Bring the Heat Read online

  Glaring up at Brannie, Keita snarled, “Cow!”

  “Viper.”

  “Brannie,” Aidan said. “We need to get somewhere safe . . . and with untainted water. Caswyn needs a healer, I’m afraid.”

  “No, no, my brother,” Caswyn choked out. “My ancestors are waiting for me on the other side. Just let me—”

  “Oh, shut up!” Brannie snapped, grabbing some of the chain mail armor and yanking it on. “If you think, for a second, Caswyn the Butcher, that you’ll be getting out of this shitty little assignment except on the end of my spear, you’re gravely mistaken. Die on your own time! Now let’s move out!”

  * * *

  They took what they needed from the original traveling party, although Brannie was quite disappointed in the weapons. The guards only had swords and eating knives, and the workmanship on all did not meet the Cadwaladr’s very high standard.

  “I could probably wipe me ass with these and not even scratch this frail human skin,” she muttered . . . more than once.

  But Aidan was just glad they had something to protect themselves with. He hated walking around without weapons. Two of his best mates were weak and vulnerable, and now they had a royal to protect.

  Aidan was grateful, though, that it was Branwen the Awful who was traveling with him on this mission. She was, truly, the best warrior he knew, and if anyone could help him get his mates and Keita the Viper out of this alive, it was Branwen.

  But she was miserable and he hated that. She was ruthlessly loyal to her troops and he knew that leaving them during what would likely turn into a monumental battle would eat her up inside. There was nothing to do about it, though. The queen had given her orders and it was their duty to obey.

  Unfortunately that didn’t mean Brannie wouldn’t complain every step of the way....

  “I couldn’t even be stuck with a useful royal.” Brannie fixed the saddle on the carriage horse she’d claimed as her own. “No, no. Gods forbid I’d get a Fearghus or Briec or even a Gwenvael. Instead I get the most useless of the lot. Keita the Do Nothing.”

  Keita’s eyes narrowed on Brannie’s vulnerable back and Aidan quickly stepped to the royal’s side, afraid she was moments from shoving some vicious poison down her cousin’s throat.

  “Why don’t you ride with me, Princess Keita?” he asked, even while he pushed her toward his horse. “There are only four horses and Branwen will have her hands full managing my two wounded mates.”

  “Fine.” Keita lifted her skirts and moved toward the horse.

  “So sorry, Aidan,” Brannie scoffed, “that you have to be bothered with such a useless She-dragon.”

  “Oh!” Keita gasped seconds before she turned and started stalking back toward her cousin.

  “No, no, no,” Aidan said quickly, stepping between the two before they could get near each other. “Both of you stop it,” he ordered. “We don’t have time for this. Look at poor Caswyn. He’s practically falling off his horse. He’s weakening by the second and you two want to keep this ridiculous fight going? We have our orders—let’s just get them over with.”

  Brannie closed her eyes, taking a moment to get control of her intense anger. She knew he was right, but Aidan also knew that she’d hate admitting it.

  Which meant, of course, that she wouldn’t.

  “Let’s go,” she muttered. But she just as quickly stopped and pointed her finger at Keita. “But if any of my troops suffer because of you—”

  “Oh, for the love of the gods, let it go!” Keita nearly screamed at her. “Your troops! Your troops! You and your troops have one purpose in this world! Protect the throne! Do your job, Branwen the Awful!”

  Brannie was reaching for Keita’s throat when Aidan slapped her arm down and stepped into her.

  “Stand by the horse, Princess,” he ordered. “I’ll be right there.”

  With much flouncing, the princess stomped off and Aidan said to Branwen, “I need your help. I can’t do this alone. Do you understand that?”

  “I’m just so frustrated,” she bit out between brutally clenched teeth.

  “I know. But let’s get Caswyn and Uther someplace safe, where they can heal. Food and a good night’s sleep is probably all you need. I won’t say tomorrow will be a better day, but it will be a new one. We’ll start again, and we’ll get it right.”

  “But I want to kill her,” she admitted in a whisper.

