Last Dragon Standing
Page 13
Laughing, the foreigner walked over to her.
“Honestly, Keita,” the Eastlander lightly chastised. “Your lack of subtlety with flame is something you have to work on.” He removed the metal cuffs, and the princess rubbed her wrists.
“I was in fear for my life and trapped by Lord Low-Brow over there.” She shrugged. “I just…reacted.”
“Liar.”
“Oh, whatever. The important question is did you like my speech?” He helped her to her feet. “A little wordy. The looking up at the sky with the tear-filled eyes was a nice touch, though.”
“I thought so. I’ll have to use that again.” The rest of her chains hit the ground, and the foreigner walked around the group and retrieved his clothes a few feet away.
While Vigholf and Meinhard watched the foreigner closely, their weapons still drawn, Ragnar focused on the princess. She glared first. He glared in return. There might have also been some sneering. Then she suddenly charged past him and into the arms of the big blue ox standing behind him.
“Keita!”
Her baby brother lifted Keita into his arms and swung her around.
Keita marveled at how much he’d grown. At this point, he might be even bigger than their father…and-grand-father. He was massive! And that was as human. She couldn’t wait to see what he looked like when he shifted.
Keita wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck and squeezed him tight. “I’m so happy to see you, Éibhear!”
“And I you. Has it been two years?”
“Oh, yes.” She kissed his cheek and hugged him again. “Too long!
Now put me down. I want to get a good look at you.” He placed her on the ground, and Keita stepped back. Actually, she took several steps back so she could see all of him.
“By the gods of mayhem, Éibhear. Look at the size of you!”
“It’s not that bad,” he said self-consciously. “I haven’t grown any in a few months.”
She didn’t know how to tell him he probably wasn’t done growing yet, so she decided not to tell him at all. He’d figure it out when he needed new leggings.
“You look as handsome as ever,” she told him instead, enjoying his shy smile. Ahh, she’d missed him so. The youngest of her siblings, Éibhear was the one she mothered. Some days she couldn’t do enough for him, and she enjoyed being that way because he never took it for granted. Fearghus and Briec, her oldest siblings, were the classic big brothers. Always protective and caring, they watched out for her when they could. And then there was Gwenvael. She was closest to Gwenvael in age and in temperament. Gwenvael was more like a best friend than a brother; the two of them getting into lots of trouble as they’d matured in their mother’s court.
But that was more than a century ago and times had changed.
Just like the size of Éibhear’s neck. Gods! Look at that thing.
“So what brings you here, brother?”
“Can we have this discussion some other time?” asked that voice.
That voice she’d worked for several days—maybe even a whole week!—to get out of her head. That voice that made her want to tear its owner’s face off with her talons—preferably while singing something jaunty.
“You can go,” she told that voice without looking at that voice’s owner. “But as you can see, I’m in the middle of a conversation.”
“We need to move out. Now.”
He spoke to her like one of his barbarian Dragonwarriors. Without a bit of reverence for the fact that she was of royal blood and, more importantly, not afraid to tear his face off while singing something jaunty!
Keita, feeling particularly difficult this day, pointedly ignored the rude bastard, but then she heard another voice.
“Please, my lady. We should leave before those human soldiers manage to find their manhood and return.”
Ahhh. The brother. She remembered the brother. And the cousin.
She’d forgotten they’d been standing right there beside her for several minutes.
Two years ago, Keita had easily charmed the two barbarians and their younger kin while they’d traveled from the Northlands to the South. Only the barbarian bastard had managed to ignore her. Something that bothered her much more than it should have.
Curling her lips into an appropriate—and quite seductive—smile, Keita turned and faced the other two Lightnings.
“By the gods,” she said, her hands to her chest. “It is you!” She quickly recalled their names and tried to place which was which. Not easy when they both looked quite similar. Both had purple hair braided into a single plait that reached to the middle of their backs, both were wide of shoulder and long of height, both had scars. So, how did she tell them apart before…?
“Vigholf!” She hugged the one with the grey eyes and the brutal scar across his jaw. “Meinhard!” She then hugged the one with the green eyes and the brutal scar that cut from his hairline to below his eye. “How wonderful it is to see you both again.”
She grabbed a hand from each and held them tightly. “I hope you’ve both been doing wonderfully.”
“We have, my lady, thank you,” Vigholf said. He’d always been the more confident one when it came to speaking. Meinhard always looked cornered when she asked him a direct question, before muttering a response.
Although she’d found in time that Meinhard said much with his eyes without speaking a word. A lovely trait—rare with most males.
