Feel the Burn (Dragonkin #8) Read online

  THE REBEL KING AND THE RIDER

  “Are you sure you are all right?” she felt the need to ask. She reached over and gently stroked the marks still on his neck from the torc.

  “I’m fine. Because I’m breathing. And that’s thanks to you.”

  Kachka folded her arms across her chest. “That is thanks to me. And yet I still do not have your kingdom.”

  “You have my everlasting loyalty.”

  “The loyalty of a one-eyed rebel king who is allied with two mad queens?” She shrugged. “I could definitely do worse.”

  They smiled at each other just as the bedroom door swung open. Kachka, her hand on the hilt of her sword, turned at her waist and stared at Celyn. “What?” she asked when he just stared at her.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, dark eyes moving back and forth between Kachka and the king.

  “Well,” the king replied, “she is being rather difficult.”

  Kachka faced Gaius. “I am difficult?”

  “I have needs and you’re not fulfilling them.”

  Other titles in the Dragon Kin series by G.A. Aiken

  Dragon Actually

  About a Dragon

  What a Dragon Should Know

  Last Dragon Standing

  The Dragon Who Loved Me

  How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

  Light My Fire

  Dragon on Top (eBook novella)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  FEEL THE BURN

  G.A. AIKEN

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  THE REBEL KING AND THE RIDER

  Other titles in the Dragon Kin series by G.A. Aiken

  Title Page

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  PART TWO

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  The Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle’s scream of rage echoed out over the silent valley, sending birds from trees and small animals deeper into their burrows.

  Her rage was a horrifying wonder to behold because it was always so raw. So unmistakably vicious. Truly, there was nothing more terrifying than to see that rage directed at an individual or full army. But, at the moment, there was no individual or army for the queen to direct her rage at. They were long gone.

  Thankfully, the queen did not redirect her anger toward those closest to her. That was why they all willingly fought by her side. Because as mad as the queen might be, she was never wantonly cruel.

  One of the few beings willing to try to reason with the queen when she was in a rage moved her mare closer. The female wasn’t human, although she was currently in her exquisite human form. No. She was a She-dragon. Her long white hair draped over the entire backside of her horse, her sharp blue eyes aware of everything around her. Yet if you didn’t know the truth about her, you wouldn’t guess that under that slim bit of human flesh rested a large white dragon that could render a man in pieces with one swipe of her claw.

  “Annwyl?” she called out. “Annwyl?” she tried again.

  But the queen couldn’t hear her or anyone. She was too busy beating the trunk of a tree with one of her swords. It wasn’t helping, though. The action wasn’t wearing her out. If anything, it was just making her more pissed off.

  The She-dragon glanced back at the squad of soldiers. She seemed embarrassed. Her pale cheeks turning red. But they were the Queen’s Personal Guard. They understood Annwyl the Bloody better than anyone. They saw her in battle. They saw her in quiet times. They saw her at her worst and best. The only one who knew her better than her personal guard? Her mate, the black dragon, Fearghus the Destroyer.

  “Annwyl, this isn’t helping.”

  The queen slammed her blade into the ground and rested her hands on her hips, her head down, her breath coming out in hard pants.

  “I know that,” the queen finally barked at the white She-dragon. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “I think they were looking for something,” their general announced as he walked away from the remains of the temple.

  General Brastias was a hero of many wars and in charge of Annwyl’s armies. He could, like many generals before him, send men out to do this sort of thing while enjoying the comfort and safety of Garbhán Isle, the seat of power of the Southlands. But his continuing loyalty to Annwyl and the She-dragon, Morfyd the White, was so very strong that he still rode with them on missions like this.

  Morfyd—one of the Dragon Queen’s offspring, so actually a princess—looked down at her mate, her hand brushing her horse’s neck to soothe its tension. “Looking for what?” she asked Brastias.

  “I have no idea, but the interior has been torn apart.”

  “Perhaps they were just leaving a message.”

  “No.” Annwyl shook her head. “They want something.”

  “Annwyl, they’ve been destroying temples for months now. Let’s not make this into some kind of crazy conspiracy when they’re simply trying to damage your reputation among your people.”

  “It’s more than that. I know it is.” Annwyl yanked her blade out of the ground and slammed it back into the empty sheath she had strapped to her back. “None of this is working,” she complained, stomping toward her battle horse, Bloodletting. “They’re always ahead of us because we have no idea what they plan to do next.”

  “So what do you suggest? We already have spies—”

  Annwyl grunted. Not because she was mounting that vicious stallion of hers, but because she didn’t want to hear anything else from anyone.

  “I don’t want to hear about Dagmar’s and Keita’s legions of spies. This isn’t about politics, Morfyd. This isn’t about propaganda. This is something else.”