  “You can’t. Otherwise, most of my kin would have been dead a long time ago instead of irritating Rhiannon with their needy presence at Devenallt Mountain.”

  A small smile managed to turn up the corners of her mouth. “Your mother will annoy our queen, won’t she?”

  “Greatly. She will greatly annoy our queen. And, to be honest, probably already has annoyed her. My mother doesn’t usually waste time with that sort of thing.”

  Brannie nodded. “Knowing that does help.”

  Without another word, Brannie returned to her horse and mounted him. Once she was comfortable in the saddle, she took in a deep, cleansing breath, and let it out.

  Closing her eyes, she finally said with obvious great pain, “Where to first, Keita?”

  Keita, sitting sidesaddle behind Aidan, pointed down the road. “That way. There are friends of mine where we can stay with for the night. But remember, we’re not kin, you and I, and we’re definitely not dragons. All of you are my guards. Keep that in mind, and we’ll be able to get much from them without any trouble.”

  Shaking her head, Brannie said, “You and I have vastly different definitions of the word friends.”

  Keita shrugged. “That’s why I have so few. But who needs them,” she asked, flashing that brutally bitchy smile, “when you have kin?”

  Brannie, with some great force of will, choked back her next words, and headed off down the road. The rest of them followed.

  * * *

  Briec the Mighty, Shield Hero of the Dragon Wars, Lord Defender of the Dragon Queen’s Throne, and extremely proud father of two of the most amazing and perfect, perfect daughters in the known universe, watched his first daughter, Iseabail the Dangerous, General of the Eighth, Fourteenth, and Twenty-Sixth Legions, help her men make quick work of a gigantic, burned tree stump.

  Izzy didn’t have to help her troops do this sort of grunt work. Briec definitely wouldn’t. But she wasn’t just a royal with a title. She loved the world of the soldier. From the most mundane guard duty to creating elaborate battle plans, she could do it all. And do it all well.

  Briec hadn’t been happy when his daughter had made it clear to one and all that she wanted to join Annwyl the Bloody’s army. She’d only been sixteen. A baby, even for a human. But he’d foolishly assumed that a few months of living in the muck and mire as an army private would change her opinion and she’d be back, safe, with him and her mother at Garbhán Isle.

  He’d been so wrong. She came home, of course, for leave, but always with her eye on getting back out there. Back to the muck and the mire and the blood and the danger and the harsh world of being a soldier in an active army. There were those who felt Izzy had only gotten her rank because of her family connection to Annwyl the Bloody. As fast as Izzy moved up those ranks, this attitude wasn’t exactly shocking. But the troops quickly learned that Izzy wasn’t just some daft royal who thought it would be fun to play with true warriors.

  And those who pushed her, those who really didn’t want her as part of their army, soon learned she was not a girl—now a woman—to be pushed.

  Briec never asked her for specifics of what her life in the military was like. He honestly didn’t want to know. But as long as she came home with her usual smile and happy attitude, he didn’t really worry about it.

  Of course, if someone had hurt her, if someone had crossed those lines that Annwyl the Bloody insisted her troops respect, Briec wouldn’t have stopped until he’d caught the bastard and had him on a spit for the entire Cadwaladr Clan to feast upon . . . as was their way.

  But Izzy had never ne
eded his protection. Over time, she’d even earned respect from the most bigoted and hardened human soldiers who thought royals shouldn’t do anything but get out of their way.

  Now she had control of three legions and was the right-hand woman of the queen and the queen’s second in command, Brastias.

  Once the stump was pulled out of the ground, she ordered it to be taken off and broken into kindling.

  Hands on her hips, she looked around the growing camp and tried to figure out what issue would next need to be tackled. That’s when she saw him.

  Briec loved how her face lit up, her smile wide.

  “Daddy!”

  She ran to him, jumped up, threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him tight.

  It was true. Izzy was not blood; her father had been her mother’s first love. But she was still Briec’s first daughter, as far as he was concerned.

  “You’re here!” she said when he’d placed her back on the ground.

  “We’re here.”

