G. Aiken: A Tale Of Two Dragons

Determined to get this over with, she tossed back her blue hair and headed into the mountain stronghold.

Moving out of one cavern and into another, Braith stopped when she saw one of the Queen’s offspring, Princess Rhiannon. Of all the Queen’s offspring, Rhiannon was the only one whom Braith managed to tolerate, which was probably as close to a friendship as either of them had ever had.

“My lady,” Braith said to the royal, dipping her head a bit out of respect.

“Braith of the Darkness. You look well.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

Those who dismissed Rhiannon as another vapid royal truly did not know her, and they didn’t want to know her. And with reason. Queen Addiena, a being to be feared, loathed her daughter more than Braith’s father loathed her. While Braith’s father ignored her, Queen Addiena seemed to take pleasure in making Rhiannon’s life miserable. The current ruler of the Southlands was a cold, heartless, and petty cow who wielded hate and revenge with knifelike precision.

“What brings you here to Happy Mountain?” Rhiannon asked Braith.

“I’ve been summoned by my father.”

The princess cringed in a rather unroyal manner. “Poor you.”

“I know.”

“It could be worse. You could have been summoned by that bi—gods!” the princess suddenly squealed, quickly turning her back to the entrance. “It’s him .”

Braith looked and saw Major Bercelak the Unpleasant—a name, it was rumored, that had been given to him by his own troops—making his way toward them. His gaze was locked on Rhiannon like a jungle cat’s on a wounded deer.

In the mood to sacrifice herself for the greater good, Braith stepped around so that she stood between the pair. “Make a run for it, my lady. I’ll protect your back.”

“I’ll not forget this, Braith of the Darkness.”

Then Rhiannon took off, all that long, white hair flowing behind her.

Bercelak marched up to Braith, trying to see around her. “Where’d she go?”

“Who, Major?”

Painfully black eyes locked on Braith. “Princess Rhiannon.”

“Oh. I haven’t seen her.”

“She was just standing behind you.” The black dragon glowered at Braith. “But maybe with that large ass of yours I just missed—”

“Bercelak!” the dragon’s sister, Ghleanna, snarled as she stepped up behind him.

“She got in my way!” he barked.

“I don’t care if she shaved your hair off. Be nice! ” The black She-dragon nodded at Braith. “Lady Braith.”

“Lieutenant.”

Now second lieutenant, Ghleanna might not outrank her brother in the Queen’s Dragon Army, but she was his older sister and rank meant nothing when kin was involved.

“Sorry about my brother.”

“You don’t have to apologize for me,” Bercelak snapped.

“ Someone does! ” she bellowed back, one of the few who showed no fear at the constantly snarling, glowering bear of a dragon. He had to be the most unpleasant bastard in the Southland territories, but, Braith could admit, he was very good at what he did, which was protecting the Southland borders.

“Oy,” another voice said. “Did you lot hear?”

Then he was there. As tall as his brother, but wider. Like a mountain of granite inside the mountain fortress.

“Hear what?” Ghleanna asked while still glaring at Bercelak.

“About Davon the Elegant.”

Ghleanna faced her handsome brother. “What about her?”

“Lightnings snatched her from her father’s cave.”

“What?” Ghleanna gasped, clearly shocked.

“Word is it was the Olgeirsson Horde.”

“We should have killed that bastard Olgeir long ago,” Bercelak growled. “The fact that he still breathes offends me.”

“Did you hear of this, Lady Braith?” Ghleanna asked Braith.

“I had not.”

But Braith wasn’t exactly surprised. The Northland dragons did not breed many females, so they were often forced to steal She-dragons from other regions. But She-dragons weren’t helpless victims waiting to be kidnapped, so the Lightnings usually cut off one wing when they took a female so that she could not fly away. And some She-dragons were so shamed by it, they ended up staying in the north with little to no fight. It was the kind of fear that could keep a She-dragon up at night and one of the reasons few knew where Braith lived. In fact, her father believed her cave was nearly fifty leagues away from where it actually was located. Not that she didn’t trust him but . . . no. She was lying. She didn’t trust him.

“Perhaps that’s why the Queen’s asked us here,” Ghleanna suggested. “So that we can track the bastards down and cut their hearts out.”

“I want Olgeir dead as much as you,” Bercelak complained, “but it annoys me that once again we need to run in and rescue the weak royals because they can’t protect themselves.”

Ghleanna rolled her eyes and rammed her fist into her younger brother’s shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?”

Ghleanna motioned to Braith. “We’re standing next to a royal, you idiot.”

“Does she really count?”

That’s when Bercelak’s brother took notice and cheered, “Braith of the Darkness! You’re looking well!”

I am?

“She is?” Bercelak asked, which got him a shot to the neck from his sister’s tail. He pushed Ghleanna back and the two began fighting. Addolgar ignored them both to focus on Braith.

“It’s been a long time. How have you been doing?”

I’m fine. How are you? You’re looking very handsome today, Addolgar the Handsome, lord of my loins.

At least that was what she’d like to say to him, but instead she came out with, “Yeah, hi.”

Even worse, she said that into her chest because she couldn’t bear to look into those lovely brown eyes. Her tail curled into a circle like a snake caught under the hot sun and her claws curled into tight fists.

Gods, he was handsome. She’d never known such a handsome dragon. His dark silver scales shiny. His fangs bright white and long. His dark silver hair reaching past massive shoulders to powerful muscled forearms.

Handsome!

And what was she? Her lip almost curled. She was nothing but Braith of the Darkness. Destroyer of a single city that no dragon had ever heard of.

How was that impressive to someone like Addolgar? Revered Dragonwarrior. Loved by his army comrades—dragon and human—and considered one of the “nice” Cadwaladrs of their Clan. The only other nice Cadwaladr was Addolgar’s father, Ailean the Wicked.

Truth be told, it was Addolgar’s good nature that warmed Braith’s hard heart more than anything else. Not only because he was kind to her when even her own father was not, but also because he was kind to all he was not against in war.

Glancing over at his battling siblings, Addolgar said low, “Sorry about my brother, Braith. He can be a bit of a prat.”

“Yeah,” she said into her chest. “I know.”

“What did he come over here for anyway?” Since, apparently, they both knew he’d never walk this way to see Braith.

“Rhiannon, I believe.”

“Ahhhh. I see.” Addolgar laughed. “His obsession with her is so ridiculous. That royal would cut his throat while he slept and laugh while he bled out.”

Braith wished she could defend the princess on that . . . but it was probably true.

“You two friends then?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“Just royal politeness. I get it.”

“Guess you could say that.” Braith cleared her throat, studied her claws against the stone ground, and wondered when this nightmare of awkwardness would end.

“Oy! Addolgar!” his sister called out, now that she had Bercelak in a headlock.