Last Dragon Standing
“Aye.” Bríghid released Annwyl’s hair but gripped her chin, lifting her face. “It was you.”
“That was a long time ago, mistress.”
Bríghid smiled. It was that warm, indulgent smile she usually reserved for the royal hatchlings of dragon queens. “That only makes it more meaningful. Not a lot of…what were you then? Eleven?”
“Twelve.”
“Right. Twelve. Well, not a lot of twelve-year-olds would risk their father’s wrath by releasing a stranger from his dungeon. Your father knew he’d caught himself a centaur, but you didn’t, did you? I had only two legs by the time you found me, and you thought I was human. Why would you risk that for some female in your father’s dungeon?”
“You were naked and alone in a dungeon. I knew I couldn’t leave you there.”
“How did you know that? You were only twelve.” Annwyl’s far-off gaze spoke volumes. “I knew I couldn’t leave you there.”
Bríghid nodded. “If she hadn’t released me,” she explained to the others, “they would have tried to use me for hunting.” Releasing Annwyl’s chin, Bríghid moved back and held her hand out. Her daughter placed her hand in her mother’s, and Bríghid said, “Queen Annwyl, I present my daughter Eadburga. She would be honored to raise the twins of the one who once rescued a lone woman in a dungeon.”
Annwyl cleared her throat. At first, Keita thought maybe Annwyl was embarrassed by such praise, but another part of her wondered if Annwyl’s father had found out what she’d done. If she had suffered for her betrayal.
Quite a few of the scars that covered Annwyl’s body were not from her battles against men with swords.
“Talaith’s daughter, too,” Annwyl added. “If that’s all right with you?
The three of them don’t like to be separated.” Ebba nodded. “That’s fine with me.”
“Then go.” Bríghid released her daughter’s hand. “With my blessing and my heart.”
Ebba hugged her mother, and the small group of humans, dragons, and one centaur stood on the ridge as Bríghid and her herd returned to the canyon. When they were gone, Ebba faced them and, sounding much like her mother, said, “Let’s get started then.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ragnar heard gasps, and someone dropped plates on the floor. Then he heard his brother and cousin growl in appreciation.
“Now that’s a fine-looking woman,” Meinhard muttered around his fourth serving of porridge.
Curious, Ragnar looked over his shoulder. His breath caught, and he immediately rose from his chair. He reached back and grabbed his brother and cousin, forcing them both to their knees. He went down on one, too, his head bowed out of respect but also necessity. He’d be able to look at her over time, but for now, her Magick shone too brightly, blinding him.
“Uh…cousin?” Meinhard whispered. “A little much for a naked woman, isn’t it?”
“She’s not a naked woman, you idiot.”
“Anyone else smell horse?” Vigholf asked, earning himself a punch to the head.
“Horde dragons,” the naked female said. “How interesting this place is.”
A soft hand reached out and stroked Ragnar’s head. He felt Magick flow through him that was as old as time, as powerful as the ocean. “Don’t worry, Lord Ragnar,” she said. “It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it.” And, she said in his head, you are nothing like your father. So you can let that fear go.
She took her hand away, and he immediately felt the loss of her power. She touched Meinhard’s chin and Vigholf’s head, where he’d had a very nice lump growing. “The honor of you three astounds me. You’ve chosen your allies well, Queen Annwyl.”
“Just Annwyl.”
“Whatever you choose to be called, you are still queen.” With that, she headed toward the stairs. “I’ll see the children alone.” Then she was up the steps and gone.
A dirty bare foot tapped in front of him now, and Ragnar slowly raised his head. Keita had her arms crossed over her chest, her lips pursed. “I think you still have some drool hanging from your lips there, warlord.”
“She’s a centaur.”
“I know.”
“But she’s a centaur.”
“And I am a dragoness.”
“But she’s a centaur.”
“Perhaps I should just slap the drool from your mouth.”
“Or we can eat!” Annwyl grabbed Keita’s arm and pulled her to the table.
“That wasn’t subtle, cousin,” Meinhard chastised as the three got to their feet.
“But she’s a centaur.”
“We know!” the entire room yelled at him, so he decided to let it go.
Ebba opened the door and stepped into the room. A babe stood on wobbly legs in her crib, her tiny hands holding on to the bars.
“Hello, beautiful,” Ebba said as she reached for the child and lifted her up out of the crib.
“Her name’s Rhianwen.”
“I know. And you’re Iseabail.” She smiled at Rhianwen’s sister, who stood in the doorway, keeping an eye out for trouble. “But you call her Rhi.”
“How did you know that?”
“I know lots of things.”
Iseabail stepped farther into the room. “You’re the new nanny.”