Last Dragon Standing
Page 44
He dropped the struggling man and stepped away, the blade low at his side but ready. There were four guards left, moving out around him. Keita stood off to the side and watched him while the noble writhed at her feet. If only the human had realized earlier that she’d lost interest in him—and accepted that fact—he probably wouldn’t be dying now.
Ragnar raised his gaze to the remaining guards. “Come for me,” he said. And, when they only stared at him, “Come for me! ” Keita jumped a little at the Northlander’s bellow. She didn’t know the snobby bastard was capable of being so…barbaric.
She liked it.
Too bad about those poor, stupid guards. Had they really been fooled by the monk’s robes? Even worse, once Ragnar had gutted and beheaded several of their comrades, they still didn’t run. Why, she couldn’t fathom.
What with their lord shaking and rolling on the ground at her feet, foam pouring from his mouth—it would soon be blood, though—he’d be dead any moment now, so what was the point of continuing to fight?
Perhaps it was a male thing, because Keita never had qualms about walking away from any dangerous situation when she had to. Then again, neither did her brother—and Gwenvael was male…mostly.
And, as stupid males will do, they ignored logic and charged Ragnar.
Keita, wincing a little, watched the Northlander tear into them with absolutely no mercy and no regret. A head rolled by, and Keita quickly wrapped her cape around her body to protect her gown from stray splashes of blood.
The second guard was cut in two. The third lost both his arms. The fourth got the back of Ragnar’s fist. Just once, but it was enough to completely decimate the man’s face.
With all the guards dead, dying, or incapacitated, Ragnar focused his attention on Athol.
Keita ran on her tiptoes—and around an endless amount of blood—over to Ragnar, sliding in front of him, her hands pressing into his chest.
“Leave it.”
“He did nothing to help you,” Ragnar said.
“Leave it.”
She watched the Dragonlord, covered in blood and bits of human, pull back his rage and gain complete control of his emotions. When he was calm, he nodded, and Keita motioned to the gate. He headed out, and Keita walked over to Athol.
As if nothing had happened, she said, “Well, I must be off.”
“So soon?”
Keita controlled her urge to bite the elf’s face off. “Unfortunately. I do need my beauty sleep, and we have an early start tomorrow.”
“And did you find who you were looking for, my beautiful Keita?”
“No. But perhaps I can return at another time and search again?”
“Any time you’d like, old friend. You know that.” Friend? Really? But Keita would say nothing about that either.
Someone like Athol had his uses. Plus, he wasn’t like the humans. He wouldn’t be an easy kill for her or Ragnar, not here on his territory.
Athol kissed the back of Keita’s hand, winked at her. Bastard. But Keita did give his assistant a small nod of respect because she could see the true regret in the youngster’s face. She knew he’d wanted to help, and understood why he couldn’t. He might not wear a collar and leash like some of Athol’s guests did, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as yoked into submission.
She walked out of the gate and onto the road. She immediately felt the loss of Athol’s power, and it shocked her that she’d never realized how oppressive that power was until now. When the gate closed behind her, she let out a shaky breath and rubbed her forehead.
“Are you all right?”
And what she didn’t need right now was for Ragnar to be nice to her.
She still had no idea where her aunt was or if she’d betrayed the throne; and there was also at least another day of flying ahead and her mother to face at the end of it.
Lashing out at the Dragonlord was one option, one she briefly considered, but she simply wasn’t in the mood to do that either.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“What did you do to him?”
“DeLaval?” She raised the forefinger she’d let him suck on. “Loeiz herb. I always keep a little in my pockets.”
“To poison people?”
“When they get pushy…yes.”
Ragnar studied the dragoness before him, realization slowly creeping upon him.
She’d handled that noble and the elf without a bit of panic or fear, although she was essentially trapped in her human form. And she not only knew about the rare Loeiz herb, but had some hidden on her and understood how to use it. He knew this because putting Loeiz in food or drink made it completely ineffectual. It needed to interact directly with saliva or mucus to kill quickly, or be put in a small bleeding cut if one needed time to leave before death occurred. And very few knew the poisonous uses of the herb because it was hard to find and could only be plucked moments before blooming. Too early and it was a wonderful smoking weed. Plucked too late and it was a delicious herb on cooked meats.
Ragnar stepped closer, looked into her eyes. She was too tired to play any games. Too angry to tease or taunt him. And when he looked, he saw only the truth. Perhaps if he’d looked closely before, he wouldn’t feel like such a fool now. Because his cousin and brother had been right all this time—Ragnar had misjudged Princess Keita. He still believed she would bed any and all in her path, but this dragoness was far from stupid. Dangerously far—as that noble lord bleeding out on Athol’s cobbled courtyard now knew.
