The men reared back. “Kittens?”
“Kittens. Little, fluffy kittens. He adored them. Had hundreds, all around his hut. He had many wives, but they all hated him because of the damn kittens. So much fluffy fur. Impossible to clean.”
“Well . . . what happened?” one of the men pushed.
“He went out hunting one day and when Olezka Tyushnyakov returned, he found his children crying, some of his wives dead . . . but what made him truly angry? His kittens were dead.”
The men, these guards, gasped in horror. Brannie looked at her brother, but all he could do was shrug.
“So what did he do?” a guard asked.
“He knew who had done this to him.”
“Who?”
“His brother.” More gasps. “And because it was someone who had once been close to him, his rage . . . it could not . . . would not be contained. He exploded and laid waste to an entire region. He left no one alive. Not man. Not woman. Not even child. They all burned.” She raised one finger. “All except his brother . . . he wanted the man to see just what he had wrought. And the kittens.” Her head tilted a bit as she let this last part sink in. “He protected all the remaining kittens.”
Brannie bit her lip to stop from laughing out loud, and Celyn’s eyes rolled so far back into his head, she feared they would stay that way forever.
Slipping his weapon into his scabbard, Celyn waved his sister back and stepped forward, clearing his throat. Glaring, all the guards faced him, separating a bit when they saw the size of her brother.
He gave his most charming smile as he stood outside that cell.
“Hello,” he said, his voice lower than she’d heard it in a long while. “Remember me, little human?”
And, apparently, the storyteller did remember Brannie’s brother, based on the way that pewter mug the human had been drinking from spun out of the cell and slammed right into Celyn the Charming’s forehead.
Celyn gripped his forehead, which now throbbed ten thousand times more than it had less than a minute before. The hysterical giggling of his sister not helping matters one bit.
“What the hell—?” he roared.
“You!” the evil wench accused. “Dragon! Left me here to die!”
“Vicious harpy of hell—”
“Left me to rot. In this cell!” She got to her feet, kicking her chair behind her. “And now you return. For what this return? To see my suffering? To relish in it?”
“What suffering?” Celyn demanded. “From the width of your hips, you look like you’ve been eating quite well!”
She pointed a finger. “Are you calling me fat?”
“I’m calling you healthy, as in not starving. As in not suffering, you whiny cow!”
She walked out of her cell and into the hallway, not one of the guards attempting to stop her. Celyn had the feeling she’d had free rein in this place since he’d left her here.
In fact—he glanced into her cell—someone had decorated her room so that it was warm and friendly. Almost inviting. There was even a tapestry tacked to the wall. A tapestry! In a jail cell!
What the hell had been going on here? Had she bewitched all these weak-minded human males? His sister was right—nothing was easier to manipulate than human males. They were bloody pathetic!
“What do you want, useless dragon?” the woman demanded. “Why do you come here after all this time?”
“My queen has requested your presence, Rider.”
“To execute me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Perhaps Celyn had drunk so much the night before, he’d lost his mind. It had been known to happen. Especially to the uninitiated who’d taken a few sips of his grandfather’s ale.
But when he looked at his sister, her eyes were wide and her hand was over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud—and he didn’t think he was imagining that part.
“Could we just go please?” he asked the woman. Nearly begged.
“So you can continue my shame?”
Deciding not to engage this crazy female one second longer, Celyn simply stretched out his arm and pointed toward the exit.
“Wait,” one of the guards said, a catch in his voice. “You’re leaving us?”
“I must go, comrade,” the Outerplains female explained sadly. “I have been ordered to leave by this cruel, worthless dragon.”
“I let you live, didn’t I?”
“I do not speak to you!” she growled back at him.
“Will we ever see you again?” another guard asked.
And at that point Brannie walked off, unable to take a second more of this.
“If not in this life, comrade, then in the next.”
“No,” Celyn said, grabbing the back of the woman’s shirt. “I won’t listen to another word.” He began walking, dragging her with him. “I refuse to. I absolutely refuse.”
The dragon rudely pulled Elina out of her home for the last eight months and into the bright sunlight of the town square.
The sunlight didn’t actually bother her. She’d been allowed to come and go as she’d pleased since being tossed into the jail. She’d soon become friendly with the townspeople, earning a little money at the local stables.
“Where are you taking me? To the gallows?” she asked.
“You need to stop talking that way. I’ve never met anyone so ready to die,” the dragon complained.
