“Mum!” Morfyd instantly chastised.
“What?” Rhiannon pushed the woman away. “She . . . just smells nice, is all. I wasn’t planning to eat her or anything. As I’ve been told many times . . . that’s still wrong.”
Now, his sister said inside Celyn’s poor, abused head, this is where Rhiannon says that someone has to take the poor little pale waif home.
Ah, yes. The downside of his siblings being able to communicate with him with their mind—that one’s siblings could talk whenever they wanted. Like now. About ridiculous bullshit.
I’m not taking her anywhere. She’s beyond irritating.
Of course you’re not taking her anywhere.
That hadn’t been what he’d expected his sister to say.
What do you mean?
I mean our parents are not about to allow you to go anywhere.
Our parents? I’m not a seventy-year-old hatchling, Brannie. I can go where I like.
Uh-huh. Sure you can.
Confused by the entire conversation, Celyn heard the queen state, “You’ll sleep here tonight in a proper bed, and get started tomorrow. We’ll make sure you have food and a fresh horse for your trip.”
“I have horse. I get own food.”
Celyn rolled his eyes.
“What?” the woman demanded, immediately catching his annoyed expression. “What is that look?”
“You won’t take food? You’re going to starve instead?”
“The forests are filled with food. I hunt.”
“As well as you assassinate? Because you might starve.”
“Celyn,” his mother said softly. “Let it go.”
“Fine. I’ll let it go.”
“Wait,” Rhiannon said, raising her index finger. “Celyn has a good point.”
“I can hunt my own food. I do not need his help,” the Rider sneered at Celyn.
“Clearly you need someone’s help.”
The woman made a noise, and Celyn snapped back, “Did you just hiss at me, female?”
“Stop it,” Rhiannon cut in. “Both of you. I am queen here—”
Fearghus suddenly cleared his throat and gestured to Annwyl with a tilt of his head, so Rhiannon amended her statement to, “I am the most important queen here—”
“Mum, that’s not what I—”
“—and I think it’s necessary for you, dear Elina, to have someone to ensure your safety. And I think that should be—”
“Bercelak,” Ghleanna suddenly cut in. “Bercelak should escort her.”
Celyn’s uncle stared at his sister until she elbowed him in the ribs.
“Oh. Right. I guess I should do it.”
Celyn heard Brannie chuckle inside his head. Told ya.
Elina didn’t know what was going on. Nor did she care. She suddenly had something important to do! Someone was trusting her to do something that could change . . . everything.
The Tribes of the Steppes didn’t have alliances. They didn’t have truces. Instead, they took payment to not attack the territories closest to them. Those who didn’t pay risked an onslaught beyond comprehension. Of a seemingly never-ending army of Riders raining terror and pain and blood down upon their heads.
Most paid.
An alliance would be a good thing. A change in the right direction. Elina’s people weren’t barbarians. They weren’t demons in human form. They were merely herders who had grown tired of being trampled upon by the armies of big cities and royal landowners. So although battalions of Queen Annwyl’s army had been allowed through the Outerplains closest to the Eastern Coast, they weren’t allowed past the Conchobar Mountains into tribe lands. But an alliance with Annwyl the Bloody . . . ?
Of course, the problem wasn’t the Anne Atli, was it? It would be Glebovicha. She would not be happy about the “weakest of my tribe” talking to Anne Atli. Only with special permission from tribal leaders did one get to speak to Anne Atli about tribal business. Glebovicha would not like that.
Yet in this task . . . in this task Elina would not fail. She could and would do this. Not only for her honor but for her people.
Even if it meant being forced to spend more time than was acceptable with that idiot dragon.
She’d prefer the cranky man who kept growling. He clearly didn’t want to go with her, but . . . wait. Was he a dragon, too?
Elina looked closely at the man. Like the annoying dragon, he had dark eyes, black hair that reached past his massive shoulders, and a strong square jaw. Then again, so did the short-haired woman sitting next to him.
Exactly how many dragons were here? And how did they manage to walk around as human? As dragon, they were so gigantic, she didn’t understand how they could get all that bulk stuffed into these considerably smaller human bodies.
“I have another task for my dear mate,” the Dragon Queen told the short-haired woman. “So Celyn can take her.”
“No,” the short-haired woman snapped back. “He can’t. He must protect you.” She smiled, but it was so forced that Elina instinctively leaned away. “That’s his most important job,” she finished between a smile that involved clenched teeth.
The queen’s arm slipped around Elina’s shoulder, pulling her closer. Her smile was there, but as false as the other female’s. “Perhaps you forget who I am, Low Born,” the queen said in a cheery voice. “I am the queen. I rule. And if I want one of my personal guards to do a task, he will do that task. Do we understand each other?”
