Chapter Eight
Aidan sat in silence with his Mì-runach brothers for at least an hour in one of the castle bedrooms until he heard a faint knock at the door.
He opened it and Brannie stood on the other side. Her black hair was wet from a recent bath and combed off her face. She had a long, plain cotton shirt on and a map in her hand.
“We need to discuss tomorrow’s plans,” she said evenly.
“Yes. Of course.” He stepped back and allowed her in.
But once Aidan closed the door, Brannie suddenly spun to face him, her eyes wild. The map went flying as she hysterically asked him in a desperate whisper, “Who is that she-demon?”
“Your cousin!” Aidan whispered back.
“That’s not the Keita I know!” she continued to whisper. “We can’t go traipsing around with her! She’ll kill us all in our sleep!”
“No,” Uther corrected, also whispering, “we’ll probably all be awake when she does it. She’ll want to stare us in the eye as we’re bleeding out of every orifice!”
“But—” Caswyn said in his normal voice and they all immediately hushed him.
Poor Caswyn reared back and refused to speak again. Probably for the best. At the moment, they were all panicked and easily startled.
Brannie began to pace around the room. “Now I see what my mother was worried about.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If it turns out that Ren died on our queen’s territory, while under our protection, the Empress will declare war on Rhiannon and strike.”
“Well, that’s bad but—”
“Mum’s worried Keita will try and stop her by killing the entire royal family. From the Empress on down.”
Aidan had a hard time believing that. “You don’t think she would, do you?”
“If you’d asked me this yesterday, no. I wouldn’t have believed it. But after this . . .” Brannie shook her head. “She lured that priest here. But before that, she studied the habits of the Chramnesind priests and priestesses so she knew what poison to use to kill the guards and keep him alive but in torturous pain. That goes beyond mere dragon mayhem.”
“She is a Protector of the Throne.”
“I don’t want to hear that anymore, Aidan!”
Since they’d still been whispering all during their conversation, the strong knock at the door had all four of them screaming in panic.
The door opened and Keita stepped in. She’d also had a bath and was now sheathed in a soft red robe.
“Everything all right?” she asked, gazing at them.
Brannie cleared her throat. “Yes. Of course. You just . . . uh . . . startled us.”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t expect any more of the Zealots anytime soon. Last I heard, their attack squadrons were heading north.”
“Great,” Brannie muttered.
“So, tomorrow . . .”
“Yes. We were just discussing that.”
“We’ll be heading to the Port Cities. See if we can pick up Ren’s tracks. If we’re lucky, he’s already caught a boat back to the Eastlands.”
“I don’t understand, Keita. I know Ren’s skills. Why wouldn’t he just open a doorway and . . . you know . . . go home?”
“Unless you’re at my mother’s or Brigida’s level of skill, the Zealot priests can disrupt open doorways. Snatch witches right out of them. If Ren had tried, he’d have definitely been caught. We tried to get him to my mother, but we had to separate when we ran into a few . . . legions. I haven’t seen him since.”
“I’m sure he’s fine, Keita.”
“I hope so,” she said softly, her expression—for once—sad. But just as quickly she went back to the old Keita. “Anyway, we head out tomorrow morning?”
“We’ll be ready.”
“Excellent! See you all in the morning then.” She smiled and waved before walking out, closing the door behind her.
Once Aidan heard another door close somewhere in the castle, he went back to whispering. “If we’re going to survive this, we’re all going to have to calm down!”
“You calm down!” Brannie snapped back in a desperate whisper. “She likes you! I’m just the cousin with the high moral ground!”
“Aye, Branwen,” Uther muttered. “I do not envy you that.”
Brannie spun, one finger pointed in Uther’s poor face. “Is this you helping?”
“Oh, no,” Uther answered honestly. “Not at all.”
* * *
The next morning, Brannie rose before the two suns. She put on her chain mail and boots and went down the stairs and outside to the guards’ quarters. There she found only a few, very battered old weapons—not much better than the ones they’d taken off the dead guards—but an ample supply of surcoats. Some that might actually fit the Mì-runach, big bastards that they were.
She slipped one of the surcoats on over her head and wrapped a belt around her waist. The guard’s weak sword and dagger hung from it. Better than nothing she supposed, but she’d give anything for a real weapon. Perhaps they could find a solid blacksmith along the way. Even weapons made only for humans that never changed their size would be better than these.
