She refocused on the Riders. “Look, I understand you’re all from a different . . .” She struggled to find the right word, and Celyn provided it.
“Culture.”
“Yeah. Right. That. But that doesn’t mean you lot can come in here and start ordering everyone around like you—gods-damn it, Gwenvael!” Annwyl shouted when she heard the damn dragon climbing the side of her house, his talons crunching into the precious—and extremely expensive!—stone that she did not want to hire yet another stonemason to fix.
Eyes wide, everyone turned and looked at the house, then back to Annwyl. She knew they couldn’t see him. As Rhi had once told Annwyl when Rhi was still a young girl, “Uncle Gwenvael is a chameleon. He can blend into anything. He creeps around here all the time. So when you think you hear him and sense him moving around . . . you do. You’re absolutely not insane. No matter what Daddy says.”
So even though no one else could see him, Annwyl knew he was there. So she pointed her axe in the general direction she figured he was in, and warned, “Fuck up that stone again, and I will rip the head from your shoulders!”
Annwyl heard a repressed little chuckle and knew she was right, but she didn’t bother to explain that to her kin. What was the point? So instead she simply screamed at him, “Stop laughing at me!”
“Mum?” Talwyn asked, the Riders seemingly forgotten.
“What?”
Talwyn shook her head at Annwyl’s bark. “Nothing.”
Annwyl now pointed that axe at the three Riders, briefly wondering why they sort of leaned back in their saddles—and away from her. “Now you three, if you stay, then you follow my rules and you listen to these people when they tell you things. And yes,” she said when one of them opened her mouth, “that includes the ones with penises. And if you decide to go . . . then good day to you, it was nice having you.”
Annwyl forced a smile—Fearghus always told her she had a pretty smile—but that only seemed to disturb the Riders more, so she dropped the pretense and returned to her throne and her gods-damn book.
Dagmar wasn’t sure what the Riders would do after all that. She knew what she would have done if she didn’t know Annwyl as she did and hadn’t come to Garbhán Isle under the protection of Gwenvael the Handsome.... She would have bloody left.
But the lead Rider, the one called Nika, simply smiled at her sisters and announced, “She is quite mad, sisters! Our potential deaths will be glorious!”
“Then let us join the Mad Queen and seal our fate!” cried another.
“I am so happy we listened to our sweet Pee-Wee!” announced the third.
“Pee-Wee?” Dagmar softly asked Celyn.
“Zoya Kolesova,” he replied. “They call her Pee-Wee.”
And, as they stepped off their poor, beleaguered mounts, Dagmar understood why.
Fearghus came around the corner of the building, his attention focused on one of the scrolls in his hand. He walked between the Riders, but stopped and lifted his head. He looked at the three women before focusing on Dagmar. “When did we start inviting giants to the house?”
“Not giants. Riders. They are the—”
“I can’t,” he quickly cut in, “listen to those endless names.”
Focusing again on the scroll in his hands, he began to walk up the stairs, which was when one of the Riders leaned forward and slapped his ass.
Briec and Keita made a quick and poor attempt at stifling their laughter while Morfyd quickly rushed to her brother’s side and led him up the stairs. “Dinner’s ready, brother. Come, let’s eat.”
Fearghus looked back at the Rider and in reply, she winked at him . . . and leered. That’s when Morfyd yanked him up the stairs.
Dagmar waited until Fearghus was inside, along with the others, before she told the Riders, “And don’t do that unless the man asks you to—and I’m sure some will.”
One of the Riders snorted. “I see we will suffer like saints while we are here, sisters. Making us clean for our glorious deaths.”
“It is price we will pay for such honor,” Nika promised. She pointed at one of the stables. “Come. Let us trap the horses in that tiny box so they can eat and have water.”
Dagmar watched the Riders as they walked their horses to “that tiny box.” When they were gone, she finally looked at the stone wall of the house. “Your timing was perfect.”
Gwenvael appeared, no longer blending with the stone he gripped his talons to. “I know. Nothing makes dear Annwyl crazier than dealing with that poor stonemason.”
He shifted to human and landed nimbly on his big feet. Naked, he walked over to Dagmar and leaned down and kissed her. When he pulled back, he said, “She always worries me more when she’s calm and rational but still holding a weapon. She needed a little insanity to distract her from their insults. Do you think more Riders will be coming?”
“No. Zoya Kolesova—from what I heard—only told her three eldest sisters to come and fight for Annwyl. Those three are more than seven hundred years old and have nearly three hundred offspring between them.” Dagmar winced. “My womb throbs at the thought.”
“Don’t worry. I think we have more than enough offspring.”
Gwenvael glanced back at the wall and whistled. “Come on, you lot. Time for dinner.”
Like their father, The Five appeared. And, like their father, they were hanging from the wall. But they weren’t dragons; they were human and fully dressed, which meant they could appear or disappear on a whim rather than simply being able to blend into their surroundings as their father could.
The Five dropped to the ground and ran into the Great Hall. Dagmar glanced around before asking her mate, “Can Arlais do that?”
He shook his head. “No. Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“Oh, come now. I doubt she’d ever try to kill you . . . until she’s at least eighteen winters.”
“That gives me such comfort,” Dagmar growled, pushing past Gwenvael and returning to her rapidly cooling meal.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Khoruzhaya siblings hunted down several boar and, after seasoning the carcasses, Aidan cooked them with his flame.
The meal was hearty and the discussion pleasant. Even when Kachka tried to goad Gaius into a fight about returning the Quintilian Sovereigns Empire to a republic. A concept that Gaius didn’t actually hate. Although under Thracius’s rule, dragons and men had been crucified for even suggesting such a thing.
Still, no matter how hard she might try, Kachka could not get him upset. How could she when he was happy just to see her?
Especially after spending these last few months with Brannie, who, unless in battle, was inherently sweet; and the Mì-runach who, except for Aidan the Divine, were not exactly scholars.
So while Kachka thought she was annoying him with her talk of politics, Gaius was enjoying every second of it.
“One day,” she said, “all those . . . what do you call them?”
“Plebes.”
“Yes. All those plebes will rise up and kill all of you slave-owning royals in your beds.”
“Perhaps. Although we no longer allow slaves within the Empire.”
“So you killed them all?”