“What?” Rhiannon pushed the woman away. “She . . . just smells nice, is all. I wasn’t planning to eat her or anything. As I’ve been told many times . . . that’s still wrong.”
Now, his sister said inside Celyn’s poor, abused head, this is where Rhiannon says that someone has to take the poor little pale waif home.
Ah, yes. The downside of his siblings being able to communicate with him with their mind—that one’s siblings could talk whenever they wanted. Like now. About ridiculous bullshit.
I’m not taking her anywhere. She’s beyond irritating.
Of course you’re not taking her anywhere.
That hadn’t been what he’d expected his sister to say.
What do you mean?
I mean our parents are not about to allow you to go anywhere.
Our parents? I’m not a seventy-year-old hatchling, Brannie. I can go where I like.
Uh-huh. Sure you can.
Confused by the entire conversation, Celyn heard the queen state, “You’ll sleep here tonight in a proper bed, and get started tomorrow. We’ll make sure you have food and a fresh horse for your trip.”
“I have horse. I get own food.”
Celyn rolled his eyes.
“What?” the woman demanded, immediately catching his annoyed expression. “What is that look?”
“You won’t take food? You’re going to starve instead?”
“The forests are filled with food. I hunt.”
“As well as you assassinate? Because you might starve.”
“Celyn,” his mother said softly. “Let it go.”
“Fine. I’ll let it go.”
“Wait,” Rhiannon said, raising her index finger. “Celyn has a good point.”
“I can hunt my own food. I do not need his help,” the Rider sneered at Celyn.
“Clearly you need someone’s help.”
The woman made a noise, and Celyn snapped back, “Did you just hiss at me, female?”
“Stop it,” Rhiannon cut in. “Both of you. I am queen here—”
Fearghus suddenly cleared his throat and gestured to Annwyl with a tilt of his head, so Rhiannon amended her statement to, “I am the most important queen here—”
“Mum, that’s not what I—”
“—and I think it’s necessary for you, dear Elina, to have someone to ensure your safety. And I think that should be—”
“Bercelak,” Ghleanna suddenly cut in. “Bercelak should escort her.”
Celyn’s uncle stared at his sister until she elbowed him in the ribs.
“Oh. Right. I guess I should do it.”
Celyn heard Brannie chuckle inside his head. Told ya.
Elina didn’t know what was going on. Nor did she care. She suddenly had something important to do! Someone was trusting her to do something that could change . . . everything.
The Tribes of the Steppes didn’t have alliances. They didn’t have truces. Instead, they took payment to not attack the territories closest to them. Those who didn’t pay risked an onslaught beyond comprehension. Of a seemingly never-ending army of Riders raining terror and pain and blood down upon their heads.
Most paid.
An alliance would be a good thing. A change in the right direction. Elina’s people weren’t barbarians. They weren’t demons in human form. They were merely herders who had grown tired of being trampled upon by the armies of big cities and royal landowners. So although battalions of Queen Annwyl’s army had been allowed through the Outerplains closest to the Eastern Coast, they weren’t allowed past the Conchobar Mountains into tribe lands. But an alliance with Annwyl the Bloody . . . ?
Of course, the problem wasn’t the Anne Atli, was it? It would be Glebovicha. She would not be happy about the “weakest of my tribe” talking to Anne Atli. Only with special permission from tribal leaders did one get to speak to Anne Atli about tribal business. Glebovicha would not like that.
Yet in this task . . . in this task Elina would not fail. She could and would do this. Not only for her honor but for her people.
Even if it meant being forced to spend more time than was acceptable with that idiot dragon.
She’d prefer the cranky man who kept growling. He clearly didn’t want to go with her, but . . . wait. Was he a dragon, too?
Elina looked closely at the man. Like the annoying dragon, he had dark eyes, black hair that reached past his massive shoulders, and a strong square jaw. Then again, so did the short-haired woman sitting next to him.
Exactly how many dragons were here? And how did they manage to walk around as human? As dragon, they were so gigantic, she didn’t understand how they could get all that bulk stuffed into these considerably smaller human bodies.
“I have another task for my dear mate,” the Dragon Queen told the short-haired woman. “So Celyn can take her.”
“No,” the short-haired woman snapped back. “He can’t. He must protect you.” She smiled, but it was so forced that Elina instinctively leaned away. “That’s his most important job,” she finished between a smile that involved clenched teeth.
The queen’s arm slipped around Elina’s shoulder, pulling her closer. Her smile was there, but as false as the other female’s. “Perhaps you forget who I am, Low Born,” the queen said in a cheery voice. “I am the queen. I rule. And if I want one of my personal guards to do a task, he will do that task. Do we understand each other?”
