Last Dragon Standing

She ensured they had been fed, that all were looking healthy, and that they all had fresh water in their runs. Once she’d done all that, she walked down the line, speaking to each animal while noting any changes and thinking about their training.

But as she reached the last cage, the barking dogs, always so chatty when she was around, suddenly fell silent, and Dagmar felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up the slightest bit.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said after a moment.

“Do what?”

She faced the god behind her. Many gods enjoyed visiting her now, no matter how annoying Dagmar found their presence or how inane their conversation, but Eirianwen, human god and consort to dragon father god, Rhydderch Hael, liked to call Dagmar her “friend.” Which was strange since Dagmar still didn’t worship any god. They were simply too annoying to be worshipped. “Do not sneak up on me.”

“I’m a god, Dagmar. I don’t sneak up on anyone. It’s not my fault I can simply appear wherever I’d like.”

Dagmar’s head tilted to the side. “Where’s your arm?” Eir examined her left shoulder. “Oh. Right. Lost it in a fight.” She shrugged with her right shoulder. “It’ll grow back.”

“How nice for you.”

Not the most pleasant thing to see before luncheon. Of course, it could be worse. A few months back, the god had shown up missing half her head.

After Dagmar finished retching, though, they had a very nice conversation.

“So how goes it?” Eir asked.

“Well enough.”

“And your queen?”

Dagmar knew the sneaky cow wasn’t here merely to check up on her.

“She’s fine.”

“Liar.”

“But you already knew that about me.”

“Excellent point.” Eir walked over, a trail of shit and blood and mud left in her wake. She must have come right off a battlefield somewhere by the looks of her. “I thought I made it clear to you, my friend, that your queen needs to toughen up.”

Annoyed the god had the nerve to say that, Dagmar replied, “If she were any tougher, she’d be nothing but muscles, eyes, and a sword.”

“I don’t mean physically, and you know it.”

“She’s doing the best she can. You can’t actually blame her for worrying about her children. Not after what your consort did.”

“Don’t blame him.”

“Why not? This is his fault.”

“You still haven’t forgiven him, have you?”

“After throwing me to Minotaurs? You must be joking.”

“You humans take everything so damn personally.”

“When I’m thrown to Minotaurs—you’re right.”

“Fine. Be that way.” The door behind Dagmar opened, and Eir walked out, brushing past her.

Dagmar watched her and finally asked, “And where’s Nannulf?” She couldn’t think of a time that she’d seen the goddess without her loyal wolf-god companion.

“Off taking care of something.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Dagmar scowled. She didn’t like the sound of that whatsoever.

Ragnar tromped through the trees toward Esyld’s house. He hated doing this. He hated being the one to bring her back to Dark Plains. But he already had a plan.

Initially, he’d thought of telling Esyld to run and then reporting to Rhiannon that she wasn’t at her house. Yet he had a feeling the queen would never believe it and he still didn’t think the Horde was ready to get on her bad side. Plus, there was the risk that Esyld wouldn’t run. She had that air about her. As if she was determined to stand her ground. He admired that about her.

So his next option wasn’t perfect but better than nothing. He’d offer to argue her case before Rhiannon and the Southland Elders. He knew a bit of Fire Breather law, and with a good friend’s help—at least he hoped they were still friends—Ragnar felt certain he could build a solid case that would protect Esyld.

Yes, it seemed the most fair and logical thing to do, and all he needed was for Esyld not to worry. Not easy, he was sure, but he would do everything he could to keep her safe. Because if Rhiannon really did want her sister dead, she would have sent her mate’s kin to retrieve Esyld rather than him.

Confident in his decision, Ragnar tromped on.

Near the clearing that led to Esyld’s house, Ragnar stopped. He had been walking for little more than ten minutes, but still…

Turning his head, Ragnar looked over his shoulder. She sat in the middle of his back on her rump, her tail and wings hanging over one side, her crossed back legs over the other. She used a metal file to sharpen her talons—and she hummed.

How long has she been back there?

Ragnar had always prided himself on the sharpness of his senses.

Hearing a rabbit’s twitching nose a mile away, spotting a hawk twenty miles above, or scenting fresh cattle a hundred miles off. But how could he not know that a spoiled royal was using him like a beast of burden? How could he not hear that gods-damn humming?

He geared up to shake her off, but she asked, “Where are we going?”

“I have some business to take care of.”

“Business? Out here? By yourself?” She lifted her claw and blew on her talons.

“I was coming right back.”

“Yes, but you might be in danger. I could help.” Right. Of course you could. “It would be better if you return to my brothers.”