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

“Death found you well this day,” she nearly cheered.

“Yes. Now I must go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“To find honor or death.”

“Morfyd said the queen was upset about the temples on her land. So she is sending you to stop the ones raiding those temples,” Elina guessed.

“Yes.”

The dragon’s back straightened. “Wait . . . what? What are you doing?”

Kachka ignored him, because he was male and this was an important discussion about battle plans. A discussion only women could truly understand.

“Will you bring some of her weak soldiers with you?”

“No, no. She offered them. But what could they do except clomp around and make too much noise, letting all enemies know we are coming. They would be useless. Instead, I return to homeland. Find strong woman to fight by my side.”

“Good.”

“But it will be dangerous. So if I do not return in the next year or two, and you get no message, assume my death,” Kachka stated flatly, “and make sure to perform sacred rites so that I can meet our ancestors in next world.”

“I will,” Elina promised. “And I will cut my face deep in honor of your death.”

“Thank you, sister.”

They gripped each other’s forearms and nodded, knowing this might be the last time they saw the other alive.

With nothing else to say, Kachka headed toward the big doors.

But she’d only moved a few feet before Celyn barked, “Is that it?”

“Is what it?” Elina asked.

“A promise of self-mutilation and a nod? Is that all you have to say when you may never see each other again?”

Elina frowned. “As opposed to what, dolt?”

“I don’t know. A hug? A kiss good-bye? Something!”

With a shake of her head, Elina let out a long, pained sigh. “Go, sister. You have important work to do and no time for . . .” She waved her hand at the aghast dragon standing beside her, mouth open in confusion. “. . . whatever this is.”

“Take good care of your dragon,” Kachka said as she moved on. “He will need your protection, being so weak and pathetic.”

“Weak? I am a mighty dragon of the Southland—”

The sisters’ combined laughter drowned out the rest of that ridiculous statement and sent Kachka off on a better note than she could have ever asked for.

Chapter Two

Egnatius Domitus couldn’t sleep. He had too much to do. He’d been promised so much and he planned to get everything he’d been promised. Even if that meant worshipping a god he couldn’t give a fat cock about.

These religious types with their bullshit rules and beliefs. It meant nothing to Egnatius. Really. He could not possibly care less about any god. What was important to him, the only thing important to him, was being overlord of the Quintilian Sovereigns. The throne was his by right. By hatching. And, most importantly, because he f*cking wanted it.

His idiot cousin now ruled. Not as overlord, though. No, no. He was too “good” to be an overlord. He was King Gaius. Who wanted to be king when they could be overlord? When they could rule the world instead of just a small portion of it?

But his cousin had always tried too hard to be evenhanded. What, exactly, had that gotten him? A temporary spot as king.

What was funny, though . . . Egnatius’s cousin was far from “evenhanded.” He clearly remembered those dark days after Gaius’s twin sister had been taken by Vateria. The damage that had been done. The blood that had been splattered across good chunks of the Empire. Gaius hadn’t been able to go after Vateria directly. No. That would have only guaranteed to get his sister killed quicker. So he’d taken his rage out on everyone else.

It was, perhaps, the first and only time that Egnatius had ever respected his cousin. Seeing the damage he’d done. Smirking at the bodies that had been piled up out of frustration. It had earned Gaius the title Rebel King.

A lot of people thought Gaius had lost his eye during those dark times, but he hadn’t. It had been Thracius who’d ripped the eye from Gaius’s head when he’d still been a hatchling. Thracius hadn’t even blinked when Gaius had screamed in pain, his twin using her own body and wings in an attempt to shield her brother. But it had been too late. While they watched, Thracius had toasted that eye with his flame before gulping it down . . . and smiling. Then he’d gone on with his day.

That was Thracius’s style back then, and it would be Egnatius’s style when he became overlord. He’d lead as his father had. With fear and hatred and a touch of rage.

But first he had work to do. First he had to—

The blade didn’t go all the way through.... It just slammed into his spine, severing nerves, so his legs went out from under him as they lost the ability to feel. But Egnatius didn’t hit the ground; his cousin’s human arm was around him, holding him up.

“Hello, cousin,” Gaius whispered into his ear as his Praetorian Guard attacked Egnatius’s. “It’s been so very long.”

Kachka stared at the four Riders that the Anne Atli had allowed her to have.

After several minutes, while other tribe leaders watched, she finally said to the Anne Atli’s second in command, “You must be joking.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Magdalina Fyodorov replied.