“I’m coming into the room,” Aidan called out seconds before he did just as he said.
Brannie frowned at him. “What was that?”
“When I don’t announce, you yell at me that I snuck up on you.”
Brannie was going to argue that point until she realized Aidan was right.
Shrugging, she turned back to a small box filled with axes, most likely used for chopping wood rather than anything war-related. She grabbed one, figuring it was, again, better than nothing.
“It’s not my fault all of you move like jungle cats. Perhaps if you stomped a bit.”
“Unlike my brothers, I don’t know how. I learned to be stealthy very early in life. It helped me survive my kins’ form of familial kindness.”
He grabbed one of the surcoats and put it on. It pulled tight over his chain mail–covered chest but there was nothing they could do about that. There were only a few other surcoats that were bigger and those would have to go to Uther and Caswyn since they were much larger than Aidan.
Good thing Éibhear wasn’t here. They had enough trouble finding leggings to fit that body. And his chain mail shirts took twice as long to make as everyone else’s.
“He’s so ridiculously big!” she exclaimed to the air.
Aidan looked around. “What are you talking about? And to whom?”
“I’m talking about Éibhear and his chain mail shirts.”
Aidan gave a small smile. “Your mind just . . . wanders away, doesn’t it?”
“All the time. Got me in so much trouble during my training.” She picked up the rest of the surcoats and started walking back to the castle. “The Warrior Trials were a nightmare. For a whole year I at least had to pretend that I was listening . . . when I really wasn’t.”
Aidan stopped, gazed at her a moment. “It took you a year to become a Dragonwarrior? A year?” He threw up his hands. “I never heard less than a decade. Minimum.”
Brannie rolled her eyes. “Me mum took six months, and to this day I haven’t heard the end of that shit.”
Aidan nodded and admitted, “Your mother frightens me.”
Brannie patted his shoulder before she walked on. “She should.”
By the time they reached the castle doors, Uther and Caswyn were awake. Uther’s arm was still in a sling made of cloth but his fingers could now move a bit. And Caswyn was grinning ear to ear, his human color back to normal.
“What a great healer!” he announced loudly, taking the surcoat from Brannie. “I haven’t felt this wonderful in years! I could take on a . . . take on a . . .” Words faded away as he struggled to pull the surcoat down over his chest.
He stopped when it wouldn’t go past where his nipples would be under the chain mail.
Cringing, Brannie dropped the surcoats to the ground and sorted through them, tossing the obviously too-small ones aside until she found a few that looked—hopefully—big enough.
She handed one to Caswyn and he again struggled to get the garment on.
Brannie and Aidan joined in to yank the surcoat down the dragon’s human chest. It took some time and a lot more energy than they’d thought it would. But once it was done, he was tucked in there.
“Can you breathe?” she asked.
“Enough.”
Uther’s took a bit less time and Caswyn accused him of having a bigger surcoat than his and for his mate to give it to him. “You stingy bastard.”
As the two bickered, a happy and vibrant Keita swept out onto the steps.
Wearing a red velvet dress covered with a red velvet robe, she spun in a circle, and asked, “Isn’t this beautiful?”
“Compared to what?” Brannie asked. It was a nice dress, but she felt the need to be difficult.
But, as usual, Keita ignored her, taking another spin. “Breeton-Holmes’s adult daughters left me a divine wardrobe to choose from.”
“Good thing they had to run for their lives and leave their family home and all their belongings.”
Keita stopped posing in her finery and stomped her bare foot. “Are you blaming me for this?”
“You drew the Zealots here, Keita. What if you hadn’t made it here in time to do what you were planning?”
“But I did make it on time. I’m very good about timing.”
“Since when? You’d be late to your own funeral pyre if we weren’t the ones forced to carry you there when your time comes.”
“Already planning for my death, cousin?”
“Have been for quite a while now.”
“All right,” Aidan said, quickly stepping in between them. “Perhaps we should get on our way. The Port Cities aren’t around the corner, you know.”
Keita lifted her skirts and, with a toss of her royal head, walked around her cousin, making sure to brush up against her as she did.
Brannie had her fist pulled back when Aidan caught her hand and held it in both of his.
