Chapter Sixteen
“You don’t really think I’m going to let you kill yourself, do you?” Brannie asked her cousin.
“You’ll do what I tell you to do,” Keita snapped back, walking quickly through the streets. “But just so we’re clear, destroying the perfection that is me is not my first choice.”
“If I have any say—”
“You don’t, cousin.”
“Keita—”
The She-dragon stopped so quickly, both Brannie and Aidan almost rammed right into her. She pointed a small but angry-looking finger in their faces.
“You will do as I tell you, Branwen.”
Brannie grabbed Keita’s finger and twisted it down until she yelped.
“Vile beast!”
“This isn’t about who’s in charge, cousin,” Brannie calmly explained. “Because whether you’re a royal and I am a grunt, we are—in the end—both Cadwaladrs. And I’m not about to let you do something that will bring shame upon our kin. So let’s just get over to the Eastlands, kill whoever needs to be killed, and then at least attempt to get back home before they kill us all.”
Holding her wounded finger against her chest, Keita glowered at Brannie. But it was obvious she had nothing to say back to her. What was there to add? Brannie had the best argument-ender . . . Cadwaladr logic.
But because there was nothing for her to say to her cousin, she focused her rage on Aidan.
“And you,” Keita said, stepping closer to Aidan, “I told you to distract her. And fucking her once is not enough of a distraction. And yes!” she barked, glaring at Brannie. “Everyone knows you two fucked. But get it together, Aidan! Do your job!”
Stunned, now Aidan had nothing to say. He could only stare in shock and horror at the princess.
What had the evil She-dragon done? If Brannie thought for a moment . . .
But Brannie was bent over at the waist, laughing. Hard.
“You don’t believe me?” Keita asked.
Brannie straightened up, her hand against her side. “Do I believe that you ordered Aidan to fuck someone for your own ends?” She wiped at a tear. “Of course I believe that! But do I think he did anything because you told him to? The same dragon who turned down the Protectors of the Throne to be Mì-runach just so he could piss off his da?” She now wiped both hands against her eyes to remove the tears. “Thanks for that, Keita. I needed that laugh today. And you know what?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject. “I’ve never been on a boat. I’m a little worried.”
She grabbed Keita by the back of the neck, turned her around, and shoved her. “Now let’s go get the rest of this done. I need an ale before the Mì-runach and the Riders finish it all.”
Brannie started to follow but Aidan—who’d finally stopped being so stupidly stunned—caught hold of her arm and tugged her back.
“I never—” he began.
She held up her hand. “I wasn’t lying to her. If anything, because she told you to do it, I’m sure you went out of your way not to.” She stepped back, arms held out from her body. “But look at’cha, weak bastard. Couldn’t resist me, could ya?”
Aidan shrugged and admitted the truth. “No. I couldn’t. Still can’t.”
Her smile faded. Her breath hitched.
They stared at each other, the moment lasting for seconds or forever. Aidan didn’t know. They would have continued to stand there if Keita hadn’t returned to them and stamped her bare foot on the ground.
“Oy!” she barked. “Do you two mind? We have an empire to destroy! Move your asses!”
She stormed off and Aidan had to admit, “She is so much like her mother.”
Brannie snorted. “You tell her that, mate, at your own risk.”
* * *
Uther thought he’d be able to get some sleep, but the longer he stayed in that pub bed, the more awake he felt. Only not a normal awake, but an exhausted one.
He finally gave up, deciding an ale might help him sleep, and stumbled down to the first floor.
The pub was busy, all the tables filled with locals. A lot of talk about the war and rumors about recent Zealot attacks, including what had happened at Aberthol. Not surprisingly, everyone in the place was armed, even though most of them seemed like farmers.
Uther spotted Caswyn at a back table with the Riders and made his way over.
“Uther!” Zoya cheered. “Come. Sit, comrade. Barkeep,” she called out, “more of this watery ale!”
Many empty bowls cluttered the table, but for once Uther didn’t think Caswyn had emptied them. Not the way the Riders were still eating, shoveling food into their mouths.
Brannie had said they’d been starved while at the Zealot fort, but they hadn’t really looked deprived. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He’d never seen Kachka eat like this before.
“Sit, sit,” Zoya insisted.
He did as two serving girls came over. One cleared off the used bowls and the other poured more ale into everyone’s tankard.