  She looked over the remains of the burned temple, green-grey eyes glaring out from under thick light brown hair. “I’m tired of this, Morfyd.”

  “Annwyl—”

  “I’m tired of this.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Another grunt as Annwyl turned her horse around. “Give them proper death rites,” she ordered, motioning to the temple priests, who’d been tortured before they’d been killed. The cult that did this torture and murder called it “purifying.” It was reserved for those who refused to join them in their devotion to the god called The Eyeless One, Chramnesind. “Then burn the bodies.”

  “What are you going to—?”

  But Annwyl and her horse had already charged off. Brastias nodded at a few of the men, those who’d ridden longest with Annwyl and were already well-acquainted with her bouts of rage, silently ordering them to follow their que
en. Not to keep her safe . . . but to protect anyone unfortunate enough to cross her path. Especially since the queen didn’t look or act like a royal. In this state, it was easy for her to misinterpret a small argument between farmers as some kind of rebel attack.

  “What if she’s right?” Brastias asked his mate while the rest of the men dismounted and went to work. “What if this isn’t about simply making her look bad?”

  The She-dragon shrugged deceptively slim shoulders. “Then the gods help us all if they find whatever they’re looking for before we do.”

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Kachka Shestakova, formerly of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains, gazed blindly over the beautiful lands she’d been living in for near on six months now. Lots of grass and trees and fresh water lakes. Ample food supplies and happy people ruled by a benevolent ruler.

  Horse gods of Ramsfor! It was like hell on earth!

  And Kachka had no one to blame but herself. She’d given up her painful, harsh life as a Daughter of the Steppes when she’d saved her sister from their mother. It was still a decision she’d make again if she had to, but she’d never thought that her life would end like this. She’d assumed that their mother would have tracked them down and killed them both. Kachka had been wrong. Her mother never had the chance because she’d come face to face with Annwyl the Bloody, Queen of the Southlands.

  The royal had killed Glebovicha Shestakova, cut off her head, and ripped the eyes from the skull. All in front of the Anne Atli, leader of the Outerplains Tribes. It had been a bold move on the queen’s part. Or, as those closest to the queen had said more than once, “a completely insane move.” Kachka didn’t know. She didn’t talk to the queen. Or really anyone unless she absolutely had to.

  All of Garbhán Isle was littered with dragons in human form. She couldn’t tell one from another without her sister’s help. Kachka didn’t hate the dragons. She just didn’t understand why a human would mate with one as they would a man. True, men were mostly useless, but they served their purpose: trash removal, child rearing, and breeding.

  Although in the past few decades, the breeding part had changed where dragons and humans were concerned. The queen herself had a set of twins who were half human and half dragon. And it was because of them—and the other offspring that came after—that the humans’ gods had turned on their worshippers. Leaving them to fight the followers of Chramnesind by themselves.

  It was shaping up to be quite the long-lasting war from what Kachka could tell. The Southlanders and the inhabitants of the Quintilian Sovereigns Empire were unwilling to give up their multitude of gods. And those who did choose to follow Chramnesind were unwilling to let the others worship anyone else. Armies were being built. Battle plans arranged.

  And Kachka wasn’t involved in any of it.

  That didn’t really surprise her, though. She wasn’t of these lands. She was a Rider, and her people’s fighting style and reasons for fighting were vastly different. The Anne Atli and the Daughters of the Steppes did have an alliance with Queen Annwyl and the Southlanders, but it was less about fighting by the Southlanders side and more about not stopping the Southlanders and their other allies from traipsing through Outerplains territory when necessary.

  What dug into Kachka’s soul more than anything, though, was that before her sister had returned home with that request to speak to the Anne Atli—the title given to all their leaders since the first Anne Atli wrestled power away from the useless men—on Queen Annwyl’s behalf, Kachka had been moving up through the ranks at a nice, steady pace. She would never have been the Anne Atli, but she could have led her own troops into battle. Perhaps sat in on the all-tribes meetings when large decisions were made.

  In other words . . . she’d have had a purpose.

  Kachka needed a purpose. She needed a goal. She needed to make a name for herself. Their mother had never liked Kachka or her sister, but Kachka’s skill and willingness to throw herself into battle couldn’t be denied.

  Where did that leave her here?

  Of course, she could join the Queen’s Army, but marching in formation and taking orders from mostly men . . . no. Never!

  She was a Daughter of the Steppes, not some sheep blinded to the decadent life offered in these Southland territories.

  Which left Kachka . . . where? Exactly?

  “Um . . . excuse me? My lady?”

  Kachka cringed at the ridiculous moniker these Southlanders insisted on using. She’d gotten tired of correcting them, so she let out a breath and snapped, “What?”

