Last Dragon Standing Read online

“Because it’s the most dangerous part of you. And I can’t believe you and Ren are wagering on who you can get into bed. Aren’t you too old for that?”

  “Not when it involves a throne!”

  Snarling, her brother said, “Now listen to me. When the feast ends, I want to go back with Lord Ragnar and the others. Don’t ruin this for me.”

  “Go back? To the Northlands? Whatever for?”

  “I’m learning a lot. I’ll never be as good as Briec or Fearghus if I stay here.”

  “I notice you left Gwenvael off that list.”

  “I guess he has his moments. When he’s not whining.”

  Keita leaned in and whispered, “You’re not becoming like the Northlanders, are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t want to find a mate and lop her wings off or anything, do you?”

  “They don’t do that anymore.” Keita smirked, and her brother said adamantly, “They don’t!”

  “As long as you’re not getting any strange ideas. Or, you know, trying to avoid anyone in particular by returning to the Northlands.”

  “I’m not avoiding anyone.”

  “Uh-huh. Not even cute, tall nieces who aren’t actually blood relations?”

  “We’re not having this conversation—again.”

  “Cute, tall nieces who aren’t actually blood relations, but have the most adorable smile known to man or the gods?”

  “Can we just go?” he bellowed, storming past her.

  “No, no, brother. I guess I was wrong. You’re clearly not avoiding anyone.”

  Ragnar was waiting to leave, the two suns rising higher as it grew later. He had a talon tapping when the siblings returned. The big blue royal stomping along like a cranky child and his sister running up behind him, yelling, “Just admit it! Just admit how you feel!”

  The Blue picked up his travel bag. “Let it go, Keita.”

  “Just admit it! You’ll feel better.”

  “Shut. Up.”

  “Make me.” She went up on her back legs and brought her front claws up, curling them into fists. “Let’s go. Right here. Right now. You’re not so big and tough that I can’t still take you.”

  Vigholf leaned in and whispered to Ragnar. “She has no idea the truth of that.”

  Meinhard slammed his back claw into Vigholf.

  “Ow!”

  With the elegance of a wounded animal, the princess danced around her brother. “Come on. Take your best shot, little brother.”

  “I’m not hitting you.”

  She ducked; she weaved. And all of it quite badly.

  Vigholf sighed. “This is what happens when you let females think they can fight like the males.”

  “I hear their human queen is good,” Meinhard remarked.

  “She’s not half bad,” the Eastland dragon stated. “Although I have heard she is no friend of the Minotaur.”

  Vigholf snorted. “Our Aunt Freida, with her one arm and missing foot, would be good too, with five thousand legions at her back.”

  “No, Keita!” the Blue yelped. “Not the tickling! Stop it!”

  “Think we should rescue the royal from his sister?” Meinhard asked Ragnar.

  “If we hope to leave before the end of time…”

  Briec the Mighty, second oldest in the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, fourth in line to the throne of the White Dragon Queen now that his eldest brother had bred his demon spawn twins, Shield Hero of the Dragon Wars, Former Lord Defender of the Dragon Queen’s Throne, Benevolent Ruler of the fair Talaith’s heart, and proud father of two amazing daughters who were perfect merely because they were his daughters, located his eldest brother in the war room.

  Fearghus stood behind the large table, an extensive map open in front of him. Brastias, General of Queen Annwyl’s armies, to his left, and Dagmar Reinholdt, the only female capable of tolerating his younger brother, Gwenvael, on his right. A small group of Annwyl’s elite guard stood around the table.

  Fearghus looked up from the map. “What is it, Briec?”

  “I just heard from Éibhear. He’s heading home.”

  “Good.” Fearghus returned his focus to the map.

  “And Keita’s with him.”

  “Yes!”

  Fearghus’s head came up again, and both he and Briec looked over at several of the soldiers who were grinning and slapping each other on the back. When Briec made black smoke come out of his nostrils, they looked away and stopped smiling.

