Dagmar Reinholdt stood on the top step of the stairs leading into the queen’s castle. Even though it was late, she gazed out over the courtyard and wracked her brain, once again, about ways she could protect Garbhán Isle and the family she had inside.
As things spiraled out of control around them, Dagmar had been determined to not only keep Garbhán Isle as safe as possible for all those within but to keep it as much the place she’d always known so that when Annwyl and the others returned, they’d have something to return to.
On Dagmar’s left stood her only son, Unnvar. On her right, her loyal nephew Frederick.
Together, the most reasonable beings Dagmar knew stood and studied the territory they had all committed to protecting.
They’d been doing this every morning and every night. Coming out here, staring, and wondering if they’d missed anything.
“The tunnels,” Var prompted.
The tunnels that the minotaurs had used to invade their territory from the Ice Lands. An attempt to end Annwyl’s life before she gave birth to the twins.
Turned out those minotaurs had been unnecessary. Annwyl’s twins eventually killed her themselves. Their births had been too much for the queen’s human body. But a god had brought Annwyl back and the queen had made it her business to fight anyone who had a problem with the presence of her babies. Then the presence of Talaith and Briec’s child, Rhi. Then all the others. The children of humans and dragons, which included Dagmar’s own offspring. Unnvar. Her eldest daughter Arlais. And the five younger ones that everyone called “Gwenvael’s Five.”
Offspring who’d had no choice in the games of gods. And that’s what all this was.
The games of gods.
But unlike the witches and priests who worshipped the gods, Dagmar didn’t. She believed in them. Knew they existed. But she did not make sacrifices or call on them in times of trouble. Especially since she believed that most often the cause of the “trouble” was the gods themselves.
Instead, Dagmar relied on reason to guide her decisions and life. Nice, sound, logical reason.
“Eh,” she heard from behind her. “Reason is overrated.”
Dagmar let out a sigh, not bothering to turn around and look at the god standing at her back.
Eirianwen. Goddess of war and death. The one who had given Annwyl her life back all those years ago, but not the one who had given humans the ability to mate with dragons. That had been her longtime mate, Rhydderch Hael, father of all dragons.
Frederick, oblivious to the god’s presence, continued to stare out over the courtyard, looking for any signs of weakness. Var, however, glanced back at the god, eyed her once, before ignoring her completely.
“Just like your mother,” Eir laughed. “He has more contempt than you, though.”
“Perhaps he has more reason.”
Frederick looked at Dagmar, frowned, but then his expression cleared. “Ah. Visitors.”
Then he too ignored the ongoing conversation. Frederick still had a god or two he insisted on worshipping. Otherwise reason would make the gods easy to see. Although Dagmar had begun to believe that her nephew continued to worship those gods only because he had no desire to see any in the flesh. He had no desire to talk to them when they were bored. No desire to find them sitting on his bed late at night, wanting “a bit of a chat.”
The boy had always been smart.
“Your son has grown, I see. Looks more like his father every day.” Eir’s grin was wide. “Gwenvael’s going to loathe him.”
“Why are you here?” Dagmar asked, facing her.
“Can’t a girl come see her friend for a bit of a—”
“If you say ‘bit of a chat,’ I’m going to scream.”
Eir laughed. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“Where is she?”
The god gave a very convincing frown. “Where is who?”
“You know who. Annwyl. Rhiannon knows she’s disappeared. Where did you take her? Or was it Chramnesind? Maybe his Zealots.”
“None of us have Annwyl.”
“And you’d know?”
“Of course I’d know. I’ve been connected to that woman since our bargain was paid in full. And right now, she is no longer in my sight.”
“And Chramnesind—”
“He can hide nothing from me. So, no. I don’t think he has her.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“Nothing in this world is sure. You should have figured that out by now.”
“Then why are you here?” Var abruptly asked, facing the god. He showed no fear, gazing directly into Eir’s brown eyes. “Why are you bothering my mother?”
“I didn’t see it as bothering, but if you—”
With an annoyed sigh, her son turned his back on the god. Dagmar had to fight hard not to react to the look of shock on the god’s face.
“Did . . . did he just dismiss me?” she asked.
“He did. Wouldn’t take it personally, though,” Dagmar explained. “He does that to everyone who bores him or can’t give him what he wants.”
“Can’t? Don’t you mean won’t?”
“No. I meant can’t.”
The god raised a finger. Not to strike Dagmar and her precious son down, but to argue, as she always seemed to enjoy doing. But before Eir could speak a word . . .
“Good evening, small Northland female and the males she will not give us for our strong daughters!”
Dagmar rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth. Eir cringed and disappeared. Not even a god wanted to face the Kolesova sisters. They were Daughters of the Steppes and, as Var had pointed out more than once, “pains in our collective asses.”
“Talking to yourself again, tiny Northlander?”
Dagmar slowly turned to face the two females that Annwyl had sent to “protect such a weak, insignificant woman.”
She wanted to think that Annwyl really had been worried about Dagmar and her nieces and nephew by mating. But Dagmar knew better. The treacherous heifer had simply been tired of dealing with the three sisters. They’d committed themselves to fighting by Annwyl’s side in the hopes of a glorious death so they could go to their horse gods with honor. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
But from what Dagmar had heard when information still flowed freely, they kept getting between Annwyl and those she wanted to kill. They thought they were protecting her. Annwyl saw it as plain rude.