  She suddenly took his hand and pulled him toward the general’s tent. Once inside, she faced him. “Where’s Fearghus?”

  “With the twins. They said they need to talk to him alone. But why is that?”

  An answer came from a dark corner. “The mad queen is missing.”

  Father and daughter turned and watched the ancient Cadwaladr witch limp out of the shadows.

  “Where did you come from?” Izzy demanded.

  “Don’t whine so.”

  “I wasn’t whining, Brigida. What do you want?”

  “I’m here to help.” She made an expression that some might consider a smile but both Briec and Izzy stepped back from her.

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why I bother with you idiots.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t then,” Briec replied. “Bother, I mean.”

  “Can you get Annwyl back?” Izzy asked.

  “I have no idea where she is.”

  “Then what can you help with?”

  “Preparing for what’s coming our way.” She rested against her walking stick and Briec noticed that the old She-dragon was having trouble breathing. She was as worn down as he’d ever seen her. But he wouldn’t count Brigida the Most Foul out yet. No. Not her.

  Only a fool would do that. And Briec was no fool.

  At first, he’d traveled down the road of the Battle Mage, learning about magicks and the spells that controlled them. But his interest hadn’t lasted and he had ended up becoming a Dragonwarrior instead, much to his mother’s disappointment and his father’s surprise.

  Briec still remembered enough about the world of magicks and mystics, though, to know and see real power when it was staring him in the face. Even when that face was a little hard to look at.

  “With the human queen gone,” Brigida went on, “you risk that human army of yours losing its focus. Or making a run for it.”

  “Won’t happen,” Izzy quickly said. “We’re not just fighting for Annwyl; we’re fighting for our country. Our people—”

  “Blah, blah, blah. No one cares.”

  Izzy shook her head and paced away.

  “One queen is gone, most likely never to return—”

  “I wouldn’t say that around Fearghus,” Briec muttered.

  “—and the Dragon Queen is about to release her deadliest weapon. Your father, Bercelak the Great.”

  “He is unpleasant. Some see that as deadly.”

  “We either win here or we die trying. I’m here to help you win.”

  Briec stared at his ancient relative. “And what do you get out of us winning, Brigida the Most Foul? Until the twins and my Rhi were born, none of our kin had seen you in centuries. Now you’re here, fighting by our side.” He looked her over once. “Why?”

  “Smarter than your brothers, ain’t ya?”

  “Not smarter. More cynical.”

  Brigida’s true smile lifted one corner of her face. The part of her face without the vicious scars from lip to just below her eye. Like she’d been swiped by a clawed animal. Except there was no clawed animal in the natural world that could harm a dragon in that way. And he doubted a fellow dragon would even try something like that with Brigida.

  “We don’t have much time,” she told them. “We need to get everybody together and get this moving. Once your father’s here . . .”

  “What about Annwyl?” Izzy demanded as Brigida headed toward the tent flap.

  “What about her?”

  “We have to get her back.”

  Brigida stopped and looked over her shoulder at Izzy, her sneer vicious.

  “It’s too late for all that.”

  “Yeah,” Briec felt the need to point out once more, “I really would not say that to Fearghus.”

  Chapter Six

  It took four hours, but they eventually reached Keita’s “friends’” castle. Human royals who said they were loyal to Queen Annwyl.

  Brannie didn’t know them but that was a good thing. Annwyl talked often of those she hated and the names became memorable.

  The name here was Breeton-Holmes and the family had a small castle well inside the Southland-Outerplains border. They weren’t a powerful family, but they were well situated, and had access to a lot of gossip, making them important to not only Keita but Dagmar Reinholdt, the Northland woman who ran Queen Annwyl’s lands in her absence and had bravely taken on Gwenvael the Handsome as her mate.

  As soon as they were in range of the Breeton-Holmeses’ castle, Keita went into full royal mode, her back straightening, her expression unbelievably haughty.

  It made Brannie want to hit her, but she wouldn’t.

  Unless, of course, she had to.