  Briec stepped farther into the room. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the map.

  “Dagmar heard from Ghleanna—” Fearghus began.

  “Izzy?” Briec immediately asked.

  “She’s fine, brother. Ease yourself.”

  Briec’s eldest, Iseabail, a soldier with Annwyl’s army, had been out with his Aunt Ghleanna’s troops for nearly two years now. And although he was not Izzy’s father by blood, he worried for her every day. Blood or not, Izzy was his daughter. She would always be his daughter.

  “Then what is it?” Briec asked.

  “More problems in the west. Entire towns destroyed near the Aricia Mountains.”

  “I thought the army had a handle on the barbarians in the west.”

  “The ones near the Western Mountains, yes, but we haven’t even moved past them yet.”

  “Still? How hard is it to drive barbarian cretins back to the mud huts from which they came?” He glanced at Dagmar. “No offense.”

  Cold grey eyes shielded by small circles of glass looked up from the map. “Since my mud-hut-living, barbarian, cretin people are not from the west…none taken.”

  “We’re getting calls for assistance from the western kings,” Brastias explained.

  Briec didn’t see the problem. “So send another legion.”

  “I don’t like it,” Fearghus grumbled.

  “You don’t like anything.”

  “Not you, of course, but I lie and tell our mother I do.” Fearghus looked at Dagmar. “Have you heard anything?”

  “What makes you think that I—” A room filled with males snorting in disbelief cut the Northlander off. “I wanted to get more information,” she admitted.

  “More information on what?”

  “Possible problems coming from beyond the Aricia Mountains.”

  “Beyond?” Frowning, Briec studied the map. “The only thing beyond the Aricia Mountains is…”

  The room grew silent, and Dagmar raised her hands, palms out. “Let me get more information before we jump to any conclusions.”

  “A problem coming from that far west,” Brastias murmured, “cannot be ignored by Annwyl.”

  “She’s not ignoring anything.” And Briec could hear the snap in Fearghus’s voice. “Far from it.”

  “What part of ‘Let me get more information before we jump to any conclusions’ were all of you not clear on?” Dagmar asked.

  “Fine. Get the information. Then Annwyl can decide what she wants to do.”

  It wasn’t that the human warriors said anything, they didn’t. It was their silence that spoke volumes.

  “What?” Fearghus asked. “What is it?”

  “If Annwyl plans to hole up here for the next sixteen years, Fearghus, you’re going to have to find another to lead our men into war. If,” Brastias added, glancing at Dagmar, “war is coming.”

  “Isn’t that your job, general?”

  “My job is to lead the troops into battle. But Annwyl’s our queen. She has to lead us into war.”

  Fearghus let out a great sigh. “And she can only do that by leaving her children?”

  “No. But she can’t keep avoiding war either. Trying to patch up problems with a troop here, a legion there isn’t doing anyone any favors. It’s just pulling her army apart.”

  Briec watched his brother. Fearghus knew the general was right, but that didn’t make the situation easier for him.

  Catching Brastias’s attention, Briec suggested, “You may want to warn Morfyd that Keita�
��s coming home.”

  “Warn her?”

  “Trust me, general. Warn her.” Then Briec gave a small jerk of his head toward the door. Brastias nodded and left with his men.

  Once the door closed behind them, Briec dropped into a chair across from his brother, propping his feet up on the table. “All right, what don’t I know?”

  Fearghus muttered something, but rather than get the dragon to repeat himself—always a chore since Fearghus was a born mutterer—Briec focused on Dagmar.

  “Annwyl has become reluctant to make decisions that might thrust us into war,” Dagmar said.

  “I’ve seen your female, brother. She looks ready for war to me.”

  “She’s torn,” Fearghus admitted. “She’s ready to stomp out whatever is terrorizing the territories past the Western Mountains, but she’s terrified to leave the children.”