The tribe the Kolesovas came from were considered annoying by their own people. Large, hearty females who didn’t know how to lower their voices or keep from insulting people. They found men to be weak and stupid and only good for breeding. More than once Dagmar had had to step in when they’d get drunk and round up men too young to fight to send to their multitude of daughters left back in the Steppes.
Six months ago, when Annwyl had sent them back with orders to “protect all those I love at Garbhán Isle,” there had been three sisters.
On their trip back, though, the three women fell into the hands of a battalion of Zealots. At least four hundred strong. All human. All loyal to Chramnesind.
Two days later, when the dust finally settled, only two of the sisters were left. But the battalion had been wiped out completely. The remaining pair brought back the body of their younger sister Inessa so they could have a proper funeral pyre and several days of mourning without worrying that more Zealots would come for them.
Those were the longest ten days of Dagmar’s life. It wasn’t the funeral pyre. The Southlanders and dragons did the same. And her people, the Northlanders, also burned their dead, putting them on wooden boats and setting them out to sea in flames.
So, no, it wasn’t the pyre that had bothered her. But the singing. For five days, the two women stood in the middle of the courtyard with their sister’s rotting corpse and sang songs of mourning to her “trapped” spirit.
Finally, on the fifth day, they’d built a funeral pyre and put their sister upon it and set her aflame.
Dagmar had let out a sigh o
f relief, thinking it was all over.
It wasn’t.
What came next was five more days of singing songs of celebration for their sister’s “freed” spirit.
And despite ten days of continuous singing, their horrid voices not only didn’t fade, but they bloody traveled. For miles, their voices traveled.
Once the mourning and celebration were over, the two Riders had gone on to obey Annwyl’s orders . . . by following Dagmar around. As if they were her dogs. But, unlike her dogs, they couldn’t follow orders. At least not from her. The Daughters of the Steppes had no respect for the “North-women” as they called Dagmar’s womenfolk. They thought them weak and unworthy of the respect they offered warrior women like Annwyl and Izzy.
Lately she’d been finding them camped outside her room inside the castle, like two stray dogs that had latched on to her for some reason. Except Dagmar’s dogs smelled better.
“Where have you two been?” Dagmar asked the women, since they rarely left her side these days.
“We do not trust these lizards the Dragon Queen has put in charge of your lands. So we went around to make sure all is well.”
“Those lizards,” Var informed them, “are my kin. I’d strongly suggest you remember that.”
“Does it not bother you, boy,” Nika, the eldest sister asked, “to be half of one thing and half of another? Would you not rather be all human, like me and my sister?”
Var laughed until he noticed the sisters did not join him. “Oh. You’re serious?”
“Come, Oksana,” Nika ordered her sister. “Let us go feed.”
They came up the steps, Oksana pausing to glare at Var. “I think our amazing daughters deserve better than this . . . strange boy.”
Var smirked, looking more like his father than Dagmar wanted to think about.
Leaning in, he said to the Rider, “I can unhinge my jaw and swallow your soul whole . . . or you can get out of my sight, Oksana Kolesova of the Mountain Movers of the Lands of Pain in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains.”
Lifting her chin, trying to at least pretend she wasn’t terrified at the threat of her soul ending up inside Dagmar’s son, Oksana sniffed and followed her sister into the Main Hall.
“Can you really do that?” Frederick asked Var.
“Do what?”
“Swallow her soul whole?”
Var snorted. “Of course not . . . but I can unhinge my jaw.” He shrugged at Frederick’s concerned expression. “At least I don’t have a tail. Some of my fellow Abominations have tails.”
* * *
Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains came out of her room, tying the black patch she often wore to cover her missing eye, only to immediately stop when she found the Kolesova sisters waiting for her.
She hated dealing with the Kolesova sisters. They were nice enough, usually. But they were such—such!—pains in the ass.
But they were here to protect Dagmar Reinholdt who Elina had become quite fond of over the last few years.
“Do you want something, Kolesovas?” she asked in the language of their people as her stomach grumbled. “You are denying me food.”
“You have become soft, Elina Shestakova, living among these decadent people who give you everything.”
“Yes. I know. My sister informed me of that last time she was here. I’ve just learned to accept it. Is there anything else?”
“That boy,” Nika said.
“You’ll have to be much more specific.”
“Dagmar Reinholdt’s son. Is he a demon who can eat souls?”
“Are you talking about Var?”
“Yes.”
Talaith, mate of Briec the Mighty, and mother of her own Abomination, was heading toward the Main Hall. She smiled at Elina as she walked by.
She caught Talaith’s arm and pulled her close. “Nika and Oksana want to know if our Var is a demon who eats souls.”
The two women stared at each other for a long moment before they faced the Kolesova sisters and said together, “Yes. Yes, he is.”
“Thank you, Elina Shestakova; Talaith, the brown one—”
“I wish you’d stop calling me that.”