“Why are you torturing us?” he asked Brannie. A question that confused her so much, she was distracted from Keita being a bitch.
“What?” she asked Aidan.
“Why are you torturing us?”
“How am I torturing you?”
“You’ll get yourself killed—”
“By your own cousin,” Uther tossed in.
“—which means we’ll be alone with her—”
“Eventually she’ll decide to kill us, too,” Caswyn added.
“—and you won’t be here to protect us.” Aidan shook his head. “Is that what you want for us?”
Brannie thought on that a moment before answering with a firm “Yes. It is.” And she walked off, hiding her smile until she was sure they couldn’t see her face.
* * *
When Aidan first marched out with Her Majesty’s armies at the beginning of this war, he’d known that his whole goal in life was to keep his Mì-runach brethren alive by not letting them get into too much trouble with the rank and file of the regular army. A general who was used to having his or her orders followed without question never appreciated the disdain with which most of the Mì-runach took those orders.
At first, trying to watch out for all those Mì-runach had been troublesome but, as time moved on, he’d been able to focus on just two. Sometimes three. Uther, Caswyn, and occasionally Éibhear.
He hadn’t worried too much about Éibhear, though. He was, at the end of the day, still a prince and, more important, the favorite youngest son of the queen. He could only get into so much trouble. And Éibhear’s mate, Iseabail, had calmed his now-famous temper. She knew how to keep him busy when he got in a mood simply by having him deal with entire forests. Aidan didn’t know what it was, but that dragon loved to take down trees. And he was damn good at it, too.
Uther and Caswyn, however, seemed to make it their goal to irritate the higher ranks of the queen’s army until Aidan had feared they would end up ass first on a standing pike. Eventually, though, it seemed that Branwen had made it her personal business to deal with the pair. And she was much easier to distract from their foolishness than some of the harder generals.
Still, on his worst day interceding between a pissed-off general and the unruly idiots he loved as brothers, Aidan had never been so overwhelmed, so terrified of the outcome, as he was trying to keep two She-dragons from killing each other.
He’d admit, his mother and older sisters were . . . well, horrible beings. Plotting, deceitful, and terribly, unbelievably, bigoted. If one was not of equal royal stature or greater, one was not to be spoken to with even a modicum of respect. And yet . . . he’d rather stand between them and the unwashed masses asking for bread than deal with Keita the Viper and Branwen the Awful when they didn’t get along.
What made it worse? Unlike true enemies, they had no intention of fighting. Instead they kept slapping at each other like two human girls fighting over the last piece of dessert at a family meal.
Which meant that, with Aidan attempting to keep them apart by staying between them, he was getting hit. Constantly. And their human hands hurt his frail human skin. He’d rather face the claws of a bear than the punches and slaps of these two angry She-dragons.
At the fifth hour, when he finally could stand no more, he bellowed, “That is enough!”
Their small party stopped and the two females glared at him in surprise.
“I am covered in bruises and scrapes because you two can’t put your differences aside for five minutes! I’m sick of it!”
“She—”
“It was her—”
“I don’t care!” he barked. “Now I’m going to say this once and never again. If you two bitches don’t settle down—”
“Settle down?”
“Bitches?”
“—and act like you have some common sense, I’m going to—”
Aidan’s words ended abruptly when both Keita and Brannie put their hands over his mouth. At first, he assumed they were both going to kill him. Poison from Keita. A quick blade across the throat from Brannie. But, he realized, they weren’t focused on him. They were looking off into the nearby trees.
“Someone’s coming,” Keita said.
“From the east.” Brannie motioned to Uther and Caswyn. “Get Keita out of here.”
Aidan pulled the females’ hands away from his face. “What about you?”
“They know we’re here.” Her head tilted to the side a bit. “They’ve sent riders ahead. I’ll deal with them.”
“Bran—”
“It’s all right. Just go.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Your orders are to protect Keita. Do it.”
Reluctant, but unable to argue—his orders from the queen had been very clear—Aidan pulled his horse back and rode off to the trees. Keita right behind him, with Uther and Caswyn protecting her flank.
* * *
Brannie dismounted her horse and pulled out her sword. Not knowing the horse as well as she’d known her brave old steed—gods, how she missed him—she didn’t want to risk fighting on his back. So she slapped his ass and sent him to the side of the road.