  “Why? They won’t be alone. They’ll have us. The Cadwaladr Clan. She couldn’t ask for better or stronger protection than that.”

  “I can’t explain it, Briec. She’s not talking to me. I just know that to get her any farther than my cave these days has become near impossible.”

  “And,” Dagmar added, “to discuss problems that might be occurring outside Garbhán Isle is also a challenge.” Dagmar walked around the table and leaned against it, her arms crossing over her chest. “It’s hard to convince her the children will be safe without her for a little while when we can’t even keep a nanny for longer than a moon or two.”

  “Wait. What happened to the last one?” Briec asked.

  Dagmar shook her head, and Fearghus let out a long sigh before facing the wall behind him.

  Briec grimaced. “Oh.” Thankfully, Briec had no problems like this with his younger daughter. His girl was sweet beyond imagining—something she must have gotten from him, since there was no way she could have inherited that trait from her mother. So he had no worries when he left her alone with anyone. All that worried him was what weight she possibly carried on those tiny shoulders. He’d never seen someone so young look so serious—all the time. She never smiled. Ever. She simply gazed at all around her with those eyes that anyone could get lost in. He had heard a few say that when she stared at them, it was as if she were staring into their souls.

  To be honest, Briec thought she was.

  But none of that helped his brother now. Because a paranoid, well-trained, ready-for-anything Annwyl with no war or battle to head off to was nothing but a volcano waiting to explode. Everyone at Garbhán Isle knew it—and that’s what had everyone so on edge.

  “I’m sure we’ll figure out something. Maybe Keita can help. When she gets here.”

  Fearghus sniffed. “Two years and no word from her. And she’ll come back like none of it happened.”

  “You know how Keita is. She blocked us all, even Éibhear.”

  “Yes, but it’s not like she’s Gwenvael.”

  “Because we actually care if she’s dead or alive?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You two do know I’m right here?” Dagmar asked.

  “It’s not whether we know you’re here or not,” Briec explained. “It’s whether we care that you’re here or not. And, I’m sure to your surprise, tiny crushable human, we actually don’t. Care, that is.”

  Dagmar adjusted her spectacles. “Actually what surprises me is that Talaith has not killed you in your sleep yet.”

  Briec grinned while Fearghus laughed. “Aye. It amazes her as well.”

  Chapter Eight

  They were still in the Outerplains when they took their first break in the afternoon. It should have been only a quick break of thirty minutes or less, but the princess shifted to human and put on a dress, which was strange enough. Then she dug into Ragnar’s bag and threw his chain-mail leggings and shirt at him. “Get dressed,” she ordered.

  “Why?”

  “Don’t question—just do.” She grinned and walked off. Ragnar kept on eating the dried meat from his bag until Vigholf shoved him with his shoulder. “Go on then.”

  “Go on where?”

  “Wherever she’s going. Don’t be an idiot.”

  “I’ve got more important—”

  Now Meinhard shoved his other shoulder. “Go. We’ll be here when you get back.”

  “We need to leave.”

  “Would an extra half hour really kill you, brother?” Vigholf motioned toward the royal, smiling. “Go. She’s waiting.”

  Knowing this was a waste of time but sure his kin wouldn’t let it go until he’d followed after the female like a needy puppy, Ragnar shifted to human and pulled on his leggings and shirt. He also added a sword strapped to his back, several daggers in his boots, and a hooded cape to hide his hair. Once dressed, he set off after Her Highness and found her leaning against a tree less than a half mile away.

  “Took you long enough,” she complained, then latched onto his arm and started off.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. It’s not far.” She glanced up at him. “You look so tense. All that stress can’t be good for you.”

  “I always look tense; it doesn’t mean I am.”

  “But you have such a handsome face. Why waste it scowling all the time?”

  Ragnar stopped, the princess stopping with him since she was holding on to him. “What are you up to?”

  “I’m taking you for a walk.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t want to walk with me?”