  The gates were immediately opened for them and the few guards that were around didn’t even question them. Aidan had just helped Keita to dismount when Lord Breeton-Holmes appeared.

  That’s when the real performance began.

  As soon as she saw her fellow royal, Keita burst into hysterical tears, throwing herself into the man’s arms as his wife and adult children instantly surrounded her.

  Brannie didn’t even realize she’d started to roll her eyes until Aidan bumped into her, pushing her forward. That’s when she remembered that a good royal guard doesn’t roll his eyes at the idiot royals he was sworn to protect.

  Everyone saw Brannie move forward, and the new royals were watching her closely, so she patted Keita’s shoulder and mumbled, “Now, now, my lady, we’re safe now.”

  She heard Aidan snort behind her—which he quickly turned into a cough—and even she had to admit, she sounded less than concerned over the royal in her care.

  It didn’t matter, though. Keita had an audience, and Brannie and her cohorts were soon forgotten.

  Sobbing hysterically, Keita was helped toward the castle doors. Brannie followed but Keita abruptly stopped—walking and crying—and looked at her cousin over her shoulder.

  “You’ll stay in the stables. A healer will be sent for your men.”

  “The stables?” Brannie demanded.

  Aidan’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Of course, my lady. Please let us know if you need anything else.”

  “But—”

  “Come on, Sarge. The lads need us.”

  Sarge? Had he called her “sarge”?

  Turning to remind Aidan of her hard-earned rank, she saw his eyes widen in warning.

  With human royal guards, no rank higher than a sergeant would lead a royal protection detail. A captain would never leave the castle unless it was the captain to a queen.

  Realizing Caswyn and Uther needed her more than Keita ever would, she grabbed the reins of two horses—one carrying Caswyn—and made her way to the stables. Aidan right behind her with Uther and his horse.

  As they walked, Brannie quickly understood that these royals weren’t like the very wealthy ones that used to come see Annwyl. Of course, most of those royals never got past Dagmar Reinholdt. She spoke for the queen as her battle mage and vassal. Many thought Annw
yl was harder to talk to, but they were wrong. Dagmar was tougher than many dragons Branwen knew. She was plotting and devious and dangerous despite her lack of battle skill and magicks.

  Brannie adored her.

  But clearly not all royals were rolling in gold. The Beeton-Holmes castle was on the small side. The castle grounds damn near tiny, with just a few guards protecting them. But despite the sparseness of everything else, the stables were glorious and the few horses they had were shiny and beautiful. Like they were groomed every day, which seemed strange.

  “Show horses,” Aidan remarked once they were inside.

  “Show them to whom?”

  “Before the war, there were show events where royals from around the land would bring their prized horses to be judged for strength, beauty, and breeding. And you don’t keep amazing show horses in shitty stables, even if it means you live in a tiny castle with few servants.”

  “Shouldn’t they have more horses? These stables are huge.”

  “Perhaps they gave the horses to the army for battle.”

  Brannie walked past the few animals in residence. “But . . . they’re not big enough to be used in battle. Look at this one. Her legs are so . . . thin.”

  “Elegant.”

  “What?”

  “Her legs are elegant, not thin.”

  “Elegant . . . and breakable. I wouldn’t even eat her. Like gnawing on a chicken bone.”

  Aidan, chuckling, led their two riderless horses to their own stalls before he came back for his friends.

  Taking a quick look around, Aidan pointed at a roomy stall by the doors. “Let’s put them here.”

  “No,” an old woman said, coming into the stable. She carried a weighted-down bag and had on a gray wool shawl. She was the healer.

  “Put them in the back stalls, past the double doors,” she ordered. “That’s where I treat injured men and it’ll allow them to get some quiet. She glanced over Uther and Caswyn, who was being held up by Brannie and Aidan. “They’ll need the sleep.”

  “We need them ready to go by tomorrow,” Brannie told her.

  “Maybe this one.” She gestured at Uther. “He probably just needs a splint.” She leaned in closer, trying to look into Caswyn’s face; his head was down, his eyes closed. He was, thankfully, still breathing, but that was it. “This one . . . this one will need more.”