She stood her ground and waited . . . but after a few minutes she saw nothing. No one coming her way. All sound of advancement had stopped. Some would feel relief, but she didn’t. Instead, she was only more concerned. Because that could mean—
Something small, human, and powerful landed on her back, arms around her neck.
Choking, Brannie grabbed the arm, and yanked. She flung the body away from her but another small and powerful body hit her from the right, pinning her sword arm to her side.
Standing her ground, not allowing herself to be dragged to the ground, Brannie used her free hand to grab hold of a good amount of hair and pull.
There was a screech and she sent the body flying. But before she could raise her arm, yet another body attacked her. Hands over Brannie’s face, legs around her waist.
Fed up, Brannie reached back and grabbed an arm. She lifted the body up and over her head, slamming it to the ground. She used her foot to pin it in place and raised her sword. That’s when she realized that the weak blade had broken in the middle.
“I knew this thing was a piece of—”
A strong, sturdy blade slid under her chin. “Such shitty weaponry, Cadwaladr. You should be ashamed. For that affront alone, you should die. . . .”
* * *
Aidan heard screams. He would have ignored them, but one of those screams was definitely Branwen’s.
Still, his orders from the queen—
“What are you waiting for?” Keita practically bellowed at him. “Go to my cousin. Now!”
Aidan immediately turned his horse around and rode back.
As he cleared the trees, he dismounted his horse in mid-gallop and pulled his weapon.
Three vicious she-demons had wrapped themselves around Branwen, pummeling her with fists and assaulting her with their screams. Aidan stormed up to them, grabbing the first one by the neck and yanking her off. He threw her to her back and was about to impale her with his blade when his hand was caught and held.
Smelling the flame of dragons, he froze and looked down at the female holding him. He blinked twice, shocked.
“Rhona?”
Rhona the Fearless of the Cadwaladr Clan smiled at him. “Aidan the Divine? What are you doing here?”
“Trying to—”
“Rhona?” Keita the Viper called out from the side of the road, both Caswyn and Uther wincing behind her. “My dear, sweet cousin! Is that you?”
Rhona briefly closed her eyes and said softly to Aidan, “Oh . . . you poor dragon.”
Aidan sighed. “Rhona, my old friend, you have no idea.”
* * *
Brannie tossed off the last of her cousins and gazed down at them on the ground while the triplets moaned.
“Is that the best you lot can do?”
“I tell them they need more training,” Rhona said about her sisters. “But they never believe me.”
Nesta, Breena, and Edana slowly got to their feet and brushed their asses off as a caravan came onto the road about a half a mile away.
“What’s that?” Brannie asked, pointing.
“That’s why we’re out here and not fighting with the queen’s armies at the moment. We were heading back, but many of the roads were inundated with the bloody Zealots. We had to take tunnels to get here. Word is these roads aren’t bad.”
“No. They’re not. But be careful what you drink and eat,” she warned.
Rhona looked over at Keita being helped down from her horse by Caswyn. “Gods, how many has she poisoned now?”
“I’ve lost track.”
“Now wait one minute!” Keita snarled, slapping Caswyn’s hands away so she could stomp her way over. “I’ll have you know that everything I’ve done has been for the protection of the throne.”
“Stop looking so smug, Keita,” Rhona told her flatly.
Keita’s arms dropped to her sides and her bottom lip poked out. “But she’s being so mean to me, Rhona,” she now whined. “Beat her for me, would you? Teach her where she stands in the hierarchy of this family.”
“In this family?” Rhona asked. “She’s way over you.”
“How could you say that to me?”
“Everyone knows it. You’re a sneaky spy who kills without honor. The only thing that stopped any of us from killing you decades ago was that Uncle Bercelak adores you and Protectors of the Throne are important during wartime. As for Brannie, she roars into battle, fighting with skill and force, and bringing nothing but honor and respect to the Cadwaladr name.” Rhona stepped close to Keita, looking down at her. “Do you think for a second that you could ever live up to her in our eyes?”
“You know what, cousin? I never liked you.” Keita put her hands on her hips and turned to Brannie. “And you’re just lucky I haven’t given you something to make you lose all your scales. Ask Gwenvael how well that went for him and how long it took to grow his scales back. Then give me that tone.”
