The Dragon Who Loved Me (Dragon Kin #5)(26)

“Don’t be foolish, Rhona. It’s more than a stick.”

He took it from her, held it in his big hand. And Rhona smiled when a sharpened tip suddenly appeared at the end. “Oh! It’s a long knife.” Then it extended another four or five feet, turning it into a metal spear. “Oh, Daddy! That’s—” It extended again and grew wider, stretching to and through the opening at the top of the tent.

Eyes wide, Rhona grinned. “That’s . . .” She simply didn’t have words for what it was. There were quite a few weapons among their kind, many of them created by her father or his kin, that could extend from smal to big and back again, so that the dragons using them wouldn’t have to constantly switch weapons depending on their current forms. Usual y banging the weapon at a certain angle on its base extended it or a shield and they were easy enough to make smal again.

But this . . .

“No matter what form you’re in, you’ve got a weapon.”

“What do I press?”

“Nothing.” The spear quickly slipped into its original size, and her father handed it to her.

“But . . .” After years of training by her father’s side, before she’d joined Her Majesty’s Army, Rhona knew what was needed for their weapons to work. “Don’t you need a chant? A spel ? Something?”

“Only in the creation of it.” He leaned in. “Want me to show you?”

“Are you joking? Yes! ”

He laughed. “Go on and try it first. See what it can do.”

Rhona held the weapon in her hand. It seemed so . . . ordinary. A metal stick. Nothing more. But then she cal ed for the tip and it was there. She used her free hand to touch it.

“Careful,” her father warned. “It’s bloody sharp.”

It was. And Rhona was delighted.

She cal ed forth the spear, and the weapon lengthened and grew. It was the perfect height for her, too. As tal as her with the tip extending just past her head.

Rhona dropped into a crouch, one leg stretched out to the side, the weapon now in both hands. A low attack.

Her father stood back and watched her, his smile warm. When she was younger and home more, they often did this. He’d create new weapons and she’d try them out for him. It was the main reason she had proficiency with more weapons than most Dragonwarriors.

She thrust the spear, stood, and swiped it through the air.

“Daddy, I love the weight.”

“Light, yeah? But combined with your strength . . . deadly just the same.”

“I love it,” she gushed. “I absolutely love it.”

“Cal its ful length. You can stil handle it while human even at that length and width.” Excited to try, Rhona aimed the weapon toward the exit and away from her father. She cal ed forth the dragon-sized weapon and happily watched as it grew in her hands, the length of it reaching past the tent flaps and—

“Owwwwww! Gods-dammit, female! ”

With a thought, Rhona retracted her weapon. A few seconds later, the Lightning stumbled into the tent, blood flowing from his shoulder, lightning sparking from his body.

“I told ya!” he bel owed “What happened to your spear was an accident!” They shoved Vigholf into a chair and the two Fire Breathers leaned down to get a better look at his wound. Without much effort, he could see the resemblance between father and daughter. Although Rhona was much prettier.

“He’l live,” the male said, appearing quite disinterested in Vigholf’s wound.

“Why is it when I come to this bloody kingdom by invitation, I’m nearly kil ed?”

“Luck?” Rhona asked.

Along with Ragnar and Meinhard, Vigholf had escorted Keita and Éibhear to the Southlands five years ago just before the war with the Irons began. He’d had his first introduction to the infamous Annwyl the Bloody when she’d charged him and Meinhard. Then, while they tried to keep the crazed monarch at bay, she’d gone for Vigholf’s head—and took his hair instead. When it happened, it had been humiliating. A shame he was sure he’d never recover from. But as Vigholf got to know Annwyl better, he quickly realized that he was lucky to have kept his head at al .

Rhona’s father leaned in to take a closer look at the wound. “I can fix this.” He reached for him, and Vigholf couldn’t help but scramble out of the chair that held him.

“No offense if I’d rather not be tended to by a blacksmith.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Rhona chastised. “Me da’s good with a needle and thread.”

“Your da can keep his needle and thread to himself, thanks.”

Rhona folded her arms over her chest. “So what are you going to do? Wander around al evening bleeding like a stuck cow until you pass out and die and we’re forced to quickly burn your remains so the stink of your corpse won’t bother the children?”

“Your concern for my wel -being overwhelms me, Sergeant.”

“You shouldn’t have been fol owing me, Commander.”

“Who said I was?”

“Common sense?”

“I don’t know who that is,” he muttered, turning away and looking over the blacksmith’s work area.

“If you’re not going to let my father tend your wounds, at least see the healers by the lake. They’l help you.”