Light My Fire (Dragon Kin #7)(134)

Elina, still holding Var by his shoulders, turned them both and found her horse already standing there. Waiting.

“I love this horse,” she told the boy as she walked over and mounted. She reached down and grabbed the boy’s arm, hauling him onto the horse with her.

“You will wrap your arms around my waist,” she ordered him. “And you will not let go. You will also watch my left side.”

“Okay. But don’t forget I’m on your left side. I don’t want you mourning me second.”

“Do not worry, little Var. Just hold on and keep your head low.”

“Low? Why?”

Elina turned, her bow raised as she heard something rushing up behind them. She shot two arrows, one after another, and the dragon who’d been charging toward them on all fours reared back with a roar, the arrows hitting him in the mouth he’d been opening to unleash flame on both Elina and Var.

“That is why,” Elina told the boy before she clicked her tongue against her teeth and the horse sprinted off.

Frederik had been about to go into Aunt Dagmar’s study, but he heard her and Arlais getting into it before he even reached the door. In no mood for any of that, he kept walking until he was outside. He briefly gazed up at the tower, but . . . no. He was definitely not in the mood to check on that stupid thing either.

So Frederik kept walking. Past the castle grounds, through the woods, and near a stream. He stopped there and stared at . . . nothing. At least nothing in particular. He just stood there, staring . . . silent.

Good thing, too—otherwise he never would have heard that distinct sound of something cutting through the air, right over his head.

And, as Bercelak had trained him again and again, Frederik dropped into a crouch and rolled to the side. When he jumped to his feet, a sword was buried where he’d just been standing.

At the lake, where his kin stood waiting for orders, Bercelak pointed at three of Addolgar’s sons. “You lot, I want you and . . .” He pointed at three of his nieces. “. . . you three, go with them. I want you in the air, watching—”

“Bercelak!”

Bercelak turned to find one of his brothers pointing at him. “Some prissy queen’s guard here to see you?”

Bercelak went up on his back claws and recognized the red dragon as Aberthol. One of Rhiannon’s guards.

Assuming he had a message from Celyn, Bercelak motioned Aberthol over with a wave of his claw, then focused on his nieces and nephews.

“I want you lot in the air, over Garbhán Isle. Look for anything that seems strange or out of place. I don’t care what. If you see something, let your mum or father know and they’ll get in touch with me. Understand?”

One of Addolgar’s sons raised his claw.

“What?”

“Aren’t we in Garbhán Isle, Uncle?”

Bercelak gritted his fangs together. Say what you would about his sons, at least none of them were this bloody stupid.

Taking a breath—he’d learned long ago that yelling at Addolgar’s sons did nothing but make them become absolutely useless; they were so bloody sensitive—Bercelak struggled to keep his temper under control.

“Aye. We are in Garbhán Isle. But . . .” Bercelak’s words faded off when he noticed that his nephew was no longer listening to him, but busy staring behind him.

That’s when he heard someone—it sounded like bloody Celyn—yell out, “Spear!”

Bercelak spun around to see Aberthol running toward him, his sword out, his face a mask of rage as he screamed out, “In the name of the one true god I smite thee!”

Bercelak pulled his sword, but as he raised it, Celyn flew in from above, catching the spear that one of his kin threw to him before he spun in midair to give him power, slammed his wings against his sides, his entire body shooting down.

Ramming his back legs into the Red’s back, his talons digging past scale and flesh to tear into precious spine, Celyn forced the dragon to the ground and then buried the tip of his spear into the back of Aberthol’s neck. He twisted it one way, then another, until the dragon stopped moving.

Bercelak stared down at Aberthol’s body.

“You all right?” Celyn asked.

Bercelak nodded. “How did you know?”

“Because you weren’t the only one. They already tried to kill Princess Agrippina.”

Bercelak shoved his sword back into its sheath. “Rhiannon? You left her?”

“She’s with Mum.”

Bercelak opened his maw to argue, but they both knew he couldn’t. Next to being protected by Celyn or Bercelak himself, the queen couldn’t be in better claws.

“But I don’t think the assassins will go after Rhiannon or Annwyl. I think they want the deaths that will lead to war.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They kill you, there’s no stopping Rhiannon from going head to head with the Salebiris and the Cult of Chramnesind. I sent Brannie to my father’s, and Izzy and Éibhear to Dagmar. But Brannie will need the most backup, I think. Father has more pull with the dragons than Dagmar.”

“Have you talked to your mum?”

“Can’t get through to her. Something is blocking the communication between us.”

“Keep trying.” Bercelak walked through the silent crowd of Cadwaladrs. He pointed at one group. “You lot . . . go to Bram’s. Don’t waste time. Brannie’s on her own.” He pointed at another group while the others took to the air. “You lot to Devenallt. And the rest of you back to Annwyl’s castle to back up Izzy and Éibhear.