“Honestly, Keita,” the Eastlander lightly chastised. “Your lack of subtlety with flame is something you have to work on.” He removed the metal cuffs, and the princess rubbed her wrists.
“I was in fear for my life and trapped by Lord Low-Brow over there.” She shrugged. “I just…reacted.”
“Liar.”
“Oh, whatever. The important question is did you like my speech?” He helped her to her feet. “A little wordy. The looking up at the sky with the tear-filled eyes was a nice touch, though.”
“I thought so. I’ll have to use that again.” The rest of her chains hit the ground, and the foreigner walked around the group and retrieved his clothes a few feet away.
While Vigholf and Meinhard watched the foreigner closely, their weapons still drawn, Ragnar focused on the princess. She glared first. He glared in return. There might have also been some sneering. Then she suddenly charged past him and into the arms of the big blue ox standing behind him.
“Keita!”
Her baby brother lifted Keita into his arms and swung her around.
Keita marveled at how much he’d grown. At this point, he might be even bigger than their father…and-grand-father. He was massive! And that was as human. She couldn’t wait to see what he looked like when he shifted.
Keita wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck and squeezed him tight. “I’m so happy to see you, Éibhear!”
“And I you. Has it been two years?”
“Oh, yes.” She kissed his cheek and hugged him again. “Too long!
Now put me down. I want to get a good look at you.” He placed her on the ground, and Keita stepped back. Actually, she took several steps back so she could see all of him.
“By the gods of mayhem, Éibhear. Look at the size of you!”
“It’s not that bad,” he said self-consciously. “I haven’t grown any in a few months.”
She didn’t know how to tell him he probably wasn’t done growing yet, so she decided not to tell him at all. He’d figure it out when he needed new leggings.
“You look as handsome as ever,” she told him instead, enjoying his shy smile. Ahh, she’d missed him so. The youngest of her siblings, Éibhear was the one she mothered. Some days she couldn’t do enough for him, and she enjoyed being that way because he never took it for granted. Fearghus and Briec, her oldest siblings, were the classic big brothers. Always protective and caring, they watched out for her when they could. And then there was Gwenvael. She was closest to Gwenvael in age and in temperament. Gwenvael was more like a best friend than a brother; the two of them getting into lots of trouble as they’d matured in their mother’s court.
But that was more than a century ago and times had changed.
Just like the size of Éibhear’s neck. Gods! Look at that thing.
“So what brings you here, brother?”
“Can we have this discussion some other time?” asked that voice.
That voice she’d worked for several days—maybe even a whole week!—to get out of her head. That voice that made her want to tear its owner’s face off with her talons—preferably while singing something jaunty.
“You can go,” she told that voice without looking at that voice’s owner. “But as you can see, I’m in the middle of a conversation.”
“We need to move out. Now.”
He spoke to her like one of his barbarian Dragonwarriors. Without a bit of reverence for the fact that she was of royal blood and, more importantly, not afraid to tear his face off while singing something jaunty!
Keita, feeling particularly difficult this day, pointedly ignored the rude bastard, but then she heard another voice.
“Please, my lady. We should leave before those human soldiers manage to find their manhood and return.”
Ahhh. The brother. She remembered the brother. And the cousin.
She’d forgotten they’d been standing right there beside her for several minutes.
Two years ago, Keita had easily charmed the two barbarians and their younger kin while they’d traveled from the Northlands to the South. Only the barbarian bastard had managed to ignore her. Something that bothered her much more than it should have.
Curling her lips into an appropriate—and quite seductive—smile, Keita turned and faced the other two Lightnings.
“By the gods,” she said, her hands to her chest. “It is you!” She quickly recalled their names and tried to place which was which. Not easy when they both looked quite similar. Both had purple hair braided into a single plait that reached to the middle of their backs, both were wide of shoulder and long of height, both had scars. So, how did she tell them apart before…?
“Vigholf!” She hugged the one with the grey eyes and the brutal scar across his jaw. “Meinhard!” She then hugged the one with the green eyes and the brutal scar that cut from his hairline to below his eye. “How wonderful it is to see you both again.”
She grabbed a hand from each and held them tightly. “I hope you’ve both been doing wonderfully.”
“We have, my lady, thank you,” Vigholf said. He’d always been the more confident one when it came to speaking. Meinhard always looked cornered when she asked him a direct question, before muttering a response.
Although she’d found in time that Meinhard said much with his eyes without speaking a word. A lovely trait—rare with most males.
