Light My Fire (Dragon Kin #7)(106)

“That’s because she didn’t tell us. I had no idea how bad it was until her mother literally kicked her out of her tent and then proceeded to slash at her like she was an attacking wild pig.”

“What did you do?” Ghleanna asked.

“What I had to. I had to protect her, Mum.”

“Yes,” his mother said on a strange sigh. “I’m sensing you did have to.”

Brannie snorted and their mother grabbed her daughter’s shoulders and turned her toward the exit. She shoved. “Go, brat! And stop taunting your brother.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You’ll need to handle Annwyl, Da,” Celyn told his father. “When she saw what happened to Elina—”

“Gods, is that what she was going on about?” Bram scratched his head. “I do adore her, but my gods, that woman is a lot of work.”

“And you thought Rhiannon was bad,” Ghleanna reminded him.

“Only when she’s around your brother. But Annwyl . . . it’s like trying to rein in an erupting volcano.”

“At least Fearghus is with her.”

Celyn and his parents headed toward the exit.

“Where is Dagmar?” Bram asked.

“Probably still in the war room. Oh—” He stopped, faced his parents. “There is one other thing.”

Ghleanna frowned. “What?”

“Remember Brigida the Foul?”

“Gods, who could forget her?” Now Bram frowned. “Wait . . . why do you ask about her?’

“Well . . . she’s not exactly what you’d call dead. But she is still pretty foul.”

Brigida moved around the queen’s castle unseen. Those with magickal skills often sensed she’d gone by—even if they didn’t know exactly what or whom had drifted so close. Especially the young White Dragonwitch. She bristled every time Brigida passed by her. That one must be Morfyd. Looked just like her mother, she did, especially with those crystal-clear blue eyes.

The girl had much power, but she was no match for Brigida. There were few who were.

The human witch, a Nolwenn by the looks of her, also had power, but unlike her daughter Rhianwen, she didn’t have enough to interest Brigida.

They’d all come out of one room and moved into the big hall, servants bringing them food. All a bunch of proper royals, they were. No real Cadwaladrs. Not like the ones Brigida remembered.

She blamed that fool Ailean the Wicked, the royals’ grandfather. He’d been born a Cadwaladr but the loss of his mother at an early age had turned him soft. He worried more about protecting the humans than anything else. Like that sorry lot of soft flesh needed protecting. Brigida had never known a more dangerous group of beings. What they lacked in scales and claws, they more than made up for in evil intent.

She stood in a doorway, leaning against the jamb, and watched the descendants of her people eat and chat and worry. About her.

Her return did nothing but upset them. Brigida liked that. She always had.

That Celyn brought his mother and father into the hall. Ghleanna was the same. Short hair and all. Bit more grey among all the black, but she was still powerfully built and had more weapons than seemed necessary on her person.

Bram also appeared the same. Still pretty for a male, still soft of heart, and still always wanting to keep the peace.

There was no sign of the two Riders, which allowed the others to talk freely about what had happened to the one who’d lost her eye. Such drama over such a little thing. Everyone so horrified that a mother would do this to her own child. Clearly they knew nothing of the Daughters of the Steppes. That lot always tried to weed out the weak girls. What was the point of having them around if they served no purpose? And because the sons and daughters lived so long, the women continued to have offspring well into their fifth or sixth hundredth year. Most of them had more than sixty, if they so desired. So weeding out one or two weak ones was not as big a deal as killing off the only offspring you’d ever have.

Still, try telling this lot all that. Such concern. Such claw wringing.

Perhaps Brigida had stayed away too long. Or would her presence not have changed any of this? She really didn’t know. All she did know was that she needed a “champion,” and so far she saw none who would live up to that title.

Although she needed no champion for herself. The day she couldn’t protect herself was the day she needed to light the funeral pyre and climb up on it.

No, Brigida needed a champion to help her with this end game, as she liked to call it. Darkness had settled over the world, but no one could see it. They tried to deal with one problem at a time, as it arose. Never thinking about the true nightmare coming their way.

But looking at this sorry lot of fishwives, Brigida saw no one who could possibly—

“We can see you.”

Slowly, Brigida looked over and down. Way down, to the five golden-headed girls staring up at her.

“You hide,” the tallest, and most likely eldest, one said, “but we can see you clear as day.”

“You’re old,” said one of the others. “Really, really old.”

“You better be here for nice reasons,” the tallest warned. “Or we won’t like it.”

Brigida was about to respond to that when the girls all looked toward the doors at the front of the hall.