Last Dragon Standing

“Esyld!” Keita ran to her aunt, carefully turning her over, and cradling her in her arms. “What have you done to her?” Franseza cringed dramatically. “That was horrible of me, wasn’t it?” And the beauty of that statement was that it was said without even a trace of sarcasm. “I know. I know. On the surface it looks terrible, but she simply wouldn’t cooperate.”

Esyld’s eyes opened, and when she saw Keita’s face, she grabbed hold of her niece’s fur cape. “I said nothing,” she told Keita, hysterical. “I swear, Keita. I told her nothing!”

“Shh-shh. It’s all right, Esyld.”

“I don’t think she realized that was part of the problem. Not telling me things. If she’d only told me things, I wouldn’t have had to hurt her so. That was hard for me, you know? We are first cousins after all.”

Keita felt sick just hearing the female’s voice, but nothing had her more worried than the fact that her aunt was cold to the touch. She was a She-dragon of Dark Plains. She was made of fire. The last thing Esyld should ever feel was cold.

Hands clasped together, steepled forefingers pressed under her chin, Franseza asked, “Now, Keita, how would you like to one day rule the land of Dark Plains?”

“Rule? Dark Plains?” Keita had to work hard to keep the game up when she felt her aunt dying in her arms. But she knew this scenario for the test—and warning—that it was.

“I know it sounds impossible, my dear, but I promise you it’s not. You just have to trust me.”

Desperate, her aunt clung to her tighter, shaking her head. “Keita, please.”

“It’s all right, Esyld. Really.” She kissed her aunt’s forehead and carefully lowered her back to the floor. She petted Esyld’s cheek once, deciding then it was time to end this game. So Keita closed her eyes and sent out one thought: It’s time, Ragnar.

She stood and faced Franseza.

The She-dragon’s smile grew wider. “Are you about to challenge me, Keita the Viper? Don’t be foolish.”

“I’m never that.” Keita pointed at the plate of fresh fruit on the table beside Franseza. “Isn’t the fruit here delicious? I’ve always enjoyed it myself.”

“Yes. It’s very tasty. And so juicy, I’ve been picking some every day.”

“From the tree that hangs over Athol’s gate, yes?” Athol took a step forward. “Keita?”

Keita giggled. “All right. I can’t lie…much. Honestly though, Franseza, I’ve been watching you for days. Every morning you’d come out, pick your fruit, and nibble on it throughout the day, between fresh cow carcasses that are delivered. And the servants don’t touch the fruit anymore because you already had a servant girl whipped who did. That is just like the Irons, isn’t it? Claiming everything as your own.”

“You little—”

“It wasn’t too bitter, was it? What I used? I do try to be so careful about taste and all.”

Her breath growing short, her hand on her stomach, Franseza asked,

“Do you think I’m alone here, that I have no one to protect me?”

“I know you’re not alone.” Keita tossed her hair. “You know, the poison would be much less effective if you were dragoness. Too bad about Athol’s spell keeping you in human form.”

The Iron looked at Athol, but he only shook his head. “I can’t. If you can shift, so can she. And anyone else she has with her.”

“Too bad for you, eh, cousin?” Keita asked, unable to stop her smile.

“Kill her, Athol,” Franseza ordered, dropping to her knees.

Keita snorted, swiped a dismissive hand through the air. “He can barely move after what he’s been drinking.” Keita glanced back at Athol.

“Did I mention your assistant hates you? Plus…he wants this place. All I had to do was promise him we’d fix the walls we’re about to destroy and he happily slipped that Banallan root right into your wine.” Keita clapped her hands together. “Isn’t this fun?”

The building around them rumbled, and the wall behind Franseza ripped away.

Athol stretched his arm out, terrifically weakened Magick flickering back and forth between his hands before he crashed to the floor. Ragnar and Ren made their way into the room through the space they’d created where that wall used to be.

Knowing that once they were inside Athol’s palace, their Magicks would be greatly diminished, they’d decided to tear the building apart from the other side of the gate first and left Morfyd outside to work on the next part of Keita’s plan.

With Ragnar and Ren managing Athol, Keita walked toward Franseza.

“So sorry there’s no one to rescue you,” Keita said, using the same tone Franseza had when discussing what she’d done to Esyld. “The guards who’d been with you are busy getting gutted by my brothers.”

“All you’re doing,” Franseza gasped out, “is bringing war to your weak queens, war that will tear this territory apart.”

“Perhaps,” Keita said. “And I must admit, I was fighting so hard to stop this war—even ready to come to your territory to try to work something out.” She crouched down and looked into Franseza’s bloating face as the poison took hold inside her human form. “But then I was told my aunt had been captured. And my friend, Ren, told me he sensed she was in some pain.