Feel the Burn (Dragonkin #8) Read online

  “I just don’t understand why you’re so unhappy,” Elina said, yanking the bison over a ridge. “There’s plenty of food and water and soft beds to sleep in.”

  “You don’t have to remind me of how pathetic we’ve become, sister.”

  “How is enjoying a few amenities pathetic?”

  “The fact that you have to ask that upsets me more than you’ll ever know.”

  “Then find something to do, Kachka, rather than sitting around glaring at everyone.”

  “What can I do here?” Kachka demanded. “What is there for me to do? Farm?” She stopped, glared at her sister. “Is that what you want me to be? A farmer? Like some . . . man? Is that what you think of me? That I’m a worthless man?”

  “Of course not! I’d never say that. But perhaps you can talk to the Northlander, Dagmar Reinholdt. She is always up to something.”

  “She hates me,” Kachka reminded her sister.

  “Well, maybe if you hadn’t fucked her nephew . . .”

  “He was there!”

  They began dragging the bison carcass again.

  “There has to be something constructive you can do,” her sister went on. “I’m sure General Brastias would be more than happy to have you—”

  Kachka stopped again, now only a few feet from the queen’s home. “Take orders from a man? Have you lost your mind?” she yelled. “Has everyone lost their mind?”

  As if in answer, the queen herself rode up to the steps of the castle, dismounted from her oversized black steed—honestly, who needed that much horse?—walked up a couple of steps, then abruptly stopped.

  That’s when the queen suddenly screamed. And screamed. And screamed some more.

  Everyone who had been going about their day ran when they heard that scream. Soldiers. Merchants. Nursing mothers. Everyone. They ran and hid.

  “That answers my question,” Kachka muttered.

  “Shut up.”

  The queen disappeared into her home, and Kachka and Elina finished dragging the bison all the way to the kitchens. Once they dropped it off, they returned to the deserted Main Hall.

  Kachka stood there a moment before announcing, “See? There’s nothing to do!”

  Gaius walked into the palace that now belonged to him and his twin. The original palace, the one his cousin Vateria and her father, Overlord Thracius, had ruled from, had been torn down. It had been partially destroyed during his sister Aggie’s rescue; then Gaius and a few chosen dragon friends had ripped apart the rest of it. He would never let that palace stand, no matter how many of his kin had lived and ruled there. Not after his sister had been held captive in that place by the bitch Vateria. They had been raised with their cousin Vateria, but from the beginning they’d never been close with her. Never trusted her. Definitely never liked her. And then, when their father was murdered by his own brother, Gaius had made it his goal to one day challenge Thracius for the throne. But, when he was old enough—and strong enough—to make that challenge, that’s when Vateria, always so very smart, had captured Aggie and held her hostage in the old palace. She knew it was the one way to control Gaius. To “keep him in his place,” as she liked to say. It had worked, too. And Aggie had been in a tolerable situation, as she was still royal born and niece of Thracius. But then Thracius went to war with the Southlanders, taking on the Dragon Queen, leaving his bitch daughter alone with Aggie. For five long, painful years.

  Aggie refused to talk about what had happened, but some nights she woke up screaming. Some nights she didn’t sleep at all.

  And yes, Gaius blamed himself, although he knew Aggie never did. But how could he not blame himself? His poor, weak, defenseless sister trapped in the web of that evil—

  “You!” Aggie gripped Gaius’s throat, causing him to gag before yanking him into another room. “Excuse us, Lætitia,” she told their aunt before slamming the door in Lætitia’s stunned face.

  “What have you done?” his sister demanded.

  “That’s vague.”

  “There are Mì-runach in our throne room. Why?”

  “Mì-runach?” Warriors who answered to absolutely no one but the Dragon Queen herself? “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Now why are they here?”

  “I don’t . . . oh.” Gaius cringed. “Oh.”

  “What have you done?”

  “I had your best interests at heart.”

