Last Dragon Standing
Page 69
Fearghus looked over his shoulder and said, “Well, get up here. Meet your Aunt Keita.”
Keita watched as two sets of eyes—one a vibrant green, the other an endless black—peeked over their father’s shoulders.
So sweet, she thought. They’re shy.
At the sight of her, those green eyes rose, and a filthy little boy raised himself up, his hands firmly placed on Fearghus’s left shoulder. He sized Keita up with one long glance—and grinned.
Keita blinked, her gaze going to Fearghus, who quickly stated, “I won’t discuss it. I just won’t.”
“Yes, but—”
“Not discussing!” he barked.
And that’s when the child on the right launched herself at Keita, a small wooden training sword tight in her meaty little fist.
Thankfully, however, Fearghus was fast and caught hold of his equally filthy daughter by the back of her shirt.
“What have I told you about random attacks?” he asked the black-haired toddler. He sounded so bored by the question that Keita felt certain he’d had this discussion with her nearly every day since her birth. Disturbing enough, but the fact that the girl continued to swing her sword at Keita while snapping tiny baby teeth—definitely, much more disturbing.
“Is that normal, brother?”
“It’s about to get stranger still,” Talaith warned.
“And how is that possible?”
To answer the question, Talaith’s daughter reached out her tiny hand toward her cousin, then placed it against Keita’s chin. A moment later, Fearghus’s daughter instantly relaxed, her sword lowering to her side.
“She didn’t like you holding her cousin,” Talaith explained, “until she got her cousin’s approval, that is.”
Taking a step back, Keita asked, “What in all the hells has been going on here?”
“We don’t know,” Talaith said on a yawn. “Though we’ve all asked ourselves that question often enough.”
“But we had to stop,” Fearghus continued. “Because to be quite honest—”
“—we were getting a little bit terrified by it all.”
“But on the plus side,” Fearghus quickly added, “none of them has a tail.”
“Or scales.”
“So superficially they seem quite normal.”
Keita frowned. “And that’s fine with you?”
Fearghus and Talaith exchanged glances before answering together, “It could be worse.”
Branwen the Black was busy braiding her older brother Fal’s hair when she saw Izzy. She looked well enough, even though one of their cousins had tossed Iz into Branwen’s mum’s tent. Branwen knew it for the compliment it was—that the Cadwaladrs thought Izzy tough enough to stand the abuse they’d dole out to any young dragon—but that didn’t mean Iz liked being tossed about. Then again, Branwen didn’t like it much either, and she could fly.
“Izzy doesn’t seem to be in a very good mood,” Fal observed.
Izzy was scowling so hard, she almost looked like Uncle Bercelak, which was strange since none of them were actually related to Izzy by blood.
It didn’t matter, though. They were all kin now. And after two years and countless battles, Branwen had grown impossibly close to Izzy. She was nicer than any of Branwen’s sisters and more understanding than any of her brothers. True, they were more than six decades apart in age, and Iz was tragically human, but it wasn’t something that mattered. Not to them.
Branwen released her brother’s hair and stepped over the log he sat on. “Izzy?”
Izzy stopped, faced her cousin. “Did you know?”
“Did I know what?”
“You mean about your mother?” Fal asked, looking all sorts of bored.
He shrugged. “I knew.”
“You knew what?” Branwen demanded of her brother, but he never got a chance to answer. Izzy picked up one of the logs they used for sitting and with one good swing, knocked Fal up and back into their brother Celyn, who’d come up behind him to find out what was going on. Both dragons hit the ground hard, and Izzy tossed the log down, the ground shaking a bit from the weight of it.
“Can you take me back to Dark Plains?” Izzy asked her.
“Aye, but—”
“General Ghleanna wants me to give something to my queen as soon as possible, so it’ll be faster this way.”
“Anything, Iz, but—”
“Five minutes then?” And not bothering to wait for Branwen’s answer, Izzy walked off.
Celyn stood next to Branwen now, both ignoring their groaning brother with the broken jaw. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
“I’ll take her back to Dark Plains,” Celyn offered.
“Like hell you will.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Don’t be stupid,” she whispered and motioned to poor Fal. “Take care of our brother. I think his jaw’s broken.”
“Then maybe he should have kept his mouth shut for once.”
“There she is!” Briec walked into the room, and for a moment, Keita actually believed he spoke of her. She was wrong. “There’s my perfect, perfect daughter.” He removed the child from Keita’s arms without asking permission. As always, her brother was rude!
