Light My Fire (Dragon Kin #7)(122)

“Of course you don’t,” he muttered, carrying his mate away.

“Just remember,” the Northlander yelled back at her, “I can have you and that sister of yours executed in the town square. I have that kind of power!”

Elina tossed the core of her fruit to one of the dogs sniffing around under the table and grabbed another from the bowl.

She headed outside and as she went down the stairs, she found Annwyl the Bloody standing there, staring off . . . at what, Elina had no idea.

“May death find you well this morning, Annwyl,” Elina greeted her, tucking her fruit into the outside pocket of her quiver.

Annwyl chuckled, her gaze still locked on something past the courtyard. “I hate to say that death has found me many ways over the years, Elina. But I’m not sure it ever found me well.”

“You still live, so it must have.” Elina frowned a little. “Are you all right?”

“I was sleeping. . . .” She closed her eyes, her head tilting up so that the suns shone down upon her face. “Fearghus is always so warm. I love sleeping next to him in the winter. Summers can be hard, though. But I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not anything.

“Are you going to stay here?” the royal abruptly asked, her sudden change of subject startling Elina a bit. Annwyl turned her head to look at Elina, but Elina could barely see the queen’s eyes through all that hair. When had she stopped combing it? And why? Daughters of the Steppes might live a hard life, but they prided themselves on always being well groomed.

“I . . . I had not thought of it,” Elina said, stumbling over her words a bit. “But everything has happened so quickly. Do you want us to go?” Because Elina would never consider sending her sister away alone. Not when Kachka had given up everything to protect Elina. Everything. And that was a debt Elina would never forget or be able to repay.

“No,” the queen replied simply, quietly. Almost as if she were talking to herself. “I like you. I like your sister. Her general lack of emotion has a soothing quality. I want you both to stay. For as long as you both want or need.”

“That is kind, but I am not sure Dagmar Reinholdt would agree with you.”

“Because Dagmar’s sane.” Annwyl nodded. “She’s sane.”

“Queen Annwyl . . . ?”

The royal started walking. “I have to go.”

“Let me come with you.”

“No. You stay here.” Annwyl faced her. She might have smiled under all that damn hair, but who could truly tell? “If anyone asks, just say I’ll be back.”

She suddenly pushed her hair away from her face and Elina realized just how pretty Annwyl was. Clearly, Talan got his looks from his mother while Talwyn took after her father and grandfather. Not that she’d suffered in any way by taking after the males of her clan. Not like some women did.

Annwyl leaned in and kissed Elina on the forehead. “Your sacrifices will not be forgotten, mighty Rider,” she murmured before turning away and taking a few steps.

The queen pulled out something she’d tucked into the top of her leather boot. “Here, before I forget. Keita asked me to give this to you.” She tossed the item and Elina caught it.

It was a black eye patch.

“She said you can wear that as part of your everyday collection. I have no idea what that means.” Annwyl finally walked off, throwing over her shoulder, “But you don’t need to wear anything at all to cover your damaged eye, Elina Shestakova. No one here cares about your scars. Gods know, they don’t seem to care about mine.”

Elina looked down at the eye patch she now clutched in her hand. She could tuck it into the top of her boot and forget about it. Annwyl was right. No one here cared about her scars. But then she remembered Celyn taking off her patch the night before. The way his hands had felt against her skin. The way he’d kissed her afterward.

Smiling, Elina tied the patch around her eye and went to the training field to practice.

Celyn reached for Elina, but his hand only touched fur bedding. A barked, “Get up!” startled him from wondrous sleep.

“What? What’s wrong?” Celyn asked, reaching for his sword.

“I could have killed you twenty times over by now, idiot.”

Celyn sighed. “And a good morning to you, Uncle Bercelak.”

“Get up and get to work.”

“Is there a problem?”

“You are the queen’s protector . . . so go protect her.”

Celyn frowned. “Wait . . . is there a problem?”

Bercelak glanced out the stained-glass window. “The day feels . . . wrong.”

“Oh . . . okay, then.”

His uncle glowered at him. “Once you get some wear on your scales, boy, you’ll learn to trust your instincts. Until then . . . you’ll trust mine. Or find out that I don’t play favorites once you piss me off.”

“And the love of an uncle fills the room!”

“Get. Moving.”

“I’m up. I’m up.” Celyn threw off the covers and stood, taking a moment to stretch his muscles.

“What the hells happened to you?” his uncle demanded.

Celyn looked down at his naked body. “What?”

“You look like you were gnawed on by beavers.”

Celyn grinned. “Jealous?”