  “You idiot,” Aggie sighed out just as Lætitia knocked on the door and quickly entered.

  She closed the door, turned to her niece and nephew, and announced, “There are peasants in your throne room. Southland peasants!”

  “They’re Mì-runach,” Aggie told her and gestured to Gaius. “That this idiot requested.”

  “Gaius!”

  “I did not request them.”

  “Then what did you do?” his sister demanded.

  “I requested help from the Dragon Queen, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “But I thought she’d send Cadwaladrs.” The Cadwaladrs were a Southland clan of Low Born dragons trained from hatching in the ways of war and defense of the Dragon Queen’s territories. They might not be respected, but they were greatly feared. And with reason.

  “Why would you want those pit dogs here any more than you’d want the Mì-runach?”

  “You need protection.”

  Aggie suddenly stood tall, her spine straight, her long steel-colored hair reaching down her back in intricate braids and curls. She looked amazingly regal, which was how she always looked when she was getting defensive. “Why would I need protection?”

  “Because he’s going off on a fool’s errand, that’s why.”

  Gaius briefly closed his eyes. “Lætitia,” he sighed.

  “What? I’m not lying. Tell me I’m lying,” she ordered. “Tell me.”

  If Lætitia hoped to get Aggie on her side, she’d just failed because now the twins were giggling. Like they used to when they were hatchlings.

  “The two of you! I swear by the gods.”

  Aggie cleared her throat. “Aunt Lætitia, could you excuse us?”

  “You’re sending me back out there? With those plebeians?”

  “Or you could just go to your room. But you need to go . . . you know . . . away.”

  Lætitia snatched the door open, gazed back at her niece and nephew. “Hmmph!” she snapped before walking out, making sure she slammed the door in the process.

  “Mind telling me what’s going on?” Aggie asked. “You know I hate when Lætitia knows more than me. It gives her way too much enjoyment. And we both know that I can’t allow that.”

  Dagmar Reinholdt was deep in paperwork, scrolls and parchments littering her desk. Ink covering her hands. And six of her best-trained dogs surrounding her. It had been that way since the last attempt on her life nearly seven months ago. Her mate, Gwenvael the Handsome, had insisted. She still had an assistant, but he’d been chosen by Morfyd, who used her magicks to ensure the Northland male sent by her brothers and approved by Dagmar’s father had no loyalty except to reason.

  The only problem, though . . . he loathed dogs. And, in turn, her dogs loathed him.

  So he had his own space in the towers, along with Bram the Merciful, Dagmar’s nephew Frederik Reinholdt—who was currently in the Northlands working with the local warlords to ensure they were ready for any attacks from Duke Salebiri and the Chramnesind cult—and Dagmar’s only son, Unnvar.

  That tower. That ridiculous tower the queen had built had become a hub of thoughtful reason and decisive war-planning. Hard to believe since, for months, Dagmar had assumed the queen had been creating a killing factory for her enemies.

  Dagmar’s dogs began to growl seconds before the door swung open. Three of them went to leap at the intruder, ready to tear face from body, but Dagmar’s calm “No” stopped them. They grudgingly pulled back, still snarling, while the queen strode into the room. Oblivious as always.

  “They did it again,” the queen growled
, patting the dogs that had, moments ago, been ready to tear her into pieces. Unlike Dagmar’s assistant, Annwyl loved dogs. All kinds. Even the useless ones.

  “Who did what again?” Dagmar asked, not looking up from her work.

  “That stupid cult destroyed another one of my temples.”

  “It’s not your temple. You don’t even like the gods. And you refuse to worship them.”

  “It was my temple because it was on my lands.”

  Dagmar leaned back in her chair, placing her quill down on the desk and massaging her tired fingers. “So what do you want to do, my queen?”

  “What?” Annwyl glared at her. “I’m asking you!”

  Dagmar shrugged. “I have no opinion. I’d hate to get in the way of your big decision making.”

