The Dragon Who Loved Me. G.A. Aiken

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      Keita grinned and Rhona shook her head.

      “She’s a piece of work that one,” Rhona murmured.

      “She wanted the messenger intercepted,” Vigholf reasoned. “Thinking your brothers would find it, rush off to save their offspring, bringing the entire Cadwaladr Clan with them.”

      Keita nodded, laughed. “Leaving you poor barbarian Northlanders to the mercy of the exquisite military might of the Irons. He’d destroy all of you first and fly right into the Southlands to face a broken Southland army. Not a bad plan really. Because that’s exactly what my brothers would do . . . if I hadn’t gotten to the messenger first.”

      “But wait . . .” Vigholf studied the princess. “If you knew all that from the letter—why did you torture the messenger?”

      The royal gave a very small shrug. “I was a wee bit bored. . . .”

      “I keep telling you not to ask her questions,” Rhona sighed out, “but you insist.”

      Annoyed Rhona was right, Vigholf snapped at her, “Have you nothing to say about any of this?”

      “What do you want me to say?”

      “She just told you that your cousins’ offspring are in danger, that she has some ridiculous scheme involving portals and this foreigner, and that she might be taking us into the middle of a pitch battle with barbarians, but she hadn’t warned us of that possibility before we left.”

      “Yeah . . . and?”

      “I’d think a little rage or something would be in order. Some ranting, arms flailing.” Vigholf needed some emotion from her. Something.

      “And I do all that . . . what does it change?”

      “Change?”

      “Yeah. What does it change? Nothing. Will I still have to follow orders and escort my cousin and Ren to Garbhán Isle anyway?”

      “Well—”

      “Of course I will. Will Keita ever stop being a spoiled, entitled brat who does whatever she wants and gets away with it because we’re all terrified of her mother, who’s a homicidal queen?”

      “Uh—”

      “Doubtful. So what’s the point?”

      “Well—”

      “Exactly. There is no point. Now get those two fed and I’ll get us some fresh water from the stream. We can decide whether it’s safe enough now to fly or if we should get horses instead when I return.”

      She walked off and all Vigholf could do was watch her until Keita stood beside him.

      “When she gets like that,” Keita confided, “it’s best just let her go. You can never win.”

      “She didn’t even let me get a word in . . . and she answered her own bloody questions. Why ask them then?”

      “That’s Rhona’s way. Don’t let it bother you.” Keita tugged the sleeve of his chain-mail shirt until he gazed down at her. “You don’t think I’m entitled, do you?”

      “Of course not,” Vigholf lied.

      “Because if I am, it’s only because I deserve it! I deserve everything I want. Don’t you agree?”

      Rather than lying even more, Vigholf handed Keita his pack. “Here. There’s beef in the bag. You two eat. I’ll be right back.”

      Rhona filled up her flask with water and thought about next steps. Should they stay on foot or risk taking to the skies? After hearing the truth about this trip, she thought flying might be the wisest move. But she worried about Ren’s strength. Flying could be tiring, even for dragons and Ren didn’t even have wings! He just sort of... flew. And if human forces on the ground attacked them while they were in the air, would Ren be able to dodge, much less fight?

      Analyzing, she stood and asked the Lightning who’d been standing silently behind her. “Horses or flying?”

      “What?”

      “Should we get horses or fly?”

      “I’m not good with horses.”

      “What do you mean you’re not good?”

      “I mean, they get my scent and they bolt.” He shrugged. “I really like horse meat.” He gazed off. “I’m so hungry.”

      Not having time for this, Rhona walked around him to head back to the others.

      “So what’s the plan?” he asked.

      “Plan?” Rhona faced him, shrugged. “Do what we’ve been doing, I guess. Get those two back to Garbhán Isle.”

      “And?”

      “And what?”

      “We’re heading into a war zone, Sergeant. Possibly. According to your cousin, we’ll be caught between some pissed-off barbarian tribes and the Kyvich Witches. That is not a good place for anyone to be.” He stepped closer. “And if you think the Kyvich are going to let that foreigner traipse off with those children after they’ve committed to one of their gods to protect them at Garbhán Isle—”

      “All right, all right.” Gods, he could ramble when provoked. “What do you suggest we do?”

      “We need to find out what we’re looking at with these Western Tribes. Are they bringing one legion, two, a thousand? We should escort these two past the Dark Plains border and then go off on our own. Head toward the west and see how close this army is.”

      “Okay,” Rhona agreed. “We’ll do that.”

      He scowled at her, but she didn’t know why. “Or you can give me your opinion.”

      “My opinion?”

      “Opinion. Suggestion. Ideas.”

      “Ideas?”

      His scowl worsened. “You do have ideas, don’t you?”

      “I do, but you outrank me so—”

      “First off,” he angrily cut in, “don’t pull that ox shit with me. We’re not here with an army that needs to be controlled. It’s just you, me, a weakened foreigner, and a poison-and-torture-happy princess. We can’t afford for you to only take orders. I don’t know this terrain and I think we both know you don’t want your orders to come from Keita. So, Sergeant, we need to do this together—as a team. So I ask you again—what’s your opinion?”

      Rhona knew Vigholf had a point, no matter how rudely that point was made. And although she was completely unused to giving her opinion—only Dragonwarriors had that luxury during battles and missions—she did as he’d asked.

      “I think our job is to get Keita and Ren into Garbhán Isle safely. СКАЧАТЬ