“Kittens. Little, fluffy kittens. He adored them. Had hundreds, all around his hut. He had many wives, but they all hated him because of the damn kittens. So much fluffy fur. Impossible to clean.”
“Well . . . what happened?” one of the men pushed.
“He went out hunting one day and when Olezka Tyushnyakov returned, he found his children crying, some of his wives dead . . . but what made him truly angry? His kittens were dead.”
The men, these guards, gasped in horror. Brannie looked at her brother, but all he could do was shrug.
“So what did he do?” a guard asked.
“He knew who had done this to him.”
“Who?”
“His brother.” More gasps. “And because it was someone who had once been close to him, his rage . . . it could not . . . would not be contained. He exploded and laid waste to an entire region. He left no one alive. Not man. Not woman. Not even child. They all burned.” She raised one finger. “All except his brother . . . he wanted the man to see just what he had wrought. And the kittens.” Her head tilted a bit as she let this last part sink in. “He protected all the remaining kittens.”
Brannie bit her lip to stop from laughing out loud, and Celyn’s eyes rolled so far back into his head, she feared they would stay that way forever.
Slipping his weapon into his scabbard, Celyn waved his sister back and stepped forward, clearing his throat. Glaring, all the guards faced him, separating a bit when they saw the size of her brother.
He gave his most charming smile as he stood outside that cell.
“Hello,” he said, his voice lower than she’d heard it in a long while. “Remember me, little human?”
And, apparently, the storyteller did remember Brannie’s brother, based on the way that pewter mug the human had been drinking from spun out of the cell and slammed right into Celyn the Charming’s forehead.
Celyn gripped his forehead, which now throbbed ten thousand times more than it had less than a minute before. The hysterical giggling of his sister not helping matters one bit.
“What the hell—?” he roared.
“You!” the evil wench accused. “Dragon! Left me here to die!”
“Vicious harpy of hell—”
“Left me to rot. In this cell!” She got to her feet, kicking her chair behind her. “And now you return. For what this return? To see my suffering? To relish in it?”
“What suffering?” Celyn demanded. “From the width of your hips, you look like you’ve been eating quite well!”
She pointed a finger. “Are you calling me fat?”
“I’m calling you healthy, as in not starving. As in not suffering, you whiny cow!”
She walked out of her cell and into the hallway, not one of the guards attempting to stop her. Celyn had the feeling she’d had free rein in this place since he’d left her here.
In fact—he glanced into her cell—someone had decorated her room so that it was warm and friendly. Almost inviting. There was even a tapestry tacked to the wall. A tapestry! In a jail cell!
What the hell had been going on here? Had she bewitched all these weak-minded human males? His sister was right—nothing was easier to manipulate than human males. They were bloody pathetic!
“What do you want, useless dragon?” the woman demanded. “Why do you come here after all this time?”
“My queen has requested your presence, Rider.”
“To execute me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Perhaps Celyn had drunk so much the night before, he’d lost his mind. It had been known to happen. Especially to the uninitiated who’d taken a few sips of his grandfather’s ale.
But when he looked at his sister, her eyes were wide and her hand was over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud—and he didn’t think he was imagining that part.
“Could we just go please?” he asked the woman. Nearly begged.
“So you can continue my shame?”
Deciding not to engage this crazy female one second longer, Celyn simply stretched out his arm and pointed toward the exit.
“Wait,” one of the guards said, a catch in his voice. “You’re leaving us?”
“I must go, comrade,” the Outerplains female explained sadly. “I have been ordered to leave by this cruel, worthless dragon.”
“I let you live, didn’t I?”
“I do not speak to you!” she growled back at him.
“Will we ever see you again?” another guard asked.
And at that point Brannie walked off, unable to take a second more of this.
“If not in this life, comrade, then in the next.”
“No,” Celyn said, grabbing the back of the woman’s shirt. “I won’t listen to another word.” He began walking, dragging her with him. “I refuse to. I absolutely refuse.”
The dragon rudely pulled Elina out of her home for the last eight months and into the bright sunlight of the town square.
The sunlight didn’t actually bother her. She’d been allowed to come and go as she’d pleased since being tossed into the jail. She’d soon become friendly with the townspeople, earning a little money at the local stables.
“Where are you taking me? To the gallows?” she asked.
“You need to stop talking that way. I’ve never met anyone so ready to die,” the dragon complained.