  Annwyl frowned in confusion. “What the battle-fuck are you talking about? I don’t understand you lately. For months, you’ve been acting like a total dick!”

  “I know my place, Annwyl. I wouldn’t want to step on any toes.”

  Leaning down, Annwyl looked into Dagmar’s face through all that hair she insisted on not combing off her face. “What is wrong with you?” she asked.

  “Nothing, my liege. Do you find something wrong with me?” Dagmar blinked a few times. “Perhaps with my eyes?”

  Annwyl reared back. “What? What’s wrong with your . . . ? What are you going on about?”

  Dagmar began to say something, but Annwyl cut her off. “Forget it! I’ll figure it out myself!”

  She turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

  “Why do you torture her, Mum?”

  Dagmar glanced behind her. The youngest five of her seven children were sitting on the floor behind her. No. Dagmar hadn’t missed their presence in the room. Instead, her daughters had come through the wall. They, Dagmar had discovered, could do that easily.

  One second they weren’t there . . . and the next second they were.

  Something that was getting harder and harder to hide from the rest of the family.

  “I’m not torturing your aunt Annwyl.”

  “You are,” insisted the eldest of Gwenvael’s Five, as they were now called by their own ridiculous father. “Ever since she threatened to rip your eyes out. But she didn’t mean it the way you think she did.”

  “These are adult issues that I am not discussing with you.”

  “Except that Grandmum would say you’re not acting like an adult.”

  “Well, your Grandmum can suck my . . . wait.” Dagmar turned in the chair at the mention of their grandmother, the Dragon Queen Rhiannon the White, so she could see her daughters clearly. “How often are you talking to your Grandmum when I’m not around?”

  The youngest of the five began to speak, but three different hands slapped over her mouth to silence her and, without another word, the girls were gone.

  Dagmar faced forward again, placing her hands on her desk and softly noted, “That simply does not bode well, now does it?”

  Elina’s suggestion that they play a game was not helping Kachka’s current emotional state. If anything, it just made her feel even more useless.

  Elina studied the game board with her one good eye, debating her next move.

  This was the life of the Shestakova sisters now.

  Decadent. Lazy. Spoiled. Sitting around. Playing board games like children.

  It amazed Kachka that adults played these games. Daughters of the Steppes had their three-year-olds playing these games to help them understand the concept of “divide, conquer, and destroy so that the next city or town over just gives us what we ask for.”

  So for the two sisters to be playing these games again appalled Kachka on a visceral level. How far she’d fallen back. Would it never get better?

  Finally, after much thought, Elina went to make her move . . . and her hand missed the piece by a few inches. Although, based on Elina’s reaction, it might as well have been a mile.

  Kachka’s sister growled, then she swiped her hand at the board . . . which she also missed.

  That’s when the entire board went flying, her sister’s bellow of rage startling the weak, delusional servants who worked for these rich, decadent royals.

  Kachka sighed. “You were winning.”

  “Shut up!”

  Kachka leaned back in her chair. “Such whining. Like baby, you whine!”

  “I am still weak!”

  “You took down bear last week.”

  “Took me three shots!”

  “That’s not eye. That’s this life we now live.” She pointed at one of the dragons walking by. “Decadent! Like that dragon.”

  The dragon stopped, placed a hand on his chest. “Me? Kachka, you love me!”

  “I love your beauty. I have no use for you personally. You represent all that we hate.”

  “Why do you talk to him so?” Elina asked. “He cannot help that he is beautiful but worthless.”

  “I am not worthless! I am Gwenvael the—”

  “We do not care, lizard!” Kachka barked.

  “Do not yell at him!”

  “Do not be so pathetic! So you miss eye! Get over it!”

  That’s when Elina kicked Kachka under the table. So Kachka kicked her back.

  “Ow!”

  “Whine!”

  Elina reached and grabbed Kachka by her leather buckskin shirt. That Elina could grip with no problem.