* * *
Rhona the Fearless really did love her kin. She did. Really. Honestly!
But sometimes they were a lot of work. Especially when a few of them weren’t getting along.
First Keita, with her inability to simply tell those working with her exactly what was going on so everyone was clear and involved. True, she’d probably been trained that way by those who’d brought her into the Protectors of the Throne because secrecy was what kept them alive. But if Rhona was to be honest—and when wasn’t she?—Keita enjoyed tormenting others just for the hell of it. Like her brother Gwenvael, nothing entertained her more than confusing and ridiculing everyone around her.
Then there was wonderful Branwen, whose biggest issue was her lack of focus. In battle, there was no question that Branwen was the cousin Rhona wanted at her side. Like her mother, Brannie was a true warrior. But when she wasn’t in battle . . .
Gods! It was like talking to a human who’d been hit on the head one too many times.
“Why doesn’t someone explain to me what’s going on. And why you are here, Branwen, and not with your troops?”
Brannie’s eyes narrowed dangerously and she opened her mouth, but Aidan suddenly stepped between them.
“No, no,” he said to Branwen. “We don’t have time for you to start yelling again. And, to be truthful, I just can’t listen to that anymore.”
“But she—”
“Caswyn killed your horse,” he suddenly announced to Branwen, causing his dragon friend to turn to him in horror.
“You treacherous bastard!” Caswyn cried.
Rhona leaned to the side to look at her cousin. “Awwwww. Not Puddles.”
“He was injured in battle and I was going to put him down with honor!” Brannie yelled, still upset. “And that dozy bastard ate him!”
“He was dying anyway!”
“I still don’t care!” Brannie snarled at Caswyn before she turned to Keita and barked, “And what are you laughing about?”
Standing a few feet away and giggling, Keita replied, “The Mì-runach killed your horse. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all century.”
Branwen gazed at her cousin for long seconds before announcing, “You have wide hips like your mother.”
With a roar, eyes wild with rage, Keita shifted to a roaring She-dragon, uncaring that everyone else had to dash out of her way or be crushed in their human forms.
Rhona grabbed Aidan’s arm and pulled him farther off. She used her free hand to motion to the triplets. They could handle Keita and Brannie and keep them from killing each other.
“All right, Aidan the Divine . . . tell me what the battle-fuck is going on.”
* * *
Uther moved the horses off to the side and stood beside them with Caswyn. They ate dried meat from their travel packs and watched as Keita and Brannie rolled across the land. Knocking down trees. Crushing boulders. Sending wildlife running for safety.
And running after them? The triplets, now in their dragon forms, desperately trying to stop them.
“That Rhona,” Caswyn said around his snack, “she’s—”
“Taken,” Uther reminded him.
“Yeah, but to a Lightning. Like there aren’t enough worthy Fire dragons for her to find a mate.”
“She must like him. And I hear that’s what counts when ya choose a mate. Liking them.”
“Eh.” Caswyn took another bite. “What about them triplets?”
“Little young, aren’t they?”
“Does that matter to us?”
“Yes,” Uther said quickly, thinking of his own younger sisters. “That matters.”
“All right. No need to get testy.”
Keita and Brannie rolled back the other way with the triplets still behind them. Uther and Caswyn managed to duck just in time to avoid a slashing tail. Sadly, one of the horses wasn’t fast enough and he lost his head, his body dropping to the ground, spasms shaking it.
Caswyn stared at the horse’s body and licked his lips.
That’s when Uther had to say it.
“By the gods, brother! You never learn!”
* * *
“I’m glad you told me everything. Now I know what needs to be done.”
Aidan smiled at his one-time trainer, who had told him in no uncertain terms that “You are a mighty killer, Aidan the Gold, but a soldier of this queen’s army? Never.”
“You can get me out of this?” Aidan teased.
Rhona laughed. “If only I could. But the orders came from Rhiannon and Ghleanna. You’re stuck.” She looked over at her cousins. Now they were trying to choke the life from each other while Rhona’s youngest sisters desperately attempted to tear them apart. “But I do think I know what to do with those two.”
“I’ve already got Uther and Caswyn to deal with. So anything you can do to help me . . .”
* * *
The back of Brannie’s neck was grabbed and she was yanked off Keita. Keita jumped up, claws aiming for her eyes, but Rhona caught a handful of all that red hair and yanked her until she lowered her forearms.
