Elina sighed. “This I know.”
“Then why did you come here? Why did you not run? Start a new life somewhere else?”
“I am Daughter of Steppes,” she replied, automatically knowing she wasn’t getting the Southlander language quite right. They seemed to use too many words; it was hard to remember all that needed to be there.
“I do not run,” Elina went on. “If I am to meet my death at your claw, then I will meet my death.”
“Daughter of the Steppes? You are from the Outerplains?”
“I am.”
“The Rider tribes that raid the valley territories of the Northlands, Quintilian Provinces, and Annaig Valley. Your people are greatly feared. Tell me, little human, what is your name?”
“I am Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Tribe of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains.”
The queen blinked several times before she asked, “That entire thing is your name?”
“It was one I was given at birth.”
“Kind of cursed coming and going, weren’t you, sweetness?”
The old dragon leaned forward and said, “My lady, perhaps we should end this quickly rather than drawing it out unnecessarily, now that we know the truth of her situation.”
The queen looked at the dragon. “Whatever do you mean?”
“It seems cruel to toy with her.”
The queen frowned, shocking Elina with her ability to show emotion despite all those scales. The queen looked over her court, her expression now confused. Finally, she exclaimed, “Wait . . . do you all think I plan to eat her?”
The old dragon behind the queen gave the smallest of shrugs. “Don’t you?”
“No! I don’t do that anymore. It seems unacceptable . . . with the grandchildren and all. Besides . . . look at the poor thing.” And they all did. The size of the dragons was harrowing enough, but really it was the expressions of pity that had Elina’s stomach curdling in horror. It shouldn’t, though. She often received that same expression from other tribe members.
“You poor, poor thing,” the queen said again.
The black dragon who’d brought Elina here suddenly returned, barely glancing at her as he passed. It was the same way Elina glanced at a mouse that ran past her in the woods outside the tribes’ territories.
“My queen,” the black dragon began, his voice low, “you wanted me to let you know when Lord Bercelak was nearing the mountain.”
“Yes, yes. We’ll have to get her someplace safe.”
The black dragon glanced again at Elina and back at the queen. “Someplace safe?”
“Aye. And we must keep this information away from Bercelak.”
The black dragon shook his head. “No.”
“I am your queen.”
“Yes. But you adore me. Your Bercelak . . . not so much. And he hits.”
“Oh, honestly! Are you afraid of your own uncle?”
“Yes! I am. Hence the whining in my voice.”
“Take her, Celyn. Someplace safe.”
“Auntie—”
“Don’t auntie me, Celyn the Charming! And how did you even get that name? You clearly don’t deserve it!”
“You gave it to me.”
“That was obviously a mistake on my part.”
“You never make mistakes, my queen. You told me that yourself.”
Slowly, the queen looked over at the black dragon and, in return, he slowly grinned, flashing a number of exceptionally large fangs. The largest fangs Elina had ever had the misfortune of seeing.
“Take her,” the queen ordered, “someplace safe. And do it before I am forced to get my ass off this throne so that I can throttle you to death!”
The black dragon gave a small bow. “As you command, my queen.”
“Oh, stop it, Celyn.”
She heard the black dragon chuckle, his big body slowly turning. He studied Elina a moment, then walked off. After he passed, Elina looked down in time to see his tail circling her waist.
“Not—” was all she managed to get out before his tail lifted her up and carried her out of a side exit to the chamber. As they moved, Elina could hear the queen call out, “Bercelak, my love! I’m so glad you’re home!”
“Why,” another low voice demanded from the queen’s throne room, “do you all look guilty? What are you hiding from me, Rhiannon?”
Celyn landed outside Garbhán Isle, the seat of power of the human Southland queen. He dropped the female he held in his tail and shifted to human. He glanced back at the woman and warned, “Don’t try to run away.”
“Run away?” she repeated in that thick Outerplains accent. “Run away to where, dragon? You cannot outrun failure. Disappointment. Misery. So why even try?”
Celyn, reaching for a set of clothes that was left outside the city for the many dragons coming and going, paused for a moment, again glancing back at the human female. “You’re a fun, perky girl, aren’t you?” he joked.
She shrugged. “I am known as annoyingly cheery among my tribe. A curse I cannot escape.”
Unwilling to even think too much on that bit of information, Celyn quickly pulled on chain-mail leggings, a chain-mail shirt, and leather boots. Once dressed, he took the spear from the woman’s hand and tossed it on the pile of other weapons. Then he grabbed hold of the woman’s arm and led her past the city gates. The guards nodded at him and he nodded back.