Light My Fire. G.A. Aiken
any of them knew about other than undead demon animals from one of the hells.
Standing beside Talwyn’s horse was the dog Talwyn had been given by the Kyvich as a puppy. The dog was another horned beast that would charge into battle beside the Kyvich witch that had trained it from nine weeks old. Every Kyvich received a horse and dog when she turned sixteen.
But before Gisa could think too much about the horse and dog she’d be leaving behind by going with Talwyn, she saw that both her horse and dog and Fia’s were also there—waiting for them. The blankets they used on their horses instead of saddles already rested across their backs along with packed travel bags.
“We don’t have much time,” Talwyn said as she mounted her horse. “That flower won’t distract the Elders long and then they’ll be coming after me.”
“How did you know we’d agree to come with you?” Gisa asked.
The royal shrugged. “I just knew.”
Then, without another word, she turned her horse and charged off.
Confused and wary, Gisa and Fia stood their ground another minute or so until they saw that the stem from that damn flower was now spreading throughout the forest like wild vines. They could hear the calls from the other Kyvich, as they hurried to stop whatever magicks Talwyn had unleashed.
“Well?” Fia pushed.
With a deep breath, Gisa walked to her horse and mounted him. Fia did the same and, together, they set off after Princess Talwyn.
It would be hours before they both realized that they had no idea where the hells they were going.
Chapter Ten
Celyn woke up with his headache gone and feeling much less cranky. Yawning, he sat up, scratched his scalp, and looked out the window. The suns had gone down and his stomach was clearly telling him it was time for evening meal.
Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Celyn stood and stretched. Now that he’d had some sleep, things weren’t looking nearly as awful as they had a few hours earlier. He was grateful for that, too. He hated when he felt nothing but angry. He left snarling and snapping at all times of the day to his uncle Bercelak and royal cousins, Briec and Fearghus. He didn’t understand being angry all the time. What was the purpose? What did it accomplish except to give him stomach acid and make everyone avoid him?
Pulling his black hair back and tying it with a leather thong, Celyn went down the stairs. By the time he reached the second floor, he could hear raised voices. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but he could tell there was yelling involved.
As he reached the final set of steps that led into the Great Hall, he stopped and stared at the long dining table. That’s where all the yelling was coming from.
Well, yelling might be the wrong word. Yelling suggested anger, and Celyn saw no anger. Instead, he saw . . . passion. A passionate discussion that involved very loud talking.
Fascinated, he continued down the stairs and over to the table and found himself a seat beside Gwenvael, who was also watching.
As soon as Celyn was seated, one of the servants placed a bowl of hot stew in front of him, followed by a large plate of ribs and a platter filled with bread. He didn’t eat at Annwyl’s castle often, but when he did . . . the servants clearly knew how to feed dragons in human form.
Something that Celyn appreciated.
“So what’s going on?” Celyn asked his cousin between spoonfuls of stew.
“Well, when we started to come in for dinner, we found your father, Frederik, the Outerplains female, and Annwyl chatting . . . but by the time we all sat down to dinner, the chatting had turned into a lively debate.”
Celyn studied the Rider. With her elbows on the table, she sat between Annwyl and Celyn’s father, tearing pieces from a crusty loaf of bread, and shoving those pieces into her mouth while she stared blankly across the room.
“She looks miserable,” Celyn observed to his cousin.
“Who?”
“The Rider.”
“You mean Elina Shestakova of . . . whatever, whatever, whatever?” Gwenvael snorted. “She’s not miserable. She’s in whatever an Outerplains barbarian considers heaven.”
Celyn had no idea what Gwenvael meant until Elina snorted at something Briec said and cut in drily with, “You hoard like angry squirrel, Briec the Mighty. Keeping all riches for yourself and sharing with none.”
“Why should I share with anyone?” Briec demanded, sounding more haughty than usual. “My hoard is my hoard.”
“But you stole that hoard,” Annwyl reminded Briec, her legs tucked under her on her chair, her torso stretched over the table, elbows against wood, hands clasped.
“I don’t understand your point.”
“How is it yours? You didn’t earn it.”
“I did earn it. I stalked those caravans, had to fight off their protection, tear apart the carriages to get at the treasure, and then transport that treasure back to my cave. That took a lot of work, and often the only thing I got out of it was a warm meal that screamed for mercy.”
Talaith, sitting next to Briec, slowly brought her hands to her head and began to rub the temples.
“Bah,” the Rider exclaimed, dismissing Briec’s words with a hand swiped through the air. It was so amusing to see someone other than Talaith taunt Briec so brazenly that Celyn and Gwenvael glanced at each other and grinned.
“You brag and brag, Briec the Mighty. But who among you has not killed an enemy while he begs for mercy, laughing as he dies in pain and torment?”
For some unfathomable reason, Dagmar Reinholdt raised her hand at that, which got her bewildered stares from everyone in the room.
“She said who here has not killed an enemy. . . . She didn’t say anything about having your enemies killed, now did she?” Dagmar announced, her tone smug.
“Our people,” the Rider went on, “share what we have with our other tribesmen. Those who have less, get some from others. Then we all have equal.”
“No.” Briec shook his head. “I don’t like that idea. What’s mine is mine.”
“Would you not share with your brothers?”
“No,” all the brothers replied.
“You are very pretty.” Elina stared. “But very sad.” She gestured with her bread. “All we have is each other. Without that, we are nothing.”
“I am a dragon. I don’t need anyone else.”
Talaith threw up her hands. “Thank you very much!”
“I’m not talking about you, so there’s no reason to get hysterical.”
“Hysterical?”
“She’s going to kill you in your sleep,” Fearghus noted when Talaith glared at Briec. “And I wouldn’t blame her.”
“So,” Celyn cut in, “your people share everything?”
The Rider did not turn to look at him so much as her bright blue eyes simply cut his way. Kind of like when a wolf sensed Celyn was near . . . and knew that Celyn was hungry.
“We share our food. Our clothing. Anything to keep everyone healthy . . . and strong. You cannot have defenses when some of your people starve and others are dying from diseases simple to fix.”
“What are,” Morfyd suddenly asked, “your people’s feelings on dragons . . . and the dragon-human offspring?”
“You mean Abominations?”
Eyes widened, bodies tensed, hurried words spouted,