The Dragon Who Loved Me. G.A. Aiken

Rhona faced him, shrugged. “Do what we’ve been doing, I guess. Get those two back to Garbhán Isle.”

      “And?”

      “And what?”

      “We’re heading into a war zone, Sergeant. Possibly. According to your cousin, we’ll be caught between some pissed-off barbarian tribes and the Kyvich Witches. That is not a good place for anyone to be.” He stepped closer. “And if you think the Kyvich are going to let that foreigner traipse off with those children after they’ve committed to one of their gods to protect them at Garbhán Isle—”

      “All right, all right.” Gods, he could ramble when provoked. “What do you suggest we do?”

      “We need to find out what we’re looking at with these Western Tribes. Are they bringing one legion, two, a thousand? We should escort these two past the Dark Plains border and then go off on our own. Head toward the west and see how close this army is.”

      “Okay,” Rhona agreed. “We’ll do that.”

      He scowled at her, but she didn’t know why. “Or you can give me your opinion.”

      “My opinion?”

      “Opinion. Suggestion. Ideas.”

      “Ideas?”

      His scowl worsened. “You do have ideas, don’t you?”

      “I do, but you outrank me so—”

      “First off,” he angrily cut in, “don’t pull that ox shit with me. We’re not here with an army that needs to be controlled. It’s just you, me, a weakened foreigner, and a poison-and-torture-happy princess. We can’t afford for you to only take orders. I don’t know this terrain and I think we both know you don’t want your orders to come from Keita. So, Sergeant, we need to do this together—as a team. So I ask you again—what’s your opinion?”

      Rhona knew Vigholf had a point, no matter how rudely that point was made. And although she was completely unused to giving her opinion—only Dragonwarriors had that luxury during battles and missions—she did as he’d asked.

      “I think our job is to get Keita and Ren into Garbhán Isle safely. That alone will be hard enough. The Western Tribes, the Tribesmen, are riders and nomads used to moving quickly all year round. They’re not marching on Dark Plains, Commander. They’re racing there, hoping to take advantage of Annwyl’s absence. It’s too risky to send Keita and Ren off on their own. And once we get them to Dark Plains, those two can also deal with the Kyvich.”

      The Lightning studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded. “You’re right.” She was? And he was admitting she was? “I didn’t know about the Western Tribes. My Horde has never fought them. So you’re right. We can’t let those two off on their own. At least in Garbhán Isle they’ll have some protection, and from what I remember of that territory, it will be easier to defend.” He looked around. “We keep moving. I can carry the foreigner if need be.”

      Although Ren wasn’t a large dragon, especially compared to Rhona’s own kin, he would be no light burden for anyone. “And how long can you keep that up?”

      Those clear grey eyes locked on her. “As long as I need to.”

      “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “All right then.”

      “Let’s get moving. There still may be Iron scouts out this far.”

      And without another word said between them, they walked back to Keita and Ren.

      Chapter 6

      They ended up risking the skies when the first set of wild horses they came upon stampeded at the first scent of the Lightning. A moment that he could only shrug at and mutter, “Sorry.”

      And although they made good time with only short breaks along the way, they were still forced to get some real sleep that night.

      Rhona, though, feeling more awake than tired, took first watch. In her human form, she went up high in a tree, using its leaves for cover. She briefly thought about letting the triplets know what was going on, what had changed, but decided against it. She trusted them, but if they worried for Fearghus and Briec’s offspring, they would most certainly alert the rest of the siblings and the rest of the siblings would tell Mum and Mum would make a straight line to Fearghus and Briec to complain about Keita using one of her soldiers—no, not her daughter, but one of her soldiers—for her “nonsense,” which was what Bradana called almost anything that Keita did. So it was best to say nothing.

      After a few hours, Rhona felt a tap and looked down at Vigholf. And with a lightness belied by his great human size, he pulled himself up until he sat across from her. The old tree groaned, but the limbs did not break under his weight as he settled in.

      “All clear?” he asked, his voice low.

      “ Aye.”

      “Good.” He handed over a cloth with meat and bread wrapped in it before turning his gaze to the land around them, grey eyes watchful. “Can you explain to me why the Tribesmen hate Annwyl so much?”

      “Who says they do?”

      “I doubt that just because a Quintilian monarch offers them payment they’ll jump at the chance to take on Garbhán Isle.”

      “Well . . .” Rhona let out a little sigh, toying with the cloth holding her food. “Annwyl does not like slavery or slave traders, which is the Tribesmen’s top means of income. She struck first a few years back, hoping to convince them, in her own way, to give up slavery in exchange for her not wiping them from the planet. They never took her up on her offer, and then this thing with the Irons and Sovereigns happened and she stopped worrying about the Tribesmen. Especially when she found out that most of the Tribesmen’s patrons were Quintilians.”

      “And in Annwyl’s mind, kill the ones demanding the product and the suppliers will go out of business?”

      “Pretty much. For Annwyl it’s not about power but about everything being what she thinks is . . . right. She thinks slavery is wrong, so she tries to stop it. She thinks the Sovereigns ruling everything is wrong, so she tries to stop them.”

      “You’ve fought by her side before?”

      “More than once. As human. When the Cadwaladrs have no dragons to fight, we’ll join human armies.”

      “Your royal cousins do the same?”

      Rhona had to laugh at that. “My cousins? Direct bloodline from the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar? Hardly. Even my Uncle Bercelak, their father, a true Cadwaladr, never had much use for humans except as a quick-moving snack. Then Annwyl came along . . .” Rhona shook her head. “Nothing’s been the same since Fearghus found that female dying outside his cave about twelve or so years ago. Then there was Talaith and Dagmar. . . . Then the offspring were born and all bets were off.”

      Vigholf nodded slowly. “I see, but your cousin, Keita . . .”

      “What about her?”

      “She hides something.”

      “Keita hides much,” Rhona admitted. “She is a Protector of the Throne. She will do all in her power to safeguard the throne of our kind, even to her death.”

      “She’d go that far? Even to risk her young nieces and nephew?”

      “I doubt Keita thinks she’s risking them. And she has and will risk her own life. I know now that’s never a question.” For tiny Keita had faced the wrath of their bitch cousin Elestren, who was anything but tiny. Elestren had believed Keita a traitor and, without orders, set about sending Keita to the salt mines on the Desert Land borders. All because Keita had embarrassed the Dragonwarrior by taking her eye during fair combat training. Unfortunate, perhaps, but Rhona’s own mother had lost the tip of her wing while training with her sister Ghleanna. Something that affected her flying, but over the centuries she’d learned