“—we now know to avoid the boy. But I think the Northwoman is safe with him. He seems to like her. As much as a demon can like anyone.”
Talaith nodded. “Excellent point.”
The Kolesova sisters walked off and Elina let out a breath. “Thank you, Talaith.”
“Let me ask you, Elina . . .” Talaith put her hand on Elina’s shoulder and leaned in close. “. . . can we kill them with honor? You know, give them that glorious death they’re so desperate for? So we can stop having these bizarre conversations in the hallway.”
“Sadly, Kolesovas are very hard to kill. I know this because many have tried.” The two women made their way to the Main Hall and dinner. “But I am sure that if anyone can figure out how to kill them . . . it will be Dagmar Reinholdt.”
“And she is so close, my friend.” Talaith sighed out. “So close.”
Chapter Eleven
Aidan awoke before the two suns rose. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair, immediately noticing that Brannie was gone.
Getting up, he glanced over at the only other one who was awake. Rhona. Her hair was wet and she was already dressed to face the hard travels ahead.
Aidan motioned to Brannie’s empty bedroll and Rhona jerked her thumb west, through the trees.
Yawning, he eased his way out of the camp so he didn’t wake the others and headed west. Eventually he heard running water. He came through the trees just as Brannie broke the surface of the water, heading straight up into the still-dark sky. Her dragon form spun several times, hovering over that lake—and Aidan couldn’t look away.
What short tail? Her tail was . . . perfection.
Brannie spun one more time, turned over, and shot back down until she hit the lake.
Aidan jerked back but not fast enough, and he ended up drenched from head to foot.
With his arms spread out from his body, Aidan watched Brannie step from the lake in human form. She dug her fingers into her medium-length hair and shook the black strands out. It wasn’t until she flipped her head back that she saw Aidan standing there. And laughed.
“Yes, yes. Very funny,” he said with a smile.
“Just shift,” she told him around her laughter. “That’ll dry you off quick enough.”
Aidan did as Brannie suggested and she was right. When he went back to human, he and his new chain mail were completely dry.
“Anyone else up?” she asked, combing her hair off her face with her fingers.
“Just Rhona.”
“Of course.”
Aidan went to the lake’s edge and crouched down. He scooped water into his hand and brought it to his mouth, drinking deeply. He took several more scoops before standing and turning....
Brannie’s ass was right there. She’d bent over at the waist to shake her hair out once again. Was she doing this on purpose? Because he didn’t appreciate it one bit.
He leaned down and grabbed the robe that went with their surcoat and placed it over Brannie’s shoulders when she stood up.
She looked down at the robe, then up at Aidan.
“Uh . . . why?” she asked, appearing confused.
Stepping away from Brannie and facing her, he didn’t answer her question. “What’s our plan for today?”
Brannie frowned, black eyes watching him closely. After a few seconds, she replied, “Believe it or not, I’m leaving that up to Keita.” Without warning, she suddenly tossed the robe off her shoulders. Hands on her hips, she stood there. “This is really her mission. So, wherever we go, it will be up to her.”
“You have a point,” he said, moving closer so he could snatch up her robe and put it back over her shoulders. He briefly held the robe closed in front of her. But as soon as Aidan released th
e wool material, Brannie tossed it off her shoulders again.
Growling, Aidan picked it up again and put it around her shoulders. There was a struggle between them. Aidan trying to keep the robe on her. Brannie trying to take it off.
Brannie yanked the robe from Aidan’s grip. “What is wrong with you?” she asked, still laughing.
“Nothing,” he lied, stepping away from her. “Nothing. I . . . just don’t want you to get sick. It’s cold out here . . . and you’re”—he swallowed—“wet.”
“I’m a dragon.”
“Yes, I know,” Aidan snapped. “I saw your tail.” He glanced off. “It’s perfect, by the way.”
“Really? I’ve heard it’s stubby.”
“It’s not stubby.”
“Huh.”
Aidan heard that tone and immediately got defensive on her behalf. “Tell me you’re not listening to those two idiots.”
“Caswyn and Uther? Hardly.”
“That’s good because their ‘stubby’ opinion may be my fault.”
“Oh?”
“It was when we met with you and Izzy that first time and Uther and Caswyn were practically drowning in their own drool while they watched you bathe, so I may have said something about your tail—”
“Being stubby?”
“I never said stubby. I said ‘a little short,’ assuming they would lose interest since they are definitely dragons who do like a good tail.”
“They’re that easily manipulated by you?”
“Yes. Yes, they are.”
“I see. But you didn’t mean it?”
“Absolutely not. I just didn’t want Éibhear tearing off their wings for lusting after his favorite cousin.”
“But you like my tail.”
“Of course I do . . .” Aidan cleared his throat. “In a . . . non-lusty, just as friends way.”
“I see. Well that’s good. I’m glad you cleared that up for me.”
“Me too.”
He peered up at the sky—not hard since Brannie had tossed off that damn robe again—and still saw no signs of the two suns yet. “Still dark, but I know Rhona. She’ll be getting everyone up in a bit.”
Without looking at Brannie, Aidan headed back toward the trees. He’d just reached the line when Brannie’s hand fell on his shoulder and she turned him to face her.