Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(57)

Not that it mattered. Once his brother stopped arguing, they’d take the pup and the princess to their kin and they’d be on their way.

“What’s going on?” Meinhard asked him.

“I have no idea.”

“We shouldn’t let them argue,” the pup said. He was always worried about everyone being upset, this one. He prided himself on all the arguments he stopped. Although it wasn’t his soothing words that halted fights among Vigholf’s kin. It was his size. Lightnings were well known for their size, although they had a tendency to be slower than the trimmer Fire Breathers.

But the pup, he had the size of any Northlander, but the speed of his fire-breathing kin. Shame he wasn’t much of a fighter. Ragnar had already written him off and didn’t want him sent back to the Northlands anytime soon. Although Meinhard was quietly working to change that. He’d taken to the oversized hatchling, though Vigholf simply didn’t know why.

“I wouldn’t get in the middle of a Ragnar argument, if I were you.”

“We should do something.”

Seeing that he was going to debate this, Vigholf caught hold of the pup’s arm and dragged him from the trees to the road. “Let’s wait here until they’re done.”

Vigholf and Meinhard went through their travel bags while the pup paced from one side of the road to the other.

“Think we can get more supplies before we leave?” Meinhard asked.

“Dried beef will help when we go through the Outerplains again.”

“The princess promised to replenish our supplies.”

“They’re still arguing!” The pup shook his head. “I can’t let this go on.”

“Wait—”

“Let him go, Meinhard,” Vigholf said, standing. “He’ll interrupt, Ragnar will slap him around, he’ll learn not to do it again.” Meinhard stood, his gaze down the road.

“What?” Vigholf asked. Meinhard gestured with a nod of his head, and Vigholf followed.

It was a woman walking down the road, her hand holding on to the reins of an enormous black horse. She stopped and stared at them.

Smiling, wishing he’d remembered to put on his cape sooner—he hated explaining his purple hair to humans, all that horse shit about tragic curses and such—Vigholf waved. “Greetings!” he called out.

The woman, tall with long golden brown hair, released the reins of her horse and walked closer. Her eyes narrowed, her head dipping down.

“What is she doing?” Vigholf muttered to his cousin.

“I have no idea,” Meinhard muttered back. “Maybe she’s lost. Or scared.”

“Or crazed,” Vigholf added, seconds before the crazed bitch—he’d been right, by the gods!—unsheathed one of the swords she had tied to her back and silently charged.

“This is the way it is to be,” Keita said to Ren—again! She didn’t like having to repeat herself, and just because Ren was a noble in his own bloody country, didn’t mean he had any more right to ignore her than one of her mother’s subjects.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like him.” Ren glared at Ragnar. “He looks down on you, and he just hurt you again.”

“And that,” the Northlander said through clenched teeth, “is still none of your business.”

“What do you hope to gain from this, barbarian? Perhaps you and Keita’s mother have a plan that she knows nothing about. Perhaps you plan to betray her.”

Ragnar lifted his hand, sparks flicking off the tips of his fingers. Ren did the same, only it was flames that charged from his. Keita, used to much more physically reacting males, ordered, “Stop it! Both of you! This is ridiculous!”

“What’s going on?” Éibhear demanded, storming over to them. “Why are you all arguing?”

Keita glanced at the two other males, shrugged, and said sweetly,

“We’re not arguing.”

“Keita!”

“A discussion does not an argument make, Éibhear.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” He looked from one to the other.

“What’s Mum up to?”

“Nothing. She was just being herself. You should be used to that by now.”

“Don’t lie to me, Keita. You know you can’t lie to me.” He was right.

She couldn’t lie to any of her brothers because none of them were distracted by a random touch or secret smile. “There’s something going on, and I want to know what.”

“Go back to Meinhard, boy,” Ragnar ordered.

Keita held up her hand. “Don’t order my brother around.”

“Fine then. We’ll let him stay.”

“Don’t get that tone with me, warlord. I can handle my own brother without any help from you.”

“Handle me? You need to handle me?” Éibhear repeated.

Her patience waning, Keita said, “Stop. Everyone just…” She frowned, her head tilting to the side. “Ren? What’s wrong?” He pointed at something behind Keita. “Don’t we know that horse?” Keita glanced over her shoulder. “Looks like Annwyl’s horse,” she said, scratching her ear.

A moment later, she froze at the sound of steel against steel.