Feel the Burn (Dragon Kin #8)(71)

Briec and Keita made a quick and poor attempt at stifling their laughter while Morfyd quickly rushed to her brother’s side and led him up the stairs. “Dinner’s ready, brother. Come, let’s eat.”

Fearghus looked back at the Rider and in reply, she winked at him . . . and leered. That’s when Morfyd yanked him up the stairs.

Dagmar waited until Fearghus was inside, along with the others, before she told the Riders, “And don’t do that unless the man asks you to—and I’m sure some will.”

One of the Riders snorted. “I see we will suffer like saints while we are here, sisters. Making us clean for our glorious deaths.”

“It is price we will pay for such honor,” Nika promised. She pointed at one of the stables. “Come. Let us trap the horses in that tiny box so they can eat and have water.”

Dagmar watched the Riders as they walked their horses to “that tiny box.” When they were gone, she finally looked at the stone wall of the house. “Your timing was perfect.”

Gwenvael appeared, no longer blending with the stone he gripped his talons to. “I know. Nothing makes dear Annwyl crazier than dealing with that poor stonemason.”

He shifted to human and landed nimbly on his big feet. Naked, he walked over to Dagmar and leaned down and kissed her. When he pulled back, he said, “She always worries me more when she’s calm and rational but still holding a weapon. She needed a little insanity to distract her from their insults. Do you think more Riders will be coming?”

“No. Zoya Kolesova—from what I heard—only told her three eldest sisters to come and fight for Annwyl. Those three are more than seven hundred years old and have nearly three hundred offspring between them.” Dagmar winced. “My womb throbs at the thought.”

“Don’t worry. I think we have more than enough offspring.”

Gwenvael glanced back at the wall and whistled. “Come on, you lot. Time for dinner.”

Like their father, The Five appeared. And, like their father, they were hanging from the wall. But they weren’t dragons; they were human and fully dressed, which meant they could appear or disappear on a whim rather than simply being able to blend into their surroundings as their father could.

The Five dropped to the ground and ran into the Great Hall. Dagmar glanced around before asking her mate, “Can Arlais do that?”

He shook his head. “No. Why?”

“Why do you think?”

“Oh, come now. I doubt she’d ever try to kill you . . . until she’s at least eighteen winters.”

“That gives me such comfort,” Dagmar growled, pushing past Gwenvael and returning to her rapidly cooling meal.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Khoruzhaya siblings hunted down several boar and, after seasoning the carcasses, Aidan cooked them with his flame.

The meal was hearty and the discussion pleasant. Even when Kachka tried to goad Gaius into a fight about returning the Quintilian Sovereigns Empire to a republic. A concept that Gaius didn’t actually hate. Although under Thracius’s rule, dragons and men had been crucified for even suggesting such a thing.

Still, no matter how hard she might try, Kachka could not get him upset. How could she when he was happy just to see her?

Especially after spending these last few months with Brannie, who, unless in battle, was inherently sweet; and the Mì-runach who, except for Aidan the Divine, were not exactly scholars.

So while Kachka thought she was annoying him with her talk of politics, Gaius was enjoying every second of it.

“One day,” she said, “all those . . . what do you call them?”

“Plebes.”

“Yes. All those plebes will rise up and kill all of you slave-owning royals in your beds.”

“Perhaps. Although we no longer allow slaves within the Empire.”

“So you killed them all?”

“No. Just made them freemen.”

“And free dragons?”

“Dragons are always free. We make very poor slaves.”

“It’s the flames,” Brannie piped in while eagerly cleaning a rib.

“All dragons under royal rule are slaves. They are slaves to their kings and queens and gods.”

“I see,” Gaius said. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Because it’s the wrong way,” Caswyn argued, well into his cups after indulging in the Rider ale. Foolish boy. “Dragons can never be slaves. We are much too powerful and mighty.”

“Really?” Kachka asked.

“Aye, Rider female. Really.”

Marina, who sat beside Caswyn and was steadily working her way through half the ribs on her own, suddenly brought her greasy fist back. Not too hard. But it did connect with Caswyn’s nose and dropped him to the ground like a felled great oak.

“Aye,” the Rider females all said in unison, their voices deliciously flat, “much too powerful and mighty.”

As her comrades taught Brannie and the still-sober Mì-runach old songs of their land, Kachka went into the surrounding forest, far from the priests’ temple. She walked for a good ten minutes, finally stopping by a large tree.

She rested her back against it . . . and waited.

It wasn’t long before Gaius passed her. She watched him, not moving or making a sound. He abruptly stopped a few feet from her, his head lifting a bit. She realized he was sniffing the air, searching for her scent.