“She’s our mother and queen of these lands. Should I go against her?”
“Have you not learned it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission?”
“That’s how you and Gwenvael survive. I can’t live like that. Besides, if you summon them and you piss them off, Keita, they’ll tear these humans to bits.”
“On that note…” Dagmar turned to leave, but Keita caught her arm.
“Leave it to me.”
Keita released Dagmar and stepped to the very top of the ridge. She’d hoped she could get Morfyd to do this. As heir to their mother’s Magickal power if not her throne, she would most likely have an easier time of it. But Keita had learned a long time ago to wait for no one, especially her easily frightened sister.
Breathing in a huge amount of air, Keita threw her head back and opened her mouth. A line of flame exploded out of her and charred the tops of some trees, fire filling the sky above. When she felt her point had been made, Keita cut off the flame and returned her gaze to the horses. And, from amidst the shiny and moving horseflesh, they appeared, splitting off from the herd they ran with and charging toward the five females.
“Holy—” Annwyl began.
“—shit,” Talaith finished.
“Let me speak.” Keita moved them all back from the ridge and decided more specific directions were needed. “Actually, Talaith, feel free to connect with them as witch. Morfyd, if you won’t help, at least don’t complain. Dagmar, if you feel you can help, please do. Annwyl…say nothing.”
“How come I don’t—”
“Nothing.”
“But I’m—”
“Absolutely nothing!” Keita snarled. When Annwyl pouted but no longer argued, Keita looked back at those who raced toward them. The centaurs. One of the few beings dragons showed only respect to and never dreamed of hunting for food or amusement. They came over the ridge and drew to a restless halt about twenty feet away.
Keita gave a small bow of her head. “My ladies. My lords.”
“You are dragon, but you are not the queen,” a male told her. “And you dare summon us?”
“Told you,” Morfyd whispered.
“Shut up!” Keita snapped back
“Perhaps you were not warned that we are not to be fooled with, lizard,” the centaur continued.
“My gracious lord, please,” Keita said, ignoring the insult. “If you’d only give me a minute to explain—”
“Keita?” An older female moved out of the small herd and walked up to the group, hooves lightly tapping the ground as she moved. “By the gods…it is you.”
“Bríghid?” Keita grinned, relief flooding