“That is enough!” their cousin bellowed, stopping them both in mid-attack.
Brannie might outrank Rhona the Fearless because she was only a sergeant. And Keita might be a princess. But among the Cadwaladr, Rhona had the highest rank of all the cousins who were the offspring of the offspring of Ailean the Wicked and Shalin the Innocent.
For good reason, too.
Rhona, since hatching, was the most dependable, loyal, and rational of all the Cadwaladr cousins. Often more rational than the elders. She kept them all from doing immensely stupid things with nothing more than sound reason. She didn’t hit unless necessary and didn’t throw anyone into volcanoes unless they really deserved it.
Even Branwen couldn’t say that.
So when she spoke . . . they all listened. Even Keita, queen of the difficult!
“My hair! My precious hair!” Keita screeched, desperately trying to untangle Rhona’s claw from her long tresses. “Let me go, you evil female!”
Brannie, who was being completely calm and had stopped attacking Keita as soon as Rhona had told her to, hysterically laughed at her cousin until Rhona said, “I have weapons.”
Standing straight, her laughter dying in her throat, Brannie asked, “Weapons? Where?” she asked, looking around. “Where are the weapons?”
“In the caravan crates.”
Excited beyond anything, Brannie ran over and quickly shifted back to her human self. Naked—her crappy chain mail and surcoat ruined when she’d become dragon—she climbed into the back of one of the carts and tore open the first crate she saw.
“You are so easily distracted,” Aidan remarked, leaning over the cart wall and smiling.
“Personally,” Uther added, “I like seeing you naked when we’re not running from Zealots and Caswyn isn’t dying. You should be naked more.”
Brannie pulled out a two-handed sword nearly the length of her body and easily held it in front of her.
Uther stepped back, hands up, and added, “I was just joking. You don’t have to get naked for me. I like you dressed. You should be covered from head to toe in full armor at all times.”
Using a finger to pick something out of his teeth, Caswyn said, “I like naked Branwen.”
Branwen stared down at Caswyn. “Why do you have blood on your face?”
“I don’t believe you!” Uther suddenly yelled at his friend before stomping off.
Branwen looked at Aidan. “What was that about?”
“Your beauty confuses them.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Rhona walked up to the cart with a red-faced Keita.
Brannie placed the point of the weapon into the cart floor, hand on the pummel, legs braced apart, and she knew she was smirking. She couldn’t help it.
Aidan cleared his throat. “You do know you’re still naked, don’t you?”
“Oh, I know.”
He dropped his head but she could still hear his laughter.
Standing in front of her, Rhona bumped Keita’s arm. “Do it,” she ordered their royal cousin.
“Sorry,” Keita muttered.
“Couldn’t hear you,” Brannie taunted. “What was that?”
Now glaring at her, Keita snarled, “Sorry I was being such a right prat.”
Smiling, her back straight, her human tits out and proud, Brannie nodded. “Apology accepted.”
“Now you,” Rhona said.
Brannie pointed at herself. “Me?”
“Aye. You.”
“I didn’t do anything! It was the prat,” Brannie accused.
“You can apologize,” Rhona said smoothly, “and the two of you can act like the mighty warrior and deceitful spy—”
“Oy!” Keita snapped.
“—that you are. Or you can not apologize and I can take all my wonderful weapons and go.”
Brannie snorted. “You would never leave me without weapons. Defenseless.”
“True. But, my cousin, there are weapons”—Rhona’s grin was slow and wide—“and there are weapons.”
Brannie took in a sudden breath, pointed at Rhona. “You . . . you made weapons with your father, didn’t you?”
Rhona and her father were brilliant blacksmiths. Her father, Sulien, was a Volcano dragon who’d taught his daughter the art of alchemy and creating weapons and armor that could change with a mere thought. He’d been sent away when the war started to work in a safe location where the Zealots could not get to him. Rhona had been working with him off and on over the years—she loved being a blacksmith much more than being a soldier, but she was great at both—and would bring newly created weapons back and forth to the front as needed.
Still grinning, Rhona tilted her head and said, “Maybe.”
Brannie tossed the two-handed sword away—barely noticing that the only thing that prevented Aidan from getting his head cut off was his speed at ducking—and jumped off the cart in front of Keita.