  Kachka punched her sister’s arm, but that only made Elina drag Kachka out of the chair.

  Kachka gripped Elina by her shoulders, shoving her back against the table.

  “Stop it! Both of you!” the dragon called out. “I have enough beauty to share with everyone!”

  Ignoring the beautiful but useless dragon, Kachka drew back her arm to punch her sister, but it was caught and held.

  She assumed it was the dragon, but when she looked, it was the queen who held her. What worried her, though, was the look on the queen’s face. She stared at Kachka as if she’d never seen her before.

  “You,” the queen said.

  “What about me?”

  She didn’t answer at first. Simply stared. Then, suddenly, she yanked Kachka off her sister. “Come with me,” she ordered.

  “No!” Elina cried out, grabbing Kachka’s other arm. “Do not kill her!”

  The queen blinked. “What?”

  “It is all right, sister,” Kachka soothed. “I am ready for death.”

  “What are you two—?”

  “Don’t worry,” the beautiful dragon tossed in. “I’ll make sure you have a gorgeous funeral.”

  “Gwenvael!” Annwyl roared.

  “Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t do anything. It was the outsider!”

  Annwyl yanked Kachka from her sister’s grip. “She’ll be fine,” she snapped before Elina could complain further.

  “Do not worry, sister,” Kachka said as the queen dragged her off. “I will go to my death bravely!”

  “It could be a trap,” Aggie warned.

  “I know. But I have to chance it.”

  Aggie nodded and continued to pace. She appeared worried, and he was sure that, to a degree, she was. But Gaius also knew his sister always appeared worried when she was thinking. Analyzing. She was very good at analyzing.

  “Are you going to bring him back here?”

  “That’s not my plan, sister.”

  She stopped pacing, her grey eyes locking with his. “Good.” She began pacing again. “And what about Vateria?”

  “No word on her. None. She could be dead.”

  “That bitch isn’t dead, and we both know it.”

  “I do know that she was wounded.”

  Aggie slowed to a stop again and turned toward her brother. “Wounded?”

  He shrugged. “According to General Iseabail. She wounded her spine. She could walk but never fly again.”

  Aggie shook her head. “How long ago was this?”

  “It’s been a few years.”

  “An
d you never told me?”

  “I don’t like to mention her to you. It upsets you.”

  “No, brother. It upsets you.”

  “I let her get you.”

  Aggie laughed. “You didn’t let her get me. If anything I let her get me.”

  “No—”

  “She wanted me. She wouldn’t have stopped until she’d gotten me. But that was a long time ago, Gaius. I refuse to live in that nightmare anymore. I refuse to let the past rule me the way it once did.”

  “Until Vateria’s dead, I won’t rest,” Gaius promised his sister. Again. “But until then . . . killing the rest of our cousins, loyal to her, will have to do.”

  “Are you taking an army with you?”

  “No. Just a few of my loyal soldiers. And I will go as a centurion, not as king.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll find him. I’ll kill him. And I’ll put his head on a spike outside our palace walls.”

  Aggie’s mouth curled in disgust. “What are we now? Southlanders?”

  They ended up in the stables with the queen’s giant horses. Elina called them all “travel cows,” which always made Kachka laugh.

  The queen dismissed her stable hands and proceeded to brush the hair on the black stallion she referred to as “Bloodletting.” A rather disturbing name, even by Rider standards.

  Once the queen began brushing the long black hair that swept across the horse’s large head, her entire being seemed to calm down. The constant swirl of insanity that always surrounded the queen appeared to drift away.

  The fact that the horse was so calm around the queen, trusted her so much, told Kachka more than any words or actions of humans and dragons. There was only honesty from horses.

  “So you drag me here, Southlander queen. Why?”

  Annwyl glanced at Kachka and gave a small smile. One of the first Kachka could remember seeing from the woman. “You’re bored, aren’t you, Kachka?”