “And where’s Nannulf?” She couldn’t think of a time that she’d seen the goddess without her loyal wolf-god companion.

“Off taking care of something.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Dagmar scowled. She didn’t like the sound of that whatsoever.

Ragnar tromped through the trees toward Esyld’s house. He hated doing this. He hated being the one to bring her back to Dark Plains. But he already had a plan.

Initially, he’d thought of telling Esyld to run and then reporting to Rhiannon that she wasn’t at her house. Yet he had a feeling the queen would never believe it and he still didn’t think the Horde was ready to get on her bad side. Plus, there was the risk that Esyld wouldn’t run. She had that air about her. As if she was determined to stand her ground. He admired that about her.

So his next option wasn’t perfect but better than nothing. He’d offer to argue her case before Rhiannon and the Southland Elders. He knew a bit of Fire Breather law, and with a good friend’s help—at least he hoped they were still friends—Ragnar felt certain he could build a solid case that would protect Esyld.

Yes, it seemed the most fair and logical thing to do, and all he needed was for Esyld not to worry. Not easy, he was sure, but he would do everything he could to keep her safe. Because if Rhiannon really did want her sister dead, she would have sent her mate’s kin to retrieve Esyld rather 54

than him.

Confident in his decision, Ragnar tromped on.

Near the clearing that led to Esyld’s house, Ragnar stopped. He had been walking for little more than ten minutes, but still…

Turning his head, Ragnar looked over his shoulder. She sat in the middle of his back on her rump, her tail and wings hanging over one side, her crossed back legs over the other. She used a metal file to sharpen her talons—and she hummed.

How long has she been back there?

Ragnar had always prided himself on the sharpness of his senses.

Hearing a rabbit’s twitching nose a mile away, spotting a hawk twenty miles above, or scenting fresh cattle a hundred miles off. But how could he not know that a spoiled royal was using him like a beast of burden? How could he not hear that gods-damn humming?

He geared up to shake her off, but she asked, “Where are we going?”

“I have some business to take care of.”

“Business? Out here? By yourself?” She lifted her claw and blew on her talons.

“I was coming right back.”

“Yes, but you might be in danger. I could help.”
Right. Of course you could.
“It would be better if you return to my brothers.”

She slid off his back, her tail taking an enormously long time to slide up and over him as she walked around.

“Lord Ragnar, may I ask you a question?”

“If you’d like.”

“Do you not like me?”

Unsure where this might be going, Ragnar simply stated, “I thought our relationship was decided two years ago, princess.”

“But that was such a long time ago. There’s no reason for us not to be friends now.”

“Friends? You and I?”

She stroked her claw along his shoulder, down his chest, her talons scraping against the scar her tail had left. Part of Ragnar wanted to break every talon she had out of pure spite. Yet another, weaker, part of him wanted to close his eyes and moan.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, her talons now concentrating on that scar. “That I’m too good for you. And, of course among some circles, you’d be absolutely right. But I’m a very progressive royal and I don’t let little things like unimpressive bloodlines and barbaric tendencies 55

stop me from having the friends I want.”

“That’s very big of you.”

“I’ve always thought so.” She pressed her claw to his chest, the damn scar under it angrily throbbing to life. “I’ve always thought it’s more important to have friends you can trust,” she murmured, “than friends who are merely your equal in every other way that matters.” No. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep talking to this vapid, insipid female. No matter how much his body longed for her—and gods, was his cock screaming at him right now—it was beyond his capabilities as a dragon and a Northlander to put up with this female. And not only that…what in all holy hells did she think she was doing with her tail?

Ragnar slammed his back claw down on the princess’s tail before it slid any farther where it should not be.

“Ow!” She yanked her tail back and moved away from him.

“Sorry. Was that your tail? I thought it was a snake.” He caught hold of her arm and pulled her around. “Now if you’ll go back to my brothers—”

“Get your claws off me, peasant!”

“—I promise I won’t be long and we can discuss all your progressive views on peasants and royalty to your heart’s content.” He shoved her in the direction of his kin. “Now go, princess, before I’m forced to get—” The crazed princess attached herself to his head and held on, cutting off his next words and making him sigh a little.

“What are you doing?”

“Obviously I’m beating you into submission!”

“Are you not the least bit embarrassed by this display?”

“Not as embarrassed as you’ll be when I’m done with you.” Ragnar caught hold of her wing, pulled the royal off, and tossed her away.

She rolled and squealed, but quickly scrambled to her claws. She crouched in what appeared to be a poorly planned attack.

“Princess Keita, I wouldn’t—”

She charged him and again wrapped herself around his head.

Honestly, he didn’t have time for this. And it especially didn’t help that she smelled rather nice for a female who’d been trapped in a dungeon for who knew how long with human males.

He caught hold of her again, prepared to fling her as far away as necessary, but a voice beside them said, “She’s not there.” Ragnar recognized the voice of the foreigner.

Keita’s head came up. “What do you mean she’s not there?”

“She’s not there.”

56

While this vapid female had kept Ragnar distracted, the foreigner had gotten around them. Realizing he’d been duped, Ragnar yanked the princess off and slammed her to the ground.

“Och!” she yelped. “You rude bastard!”

Ragnar ignored her and raised his claw to the foreigner, unleashing a powerful blast of wind that would shove him back into the tree behind him and let him understand Ragnar was not to be toyed with. But other than the fur on his head getting blown back, the foreign dragon did nothing but stare at him.

Having witnessed the grass, leaves, and trees moving from the energy he’d unleashed, Ragnar glanced down at his claw and back up to the princess’s traveling companion.

“Oh,” the foreigner replied, sounding almost lazy with boredom.

“Was I supposed to fall back, arms flailing, from that? Sorry. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

The princess giggled at that until Ragnar silenced her with one glare.

It wasn’t being laughed at that bothered him; it was the power he
didn’t
sense coming off this dragon. A power Ragnar now knew the foreigner must have because he managed to hide it from him. Did the princess have any idea? And, for that matter, why would a mage this strong waste his time with someone so insipid? So useless? So pretty? Wait. He meant so stupid. Not pretty.
Where did pretty come from?

The foreigner walked around him, helping the still-outraged princess to her claws.

“Are you all right?”

“I am
not
all right,” she complained. “That barbarian assaulted me, and in the process, I scraped my ass on some rocks.” She tried to see the damage but only managed to turn herself in a circle.

“Your aunt’s gone, Keita. Has been for some time, I’d wager.”

“That’s impossible.” She stopped trying to see her ass and opted for rubbing it instead. “Esyld never leaves her house except to go into town.”

“That you know of. It’s not like you see her every day.” A moment of regret passed, her shoulders slumping a little, but then those brown eyes locked on Ragnar. “What do you want with my aunt, warlord?”

“That’s a question for your mother. She’s the one who sent me here.” For a painful moment, Ragnar felt as if he’d hit the princess, she appeared so stricken. He would have said nothing if he’d known his words would cause such a reaction.