“Isn’t she perfect, Keita?” He motioned to Fearghus and his offspring.
Keita watched as two sets of eyes—one a vibrant green, the other an endless black—peeked over their father’s shoulders.
So sweet, she thought. They’re shy.
At the sight of her, those green eyes rose, and a filthy little boy raised himself up, his hands firmly placed on Fearghus’s left shoulder. He sized Keita up with one long glance—and grinned.
Keita blinked, her gaze going to Fearghus, who quickly stated, “I won’t discuss it. I just won’t.”
“Yes, but—”
“Not discussing!” he barked.
And that’s when the child on the right launched herself at Keita, a small wooden training sword tight in her meaty little fist.
Thankfully, however, Fearghus was fast and caught hold of his equally filthy daughter by the back of her shirt.
“What have I told you about random attacks?” he asked the black-haired toddler. He sounded so bored by the question that Keita felt certain he’d had this discussion with her nearly every day since her birth. Disturbing enough, but the fact that the girl continued to swing her sword at Keita while snapping tiny baby teeth—definitely, much more disturbing.
“Is that normal, brother?”
“It’s about to get stranger still,” Talaith warned.
“And how is that possible?”
To answer the question, Talaith’s daughter reached out her tiny hand toward her cousin, then placed it against Keita’s chin. A moment later, Fearghus’s daughter instantly relaxed, her sword lowering to her side.
“She didn’t like you holding her cousin,” Talaith explained, “until she got her cousin’s approval, that is.”
Taking a step back, Keita asked, “What in all the hells has been going on here?”
“We don’t know,” Talaith said on a yawn. “Though we’ve all asked ourselves that question often enough.”
“But we had to stop,” Fearghus continued. “Because to be quite honest—”
“—we were getting a little bit terrified by it all.”
“But on the plus side,” Fearghus quickly added, “none of them has a tail.”
“Or scales.”
“So superficially they seem quite normal.”
Keita frowned. “And that’s fine with you?”
Fearghus and Talaith exchanged glances before answering together, “It could be worse.”
Branwen the Black was busy braiding her older brother Fal’s hair when she saw Izzy. She looked well enough, even though one of their cousins had tossed Iz into Branwen’s mum’s tent. Branwen knew it for the compliment it was—that the Cadwaladrs thought Izzy tough enough to stand the abuse they’d dole out to any young dragon—but that didn’t mean Iz liked being tossed about. Then again, Branwen didn’t like it much either, and she could fly.
“Izzy doesn’t seem to be in a very good mood,” Fal observed.
Izzy was scowling so hard, she almost looked like Uncle Bercelak, which was strange since none of them were actually related to Izzy by blood.
It didn’t matter, though. They were all kin now. And after two years and countless battles, Branwen had grown impossibly close to Izzy. She was nicer than any of Branwen’s sisters and more understanding than any of her brothers. True, they were more than six decades apart in age, and Iz was tragically human, but it wasn’t something that mattered. Not to them.
Branwen released her brother’s hair and stepped over the log he sat on. “Izzy?”
Izzy stopped, faced her cousin. “Did you know?”
“Did I know what?”
“You mean about your mother?” Fal asked, looking all sorts of bored.
He shrugged. “I knew.”
“You knew what?” Branwen demanded of her brother, but he never got a chance to answer. Izzy picked up one of the logs they used for sitting and with one good swing, knocked Fal up and back into their brother Celyn, who’d come up behind him to find out what was going on. Both dragons hit the ground hard, and Izzy tossed the log down, the ground shaking a bit from the weight of it.
“Can you take me back to Dark Plains?” Izzy asked her.
“Aye, but—”
“General Ghleanna wants me to give something to my queen as soon as possible, so it’ll be faster this way.”
“Anything, Iz, but—”
“Five minutes then?” And not bothering to wait for Branwen’s answer, Izzy walked off.
Celyn stood next to Branwen now, both ignoring their groaning brother with the broken jaw. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
“I’ll take her back to Dark Plains,” Celyn offered.
“Like hell you will.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Don’t be stupid,” she whispered and motioned to poor Fal. “Take care of our brother. I think his jaw’s broken.”
“Then maybe he should have kept his mouth shut for once.”
“There she is!” Briec walked into the room, and for a moment, Keita actually believed he spoke of her. She was wrong. “There’s my perfect, perfect daughter.” He removed the child from Keita’s arms without asking permission. As always, her brother was rude!
“Isn’t she perfect, Keita?” He motioned to Fearghus and his offspring.
