Last Dragon Standing

“Your brothers are too independent and too loyal to their mother,” Ragnar cut in, interrupting her mother’s list of his attributes, and for a second there, Keita adored him like the suns. “And your sister—”

“Right,” Keita said, sniffing in annoyance. “She’s perfect and would never do such a thing.” Her sister’s perfection was something Keita had heard about since hatching.

“About her perfection, I do not know. But with her powers, she’s too dangerous. She’d have to be killed as well.”

“Lovely.” And Keita couldn’t help feeling a little depressed.

“Everyone thinks that I’d betray my entire family to their deaths so I can have,” she sneered, “that.”

“I adore my rock,” the queen said, shifting around on it. “I look very regal on it.”

“Pardon my questions—”

“No, no, Lord Ragnar. Ask. We may not have time like this again before this all plays out.”

“It just seems a dangerous situation to put your daughter in, my lady.” And Keita felt her heart stutter a little before she remembered that all Northlands males were protective of females in that way.

“Oh, but my daughter lives for risk. Don’t you, Keita?” Knowing exactly where Rhiannon was about to go, Keita said,

“Mother—”

“Now, now. There’s no shame on your part, child. Everything my Keita has done has been in service to my throne. For instance, my brother Oissine, who’d fled to Alsandair after I became queen, had hired assassins to kill me. Too bad about that food poisoning, eh?” Then she winked at Keita.

Mortified, Keita sighed, “Oh, Mother.”

“And Muiredach, brother number two, had gone into the Northlands.

It took her some time to track him down, but she must not have liked what she saw or heard when she found him because he seemed to have had a tragic fall off one of those Northland mountains of yours, young Ragnar. He was so high up, apparently, that it was a fall no dragon could survive…

drunk and unconscious, that is. Tell me, Keita, did you use your father’s ale to get him that drunk before you shoved him off that mountain? Or did you find that stash of your grandfather’s drink that we keep when we need to strip skin off a horse carcass?”

Keita could feel Ragnar’s eyes on her, could feel him sizing her up.

She’d never felt so exposed before. Those who knew the truth—her father, Gwenvael, Ren, Gorlas—had been with her from the beginning. They had seen her training, her growth as one of the Protectors of the Throne. The small, eclectic group of dragons and humans that made it their life’s work to do anything and everything necessary to keep the Southland thrones safe from those who would take them.

And discussing what she’d done among those who already knew the truth had never been something that made Keita uncomfortable. Yet discussing it with Ragnar and her mother? Here? Now? She’d be less uncomfortable naked and spread eagled in the Garbhán Isle market.

“My third brother is also said to be hiding somewhere in the Northlands and Keita was quite determined to find him until your father found her first.” When Ragnar said nothing, Rhiannon asked, “Didn’t you ever wonder, Ragnar, why my daughter was in your territories? Alone? Why your father was able to get his claws on her?”

“You told me it was because she went to see Esyld.”

“And she did. Often. But she only had to go as far as the Outerplains for that. She went farther, however, for one reason only. To find my brothers and sort them out. Like she’d sorted out Oissine. You see, Dragonlord, my daughter was able to do what entire legions of my Dragonwarriors could not.

Track down and exterminate those who are a danger to me.” And before Keita could correct her, she said, “Sorry. I meant a danger to my throne.”

“Interesting,” Ragnar said, and Keita flinched a little at his tone. Until he added, “So she searched for and found proof that at least two of your brothers were preparing to strike against you, and she acted accordingly.

Then logic would dictate that she did the same due diligence with your sister and found that Esyld was not a threat. That she was not a risk to your throne or to you.”

Shocked, Keita stared up at the Northlander, while her mother leaned back in her throne and studied him hard.

“I find it fascinating, Dragonlord, that you don’t seem shocked by any of this.”

“I’ve misjudged your daughter in the past, Your Majesty. And I don’t make the same mistakes twice.”

“I see. Then I shall be honest here, now. I don’t know if my sister has betrayed me. All I do know is that my throne is in play, and I need your help, Keita. For you will be the one they come to. You will be the one they try to set against me.”

Keita couldn’t think of a time when her mother had ever asked her for anything—other than not being “such a twat all the time!” And now, between her mother asking her for help and Ragnar’s words about misjudging her, Keita felt a little overwhelmed.

She swallowed, found her voice. “I know what to do.”

“I know you do. But still, keep your true temper in check and remember who and what you’re playing. A spoiled royal, but one with boundaries. If you act as if you’re willing for them to do anything to get you the throne, they’ll know you’re lying, that you’re setting them up. Let them lead. Let them lie. They’ll tell you what they think you’ll want to hear, but if they bring up your brothers, your sister, definitely your father—you insist they must be kept safe, alive. Feel free to waffle on me, however.”