“O’ Keita!” she loudly intoned. “Much loved cousin—”
Keita glanced at Rhona. “What’s happening?”
“—I am sorry for ever doubting you.” She grabbed Keita’s hand and the She-dragon desperately tried to pull it away. “You are a Protector of the Throne and our throne and queen could not be in better claws than yours. I pray to the gods I never again offend you and that our familial love and adoration spans the centuries—”
“All right! All right!” Keita yelled, finally yanking her hand away. “I get it. You’re sorry. But whatever you’re doing is making me nauseous. So stop it.” She turned, but tossed at her, “And put some clothes on. Those giant tits of yours are making Aidan the Divine drool.”
“Actually,” Aidan said softly, “I think that was simply a reaction to my near-death experience.”
“I missed your head, didn’t I?” Brannie demanded.
“Barely!”
She dismissed the whining dragon with a wave of her hand and turned back to her cousin. “Tell me what you have, dear Rhona. Tell me. Show me what you have.” She made a little squealing sound in her excitement. “I must see!”
Laughing, Rhona put her arm around Brannie’s shoulders and led her to another cart. “That apology was so epic . . . let’s see what we can find for you, my dearest cousin.”
* * *
Aidan watched Brannie and Rhona walk away. He was laughing because he couldn’t believe how excited the army captain was. Who got that happy over weaponry but a Cadwaladr? No one, that’s who.
To the rest of them, weapons were merely tools to perform their jobs in the best and quickest way they could. But to a Cadwaladr, and especially to Branwen the Awful . . . they were like the finest jewels.
It was rumored that Cadwaladr didn’t stock their caves with jewels and gold like most dragons. Instead, they used their spoils to purchase new weapons, and that’s what one would find piled high in their caverns.
And after seeing this . . . Aidan now believed that rumor.
Aidan watched the two She-dragons open a crate and begin to dig through it. He didn’t know what they were going to get, and he became completely distracted when he realized he was surrounded by three females.
Slowly turning, he nodded and greeted them. “Triplets.”
One of them frowned. “We have names.”
“Yes. But you all look alike and I can’t tell you apart.” He shrugged. “So I never bother to learn your names. It’s easier for me that way.”
“You’re very honest,” another said.
“I am. Much to my mother’s great annoyance.”
“We met your mother when we visited Devenallt Mountain. She’s very . . . um . . .”
“She’s a horrible female. Don’t spend time with her. She’ll sap your will to live.”
“That could explain why Auntie Rhiannon sent her and her daughters—your sisters—to Garbhán Isle and ordered Dagmar Reinholdt to manage them.”
“That was the word she used,” the first added. “Manage.”
Aidan couldn’t help but smile at that. If his mother thought she could run roughshod over the human Dagmar Reinholdt, who was known in the harsh Northlands as The Beast . . . well . . . heh.
“You were staring at our Brannie’s ass,” noted the third.
“She has a very nice ass. Very firm.”
“Do you like her?” asked the second.
“I don’t dislike her.”
“You should like her,” said the third.
“Your cousin’s a heartbreaker. And I’m very sensitive and beautiful.”
“She could use a sensitive male in her life.”
“And beautiful. Don’t forget beautiful.”
The first shook her head. “He thinks we’re joking, Nesta.”
“He’ll learn, Breena.” She patted his shoulder. “Because when it comes to our favorite cousins—”
“And few are our favorites.”
“—we are very serious.”
“Favorite cousin?” Aidan asked. “You were just trying to throttle her not fifteen minutes ago.”
“Not throttling. Showing her how far we’ve come since she used to train us how to throw knives when we were just little hatchlings.”
“I do love Cadwaladr family stories,” Aidan noted wistfully. “And how far you’ve come? It was like she was being attacked by screeching fleas.”
“Hmmm,” the first one said before turning and walking off.
“Huh,” the second said before following her sister.
And the third just sort of wandered away after staring at him for several silent seconds.
Caswyn joined him, punching his arm. “That whole clan is a bit . . . touched, yeah?” he asked.
Aidan glanced at his friend and pointed out, “You still have headless horse stuck between your teeth.”
“Damn.” Caswyn covered his mouth and quickly walked off before Brannie could see him and start threatening him again.