  “Margo”—the leader of the kitchen staff—“was wondering if you could perhaps, if you’re not too busy, round up some meat for us? Some of the Cadwaladrs will be attending dinner tonight and the butchers don’t have enough to feed them all. You know what hearty eaters dragons are. So she was just—”

  As the sheep went on—begging—and Kachka stared her in the face, she raised her bow, an arrow already nocked and ready, and shot the first thing she saw from the corner of her eye. The bison cried out once before dropping to its knees and bleeding out from the wound on its neck.

  “Anything else?” Kachka asked.

  The woman was pale now, her head shaking in answer.

  Disgusted—hunting was not a challenge for a Daughter of the Steppes; it was more like breathing—Kachka turned away and started walking.

  “Kachka?” She stopped and looked over her shoulder to see her sister.

  “Fuck,” Kachka muttered as her sister walked over to her.

  “You can’t be nice?” Elina asked in their native tongue.

  Kachka’s sister wore a bright purple eye patch where her left eye should be. It had been the last thing their mother had taken from Elina. Over time, she’d grown accustomed to the loss, her skills at using her bow improving day after day. But the eye patches . . . this ridiculous purple one could have only come from that idiotic She-dragon, Keita. Her obsession with what Elina wore bordered on the disturbing. Wasn’t it bad enough the Shestakova sisters had already become decadent and lazy? Must they also become pathetic as well?

  “I was nice,” Kachka replied, but when Elina pursed her lips, Kachka threw up her hands. “What more do you want from me, sister?”

  “How about not terrifying the staff?”

  “You mean the sheep?”

  “And stop calling them that! You know they hate it!”

  Gaius Lucius Domitus, Iron dragon and the one-eyed Rebel King from the west, rolled that one eye and continued out of the back halls of the Senate and toward the royal palace. He had important plans to make and he didn’t have time for yet another discussion about his poor kingly skills.

  “I think you’re a fool to do this.”

  “Thank you, Auntie. I appreciate your confidence.”

  “Don’t get that tone with me.”

  “What tone?”

  Lætitia Clydia Domitus grabbed Gaius’s arm and yanked him around. She was a small She-dragon and ridiculously tiny in her human form, but there was a power to her. There had to be in order for her to have survived as long as she had. There were few who had survived Overlord Thracius’s reign while openly loathing him, but Lætitia had managed. Somehow.

  “First off—” she began.

  “Gods,” Gaius groaned. “There’s a first off.”

  “—you shouldn’t be walking around these streets alone. You’re the king now. That makes you a clear target. Second, you’re king now. You can’t run off on stupid errands every time you get a bug up your ass. You have an empire to rule.”

  “An empire that will no longer exist if I don’t get control of my cousins and, more importantly, squash the rise of Chramnesind cults.”

  “I don’t disagree with you, but I don’t know why you need to go yourself. You have dragons and men at your disposal. Why do you not use them?”

  “Why? Because I trust no one. Except my sister.” When his
aunt groaned and rolled her eyes at the mention of Agrippina, Gaius gently pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked away.

  “Wait! I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No. I didn’t. I love your sister—” Gaius snorted at that, and Lætitia gripped his arm again and yanked him around to face her with even more strength than he’d given her credit for. “Do not, boy, question my loyalty to you or your sister. Ever. You two are the only thing left of the one sibling I adored, and that means something. But your sister went through hell. Absolute hell. And she hasn’t recovered from it, no matter how much both of you want to pretend that she has. So leaving the throne in her claws while you go off to be the hero king seems a . . . risky decision at best.”

  “Well then . . . I guess . . .” Gaius glanced off, pretended to think a minute. “You’ll just have to give her your guidance while I’m gone.”

  From the corner of his one eye, he saw his aunt desperately try to hide a smile. It wasn’t an evil smile. She, unlike most of his kin, was not evil. But, for the first time, she felt she’d be allowed to use her knowledge and skills directly rather than behind the scenes, which was usually where one could find her. Her machinations had been legendary, but they were often attributed to one of her other siblings. Of course, it was her willingness not to be openly involved that had kept her alive this long.

  “Your sister,” Lætitia finally said, “won’t like that.”

  “Of course she will,” Gaius lied. “She respects you, Auntie.”

  “Good gods, Gaius Lucius Domitus!” she cried out. “You’re just like your father—such a liar!”

  Bickering, the sisters began to head back to the queen’s castle, but Kachka realized that the kitchen staff person was struggling to drag the bison back with her. Annoyed—at everyone!—Kachka grabbed one leg of the dead animal and her sister grabbed the other. Together, they yanked the bison back to the house, arguing all the way, while the girl was forced to run in order to keep up.