“Bring food for our comrade, weak female,” Zoya told the serving girls, and Uther cringed. He’d always gone out of his way not to irritate serving girls because he didn’t want anyone pissing in his food.
“Thank you,” he said to the girl before she could do just that.
Kachka finished her bowl of food, dropped the spoon into it, and leaned back. She let out a loud sigh, which she followed up with a loud burp.
“Now I feel better,” she said to them.
“Was it very bad in that dungeon?” Caswyn asked.
“Could be worse,” she replied, reaching for bread and tearing the loaf in half. “They were scared of Riders, so they sealed us in cage and waited for us to die. But starving is not enough to kill Daughter of Steppes.”
“I believe that,” Uther said.
Biting off a huge chunk of the bread and chewing, Kachka asked, “Why were you there, Uther the Despicable?”
“Branwen didn’t tell you?”
“We had little time for talk. And coming here, all we could think of was eating.”
Uther looked at Caswyn. Although no one had said it, he’d gotten the feeling their current assignment wasn’t meant to be announced to anyone not in their small group.
True, Kachka Shestakova was close to the human queen and the mate of the Rebel King, but he wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at by Brannie and Keita because he opened his mouth when he shouldn’t have.
And he was guessing Caswyn felt the same way since he was still living down the “Puddles Incident” as Aidan now called it.
“Just taking care of a few things for the queen,” he said. It wasn’t a lie.
“I see,” the Rider said before she poured him another tankard of ale. He hadn’t realized he’d finished the first one.
But he doubted another could hurt. Who knew if those Eastlanders even had ale? This could be his last chance to indulge for a long while.
“Cheers,” he said, holding up his tankard. He and Caswyn took a sip of theirs but the Riders drank down their own in seconds and slammed the cups back onto the table, calling for more ale.
“You drink like old men,” Kachka taunted Uther and Caswyn. “Come. You can do better than that.”
Well . . . of course they could. They were dragons and, more importantly, Mì-runach. They had drinking contests with their brethren constantly and nearly always won. So a few drinks with these females wouldn’t matter much, would it?
* * *
Vateria, last of the House of Atia Flominia, stood on the ramparts of her home, gazing out over the vast territory surrounding her.
Usually, on a clear day, she could see for miles. But today . . . all she could see were the troops of the Dragon Queen and her human cohorts. And she knew that in time, her cousin and his legions would also be showing up. He, too, would be taking his place for the last assault on the armies of Chramnesind.
“Mother?”
“My son.” She looked back at the boy who’d grown into a man. Now, nearly eighteen summers and Benedetto was still perfect. Her three other boys, however, were still more like their father.
When she held her hand out, Benedetto took it and briefly squeezed.
“It’s all coming together,” he said, now standing beside her, still holding her hand.
“It is.”
“And you think it’s a good plan?”
“Brilliant,” she said plainly. “I never doubt your father’s battle plans. Chramnesind chose him for a reason.”
Her son glanced off, his thumb rubbing against her forefinger.
“What is it?” she asked. “You know there is only honesty between us.”
“I agree this is a good plan, but it depends on everyone acting their part. Doing what we expect of them. What if they don’t?”
“That’s a risk we take.”
“It’s a risk I don’t want you to take.”
Surprised, Vateria turned to face her son. “What do you mean?”
“I want you to leave this place, Mother. I want you to escape as soon as you can.”
Smiling, she used her free hand to cup her son’s beautiful face. “Why would I do that? Leave at our moment of triumph over the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar and, in turn, our triumph over Gaius and that cunt Agrippina? Not while I have breath, my son.”
“If this was just a battle between the Dragon Queen and the Rebel King, I’d be fine with you staying. But you forget the Mother of Abominations.” Benedetto blinked. “Why are you grinning like that?”
“She’s gone.”
“Who’s gone? Annwyl?”
Vateria refocused on what lay around them, listened to the building of wood fortifications by their enemy to trap them within these walls. “She will no longer be a concern of ours.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard from Chramnesind himself. She’s been dragged to the pits of hell, where she belongs.” Vateria gripped her son’s hand tighter, her soul content. “And once the hordes of all the hells are done with that vile bitch, she’ll be begging to have her soul ended if it means a stop to the torment.”
Benedetto leaned down and kissed his mother’s temple. “I love your cruelty, Mother.”
“So do I, my beautiful son. So do I.”