Feel the Burn (Dragon Kin #8)(92)

“He did mention that. You’re a follower of Aoibhell. That great bastion of reason.”

“And who are you exactly?”

“Mingxia, goddess of war and love.”

“I thought Eirianwen was the goddess of war.”

“Goddess of war and death and she is. But I am the Eastland god of—”

“By all reason, I don’t care!” Dagmar finally snapped. “Why are you here? What do you want? Because if it’s just to chat—”

“It’s begun.”

“What’s begun?” The god raised an eyebrow and Dagmar felt air leave her body. “But how? Are they right outside now?”

“I know you think that everything begins and ends in Garbhán Isle, my dear. But it doesn’t.”

“Really?” Dagmar asked, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re giving me attitude?”

“I think this is a bad idea, Uncle.”

Rhys the Hammer, third born to Ailean the Wicked, and one of the few Cadwaladr known for his patience, stopped long enough to let the hammer he favored slam into his nephew’s snout.

“Any more questions?” he asked his kin as his brother Addolgar’s son rolled on the ground, knocking over trees and holding his cracked snout between two claws. “No? Good! Let’s keep moving.”

“That was a little harsh, Daddy,” Rhys’s eldest daughter gently chided.

“If Addolgar’s sons weren’t so dumb, I wouldn’t have to do such things.”

“It was a simple question, though.”

“A question he kept asking.”

She laughed, sounding just like her mother. “Sure we shouldn’t wait until morning? When cooler heads can prevail?”

“You and your fancy words and ridiculous logic.”

“You insisted on my education—I promised to use it when I could. Besides, I know that my dear, sweet cousin Brannie does have a tendency to be very sensitive about dragons who don’t show the queen the level of respect she thinks Rhiannon deserves. This is probably nothing.”

“It probably is. And once I slap that snobby bastard around, we’ll leave him and his family alone, but with the additional understanding that if he thinks he rules any part of the Southlands, he’s horribly wrong.”

“But an entire battalion of dragons? Seems excessive.”

“I like excessive. It works for me.”

She curled her forearm around his and pulled him close to her side, but her laughter abruptly stopped when one of Rhys’s younger sons, who Rhys had sent out to scout ahead, landed in front of them.

Rhys stepped away from his daughter and held up his fist, the battalion coming to a halt behind him.

“What is it?” he asked his son.

“It seems, Father, that we have a bigger problem than moody royals.”

Kachka had to admit . . . she felt a little trapped.

The farther down they went, the more the walls seemed to be closing in. The dragons and poor Zoya eventually had to stoop over in order to clear the ceiling. No wonder the dragons here spent a good amount of time in human form. There was no way a dragon in its natural form could maneuver down here.

Kachka had thought Annwyl’s castle was too closed in for her, but she was wrong. This was much worse, and she was working hard not to allow herself to panic. As it was, the more they traveled, the more she seemed to have trouble breathing.

As they continued on, Kachka realized she was falling behind the others. She should be the one leading, but her labored breathing held her back until she knew that she couldn’t go any further.

She stumbled to a halt, one hand pressing against the stone wall that was just too close and the other against her chest.

In a moment of pure panic, she actually thought about running back. She’d rather face an entire horde of crazed Chramnesind fanatics than spend another second in this crypt.

But before she could bolt, before she could spend her life in shame, he was there. Gaius was there, standing in front of her, blocking the others’ view of her.

“She’s fine,” he called back to the others. “Just banged her foot. Go and we’ll catch up.”

The others kept moving forward and Gaius waited until they disappeared around a corner before he crouched in front of Kachka.

Kachka shook her head. “I . . . um . . . uh . . .”

That’s when Gaius suddenly gripped her chin tight, and lifted her head up so she was forced to look at him.

“You are the Scourge of the Gods, Kachka Shestakova. And Daughter of the Steppes. Do you want your mother and ancestors laughing at your weakness from the Great Plains of the Skies? Do you want your mother saying it was the wrong sister she tried to kill? Then suck up the pain, ignore the panic, get off your ass, and let’s move.”

Without another word, Gaius stood, yanking Kachka to her feet with him. As soon as she was standing, she shoved him back, and pressed one of her daggers against his throat.

“Speak unkindly of my sister again, lizard,” she warned, “and there will be one less royal in the world.”

She turned away from him then, setting off after the others. But only a few feet later, she stopped. Her breath came easy now. Her heart no longer racing.

Kachka faced him, went up on her toes, kissed his mouth.