G.A. Aiken Dragon Bundle: The Dragon Who Loved Me, What a Dragon Should Know, Last Dragon Standing & How to Drive a Dragon Crazy by G. A. Aiken Page A
Authors: G. A. Aiken
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and all Rhona could do was shrug.
“You know me, Daddy. I follow orders and don’t ask questions. Especially when it’s all coming from the royal side of my kin.”
“Not like your mother at all.”
“As she likes to remind me.”
Her father put his arm around her shoulders. “She just doesn’t understand you. But it’s not your job to help her with that.”
“But—”
“No time to discuss.” He laughingly pushed her toward the forge. “You’ve got work to do, child. And I have much to teach you in a short amount of time. So to work with you!”
“What are you doing here, Vigholf?” his mother asked, her hand reaching up and stroking his jaw. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine, Mum. I promise.”
“Then why—”
“It’s complicated. But you,” he asked, changing the subject, “are you all right? Are you safe?”
“I’ve been treated like a princess since I’ve been here.” Davon the Elegant leaned in and whispered, “I’m considered a returned prisoner of war, so they’re all very gentle with me and give me lots of things. It’s been nice.”
“Mum.”
“Well, if it hadn’t been for my wonderful sons, it would have been horrible living with your father. But you all looked out for me. So it’s easy for me to sit back and enjoy the pity.”
“As long as you’re safe, Mum. That’s all Ragnar and I care about. That’s all we’ve ever cared about.”
She pushed long gold hair behind her ear. “I’m fine. I promise.”
He stepped back and took his mother’s hand. “Then I want you to meet someone.”
“Oh?”
“No. Nothing like that,” he laughed and pulled her toward the tent, lifting the flap so he could escort her in. But Vigholf stopped right at the entrance, his eyes on Rhona as she worked at her father’s forge with a skill he’d only seen in blacksmiths who’d been working for hundreds of years. She swung a hammer, working away at some weapon.
Yet it wasn’t just the skill that startled him. It was the joy on her face while she worked and laughed with her father. It was that thing that had been missing when he watched her following orders and flying into battle.
“My,” his mother murmured. “She’s quite . . . hearty.” She glanced up at him. “A Cadwaladr, I’m assuming.”
“We traveled here together.”
“And you like her.”
“Not really,” he blatantly lied. “She just needs protection and like a true Northlander, it’s my duty to protect helpless females.”
“Helpless?” His mother looked over at Rhona. The Fire Breather lifted the sword she worked on, still glowing bright from the heat. The grin on her face, the light in her eyes . . . it was a beautiful sight to behold. Rhona put the blade in water to cool and caught another weapon her father tossed at her. A good-sized battle-ax. She swung it a few times, then threw it, the blade imbedding into the stuffed head of the practice dummy standing in the corner.
His mother nodded. “Oh, yes. I see now, my son. She’s extremely helpless.”
Chapter 10
Rhona stopped not far from the Garbhán Isle gates. The gates lined with Kyvich witches keeping watch. She’d forgotten how imposing the human females could be.
In one lone line, they snaked around the top of the gate walls, a shorter spear called a pilum gripped in each witch’s hand. Considering it was winter, they wore little clothes. Mostly animal skins and bits of armor covering the important areas and arteries. But it was the black tattoos that marked their faces and/or necks. There was no uniformity in those markings or in the way the females dressed or looked—and yet there was no doubt they were a unified army. A deadly and well-trained one that had no mercy, no heart, and no loyalty but to those their gods had chosen for them.
“Disturbing to look at, aren’t they?” the Lightning asked as he stepped up beside her. She’d lost track of him while she’d worked in her father’s forge, learning
“You know me, Daddy. I follow orders and don’t ask questions. Especially when it’s all coming from the royal side of my kin.”
“Not like your mother at all.”
“As she likes to remind me.”
Her father put his arm around her shoulders. “She just doesn’t understand you. But it’s not your job to help her with that.”
“But—”
“No time to discuss.” He laughingly pushed her toward the forge. “You’ve got work to do, child. And I have much to teach you in a short amount of time. So to work with you!”
“What are you doing here, Vigholf?” his mother asked, her hand reaching up and stroking his jaw. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine, Mum. I promise.”
“Then why—”
“It’s complicated. But you,” he asked, changing the subject, “are you all right? Are you safe?”
“I’ve been treated like a princess since I’ve been here.” Davon the Elegant leaned in and whispered, “I’m considered a returned prisoner of war, so they’re all very gentle with me and give me lots of things. It’s been nice.”
“Mum.”
“Well, if it hadn’t been for my wonderful sons, it would have been horrible living with your father. But you all looked out for me. So it’s easy for me to sit back and enjoy the pity.”
“As long as you’re safe, Mum. That’s all Ragnar and I care about. That’s all we’ve ever cared about.”
She pushed long gold hair behind her ear. “I’m fine. I promise.”
He stepped back and took his mother’s hand. “Then I want you to meet someone.”
“Oh?”
“No. Nothing like that,” he laughed and pulled her toward the tent, lifting the flap so he could escort her in. But Vigholf stopped right at the entrance, his eyes on Rhona as she worked at her father’s forge with a skill he’d only seen in blacksmiths who’d been working for hundreds of years. She swung a hammer, working away at some weapon.
Yet it wasn’t just the skill that startled him. It was the joy on her face while she worked and laughed with her father. It was that thing that had been missing when he watched her following orders and flying into battle.
“My,” his mother murmured. “She’s quite . . . hearty.” She glanced up at him. “A Cadwaladr, I’m assuming.”
“We traveled here together.”
“And you like her.”
“Not really,” he blatantly lied. “She just needs protection and like a true Northlander, it’s my duty to protect helpless females.”
“Helpless?” His mother looked over at Rhona. The Fire Breather lifted the sword she worked on, still glowing bright from the heat. The grin on her face, the light in her eyes . . . it was a beautiful sight to behold. Rhona put the blade in water to cool and caught another weapon her father tossed at her. A good-sized battle-ax. She swung it a few times, then threw it, the blade imbedding into the stuffed head of the practice dummy standing in the corner.
His mother nodded. “Oh, yes. I see now, my son. She’s extremely helpless.”
Chapter 10
Rhona stopped not far from the Garbhán Isle gates. The gates lined with Kyvich witches keeping watch. She’d forgotten how imposing the human females could be.
In one lone line, they snaked around the top of the gate walls, a shorter spear called a pilum gripped in each witch’s hand. Considering it was winter, they wore little clothes. Mostly animal skins and bits of armor covering the important areas and arteries. But it was the black tattoos that marked their faces and/or necks. There was no uniformity in those markings or in the way the females dressed or looked—and yet there was no doubt they were a unified army. A deadly and well-trained one that had no mercy, no heart, and no loyalty but to those their gods had chosen for them.
“Disturbing to look at, aren’t they?” the Lightning asked as he stepped up beside her. She’d lost track of him while she’d worked in her father’s forge, learning
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