  He didn’t answer, and she said, “I’ll make it easy for you.” She slipped her small hand into his, their fingers interlacing. “Now you can’t get away,” she murmured, and he realized that she was right.

  They reached the clearing Keita had caught sight of when they were flying over the area, and she grinned up at the warlord. He, however, was busy rolling his eyes and looking as if he wanted to wish himself a million miles away.

  “Oh, come on. A few minutes. What could it hurt?”

  “I am in no mood for a fair, princess.”

  “I still hear prince-ass, but no bother.” She tugged on his arm again, not stopping until he began to walk with her.

  “I adore fairs,” Keita told him as they got closer. A juggler jumped in front of them, tossing several clubs in the air. “They’re so much fun!”

  “And I can tell we’re getting closer to the Southlands.”

  “Don’t you have fairs in the North?”

  “No.”

  “You should. A fair is a wonderful thing for humans. They don’t get enough entertainment in my estimation.”

  “You’re quite the human lover.”

  “I wasn’t always,” she admitted. “I could sometimes be quite cruel. Especially to the men. And I nearly destroyed an entire village once. I don’t even think I was seventy-five winters yet.”

  “Why?”

  “The leader of their village wanted to use me as a protector by chaining me. And not in a fun way, either, but like some guard dog. Me! A dragoness of the royal bloodline. I made my point, though, and received a spiffy new name to go along with it. I doubt that the few humans left alive—mostly women and children—ever tried that again with some other dragon.”

  “Most likely not.”

  “But I realized later they were simply trying to protect their village, their people. It’s not any more or less than we do; it was just handled badly by those in charge. Over time, I began to realize it’s sometimes all about leadership and who rules. A bad ruler can put the most kind and wonderful people into a very horrible situation they don’t know how to get out of.”

  “Is that why you didn’t destroy Bampour’s fortress?”

  She nodded. “Why make all those people suffer because of their bad ruler?” Keita winked at the juggler, and they walked around and headed to the stalls selling everything from food to clothes to weapons. “These days, with most humans, I’m more like my grandfather, Ailean the Beautiful.”

  “I thought his name was Ailean the Wicked.”


  “To some. To me he was Ailean the Beautiful. He adored me. And like him, I love to spend my time as human, among humans. I find them so amusing and cute.”

  “You mean like baby ducks?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

  Keita grinned. “Exactly like baby ducks!” She stopped at an iron smith and looked over his wares. “These are nice weapons.”

  “If you say so.”

  When she saw the smith glare, Keita quickly pulled the Northlander away. “Could you at least pretend to be pleasant? No use insulting the man’s goods while he’s standing right there.”

  “Should I lie to him?”

  “Aye! You should. Would it kill you to do so?”

  “If I tried to pretend those weak weapons he’d created could protect me in a true fight—yes.”

  Keita stopped and looked up at the warlord. “Are you always like this?’

  “As a matter of fact…no.” He returned her gaze. “It seems to be you.”

  The royal dropped his arm and flounced away, only to return a few moments later. “You know, I’m trying to be nice.”

  “I know. I just don’t know why.”

  “I’m always nice. I’m known for my niceness.”

  “You mean when you’re not trying to kill people.”

  She pointed at her chest. “I did not kill him.”

  “But you were going to.”

  She let out a breath and glanced around. No one was paying them much attention, so she stepped closer and said, “I tell you this in confidence.”

  “As you like.”

  “Bampour had sent an assassin to kill my brother’s children in their cribs. Because he believes they’re evil.”

  “Are they?”

  “Of course not!”

  “How would you know? You haven’t been home.”

  “Och!” She stormed off. “I don’t know why I bother talking to you.”

  He didn’t know either, but there was something about annoying the royal he did find enjoyable. He knew it wasn’t a very honorable thing to do, but he simply couldn’t help himself.

  Ragnar caught up with her while she stood at a dressmaker’s stall.

  “What do you want?” she snapped while she examined the already-made gowns.