The dragon’s human body froze, his gaze locked across the alcove, staring blankly at nothing. And that’s when she understood fully what had happened here.
“She never told you that Glebovicha is her mother. Our mother. Did she?”
Celyn shook his head. “That’s not possible. A mother . . . a mother would never do that to her child. Never.”
“Life on the Steppes is hard. It is not for everyone.”
“She wanted her dead,” he reasoned. “That’s why she sent Elina to Queen Rhiannon. Because she wanted her dead.”
“A mother cannot just kill her child. Not anymore. There was a time when weak babies or children were left to die while the tribes moved on, but that was stopped. Now, if you have weak child, you must deal with it. Most do. Glebovicha did not want to.”
“Elina’s not weak. She’s amazingly strong.”
“Strong of mind. Strong of spirit. Strong of intellect. But when it comes right down to it . . . she hates to kill unless for food or in defense. Glebovicha saw that as weakness not to be overcome. Or overlooked.”
“So then she just kills her?”
“As I said, a Steppes mother cannot just kill her child.”
“Then what happened?”
“Glebovicha was not going to let her see the Anne Atli, but my sister had made commitment to that Annwyl the Bloody. She was determined to see it through. And that is exactly what she told Glebovicha. But Glebovicha, she runs our tribe.”
“Which means Elina was going against a direct order from her leader.”
“Exactly. You Southlanders, you beat those who disobey orders. Maybe put them in your dungeons. We are Daughters of the Steppes. We have no dungeons. And beatings are reserved for when horses and livestock are not protected during battle or stealing gold from raids for yourself. But disobeying orders . . . how that is dealt with is up to tribe leaders.”
The dragon took in a quick breath and suddenly asked, “You can’t go back . . . can you, Kachka? Back to your people?”
Kachka shook her head. “No. Neither of us can.”
The dragon rubbed his hands against his face, like he was desperately trying to rub off dirt.
“Kachka, I’m so sorry.”
“Horses of Ramsfor,” she laughed, “you sound like Elina. What do you apologize for? You did not swing the knife. You did not cut her throat. You could have flown away, left us both to die. You did not do those things. You stayed and fought. You saved my sister. Do you think I can ever repay you for that? You saved all I have left. So stop crying like child—”
“Well, I’m not actually cry—”
“—because my sister will need strong male now by her side. Even if it is unholy scaled monster from netherworld.”
“Actually, dragons aren’t—”
“You talk much. Is that normal? How did she put up with you for such a long trip?”
“I actually haven’t said that—”
“Och!” Kachka said, swiping her hand near his face. “Talk, talk, talk, that is all you do. Shut up!”
The dragon stared at her, his mouth slightly open. But at least he was quiet.
“Celyn?” They both looked to the alcove opening. One of the Kyvich witches stood there. “The wall’s down. In case you want to see your barbarian female.”
Celyn stood and rushed out of the alcove. Kachka followed, but stopped by the witch and warned, “Watch who you call barbarian, Kyvich.”
The witch leaned in and said, “I’m not Kyvich, Rider.” She smiled and it was a frightening thing to be forced to look at. “I’m much worse.”
Then she turned and walked off.
The brown witch in the wool dress and fur cape rushed by, her arms filled with herbs and clean bandages. She shook her head at Kachka. “My cousin is actually not that bad. She’s just misunderstood.”
But Kachka was sure she hadn’t misunderstood a damn thing.
Celyn walked into the alcove where they had placed Elina. The Kyvich brushed past him on her way out, but Brigida was still washing her hands.
The alcove had been outfitted with human furniture, including a bed, table, chairs, and a small desk. Not surprising. Most dragons had space for human company. Sometimes they had friends, sometimes they had lovers, and humans didn’t seem to enjoy lying on top of piles of riches the way dragons did.
Elina was on the bed, her shirt removed so that they could get to the wounds on her face and neck. She was covered in bandages now and was—thankfully—breathing normally. But she was still unconscious, and that worried him.
He lifted the bandage that covered the left side of her neck and face where she’d been slashed. The scars were already fading, but he froze when he saw Elina’s left eye. It had been sewn shut.
Celyn knew from what he’d heard about Brigida the Foul that she was a Dragonwitch with much power. Something he could easily believe . . . what with her still being alive and all. So healing Elina’s damaged eye should be no problem for someone of Brigida’s experience and skill.
“Why did you sew up her eye?” he demanded.
“You don’t want dirt gettin’ in there, do ya?” Brigida asked calmly as she shook out her wet human hands before grabbing a cloth to dry them. “That’s how you get infection. That’s hard to fix.”
“But how long before she can see out of that eye again?”