Ragnar raised his gaze to the remaining guards. “Come for me,” he said. And, when they only stared at him, “Come for me! ” Keita jumped a little at the Northlander’s bellow. She didn’t know the snobby bastard was capable of being so…barbaric.
She liked it.
Too bad about those poor, stupid guards. Had they really been fooled by the monk’s robes? Even worse, once Ragnar had gutted and beheaded several of their comrades, they still didn’t run. Why, she couldn’t fathom.
What with their lord shaking and rolling on the ground at her feet, foam pouring from his mouth—it would soon be blood, though—he’d be dead any moment now, so what was the point of continuing to fight?
Perhaps it was a male thing, because Keita never had qualms about walking away from any dangerous situation when she had to. Then again, neither did her brother—and Gwenvael was male…mostly.
And, as stupid males will do, they ignored logic and charged Ragnar.
Keita, wincing a little, watched the Northlander tear into them with absolutely no mercy and no regret. A head rolled by, and Keita quickly wrapped her cape around her body to protect her gown from stray splashes of blood.
The second guard was cut in two. The third lost both his arms. The fourth got the back of Ragnar’s fist. Just once, but it was enough to completely decimate the man’s face.
With all the guards dead, dying, or incapacitated, Ragnar focused his attention on Athol.
Keita ran on her tiptoes—and around an endless amount of blood—over to Ragnar, sliding in front of him, her hands pressing into his chest.
“Leave it.”
“He did nothing to help you,” Ragnar said.
“Leave it.”
She watched the Dragonlord, covered in blood and bits of human, pull back his rage and gain complete control of his emotions. When he was calm, he nodded, and Keita motioned to the gate. He headed out, and Keita walked over to Athol.
As if nothing had happened, she said, “Well, I must be off.”
“So soon?”
Keita controlled her urge to bite the elf’s face off. “Unfortunately. I do need my beauty sleep, and we have an early start tomorrow.”
“And did you find who you were looking for, my beautiful Keita?”
“No. But perhaps I can return at another time and search again?”
“Any time you’d like, old friend. You know that.” Friend? Really? But Keita would say nothing about that either.
Someone like Athol had his uses. Plus, he wasn’t like the humans. He wouldn’t be an easy kill for her or Ragnar, not here on his territory.
Athol kissed the back of Keita’s hand, winked at her. Bastard. But Keita did give his assistant a small nod of respect because she could see the true regret in the youngster’s face. She knew he’d wanted to help, and understood why he couldn’t. He might not wear a collar and leash like some of Athol’s guests did, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as yoked into submission.
She walked out of the gate and onto the road. She immediately felt the loss of Athol’s power, and it shocked her that she’d never realized how oppressive that power was until now. When the gate closed behind her, she let out a shaky breath and rubbed her forehead.
“Are you all right?”
And what she didn’t need right now was for Ragnar to be nice to her.
She still had no idea where her aunt was or if she’d betrayed the throne; and there was also at least another day of flying ahead and her mother to face at the end of it.
Lashing out at the Dragonlord was one option, one she briefly considered, but she simply wasn’t in the mood to do that either.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“What did you do to him?”
“DeLaval?” She raised the forefinger she’d let him suck on. “Loeiz herb. I always keep a little in my pockets.”
“To poison people?”
“When they get pushy…yes.”
Ragnar studied the dragoness before him, realization slowly creeping upon him.
She’d handled that noble and the elf without a bit of panic or fear, although she was essentially trapped in her human form. And she not only knew about the rare Loeiz herb, but had some hidden on her and understood how to use it. He knew this because putting Loeiz in food or drink made it completely ineffectual. It needed to interact directly with saliva or mucus to kill quickly, or be put in a small bleeding cut if one needed time to leave before death occurred. And very few knew the poisonous uses of the herb because it was hard to find and could only be plucked moments before blooming. Too early and it was a wonderful smoking weed. Plucked too late and it was a delicious herb on cooked meats.
Ragnar stepped closer, looked into her eyes. She was too tired to play any games. Too angry to tease or taunt him. And when he looked, he saw only the truth. Perhaps if he’d looked closely before, he wouldn’t feel like such a fool now. Because his cousin and brother had been right all this time—Ragnar had misjudged Princess Keita. He still believed she would bed any and all in her path, but this dragoness was far from stupid. Dangerously far—as that noble lord bleeding out on Athol’s cobbled courtyard now knew.