Brigida faced him and simply asked, “What eye?”
“She never told you that Glebovicha is her mother. Our mother. Did she?”
Celyn shook his head. “That’s not possible. A mother . . . a mother would never do that to her child. Never.”
“Life on the Steppes is hard. It is not for everyone.”
“She wanted her dead,” he reasoned. “That’s why she sent Elina to Queen Rhiannon. Because she wanted her dead.”
“A mother cannot just kill her child. Not anymore. There was a time when weak babies or children were left to die while the tribes moved on, but that was stopped. Now, if you have weak child, you must deal with it. Most do. Glebovicha did not want to.”
“Elina’s not weak. She’s amazingly strong.”
“Strong of mind. Strong of spirit. Strong of intellect. But when it comes right down to it . . . she hates to kill unless for food or in defense. Glebovicha saw that as weakness not to be overcome. Or overlooked.”
“So then she just kills her?”
“As I said, a Steppes mother cannot just kill her child.”
“Then what happened?”
“Glebovicha was not going to let her see the Anne Atli, but my sister had made commitment to that Annwyl the Bloody. She was determined to see it through. And that is exactly what she told Glebovicha. But Glebovicha, she runs our tribe.”
“Which means Elina was going against a direct order from her leader.”
“Exactly. You Southlanders, you beat those who disobey orders. Maybe put them in your dungeons. We are Daughters of the Steppes. We have no dungeons. And beatings are reserved for when horses and livestock are not protected during battle or stealing gold from raids for yourself. But disobeying orders . . . how that is dealt with is up to tribe leaders.”
The dragon took in a quick breath and suddenly asked, “You can’t go back . . . can you, Kachka? Back to your people?”
Kachka shook her head. “No. Neither of us can.”
The dragon rubbed his hands against his face, like he was desperately trying to rub off dirt.
“Kachka, I’m so sorry.”
“Horses of Ramsfor,” she laughed, “you sound like Elina. What do you apologize for? You did not swing the knife. You did not cut her throat. You could have flown away, left us both to die. You did not do those things. You stayed and fought. You saved my sister. Do you think I can ever repay you for that? You saved all I have left. So stop crying like child—”
“Well, I’m not actually cry—”
“—because my sister will need strong male now by her side. Even if it is unholy scaled monster from netherworld.”
“Actually, dragons aren’t—”
“You talk much. Is that normal? How did she put up with you for such a long trip?”
“I actually haven’t said that—”
“Och!” Kachka said, swiping her hand near his face. “Talk, talk, talk, that is all you do. Shut up!”
The dragon stared at her, his mouth slightly open. But at least he was quiet.
“Celyn?” They both looked to the alcove opening. One of the Kyvich witches stood there. “The wall’s down. In case you want to see your barbarian female.”
Celyn stood and rushed out of the alcove. Kachka followed, but stopped by the witch and warned, “Watch who you call barbarian, Kyvich.”
The witch leaned in and said, “I’m not Kyvich, Rider.” She smiled and it was a frightening thing to be forced to look at. “I’m much worse.”
Then she turned and walked off.
The brown witch in the wool dress and fur cape rushed by, her arms filled with herbs and clean bandages. She shook her head at Kachka. “My cousin is actually not that bad. She’s just misunderstood.”
But Kachka was sure she hadn’t misunderstood a damn thing.
Celyn walked into the alcove where they had placed Elina. The Kyvich brushed past him on her way out, but Brigida was still washing her hands.
The alcove had been outfitted with human furniture, including a bed, table, chairs, and a small desk. Not surprising. Most dragons had space for human company. Sometimes they had friends, sometimes they had lovers, and humans didn’t seem to enjoy lying on top of piles of riches the way dragons did.
Elina was on the bed, her shirt removed so that they could get to the wounds on her face and neck. She was covered in bandages now and was—thankfully—breathing normally. But she was still unconscious, and that worried him.
He lifted the bandage that covered the left side of her neck and face where she’d been slashed. The scars were already fading, but he froze when he saw Elina’s left eye. It had been sewn shut.
Celyn knew from what he’d heard about Brigida the Foul that she was a Dragonwitch with much power. Something he could easily believe . . . what with her still being alive and all. So healing Elina’s damaged eye should be no problem for someone of Brigida’s experience and skill.
“Why did you sew up her eye?” he demanded.
“You don’t want dirt gettin’ in there, do ya?” Brigida asked calmly as she shook out her wet human hands before grabbing a cloth to dry them. “That’s how you get infection. That’s hard to fix.”
“But how long before she can see out of that eye again?”
Brigida faced him and simply asked, “What eye?”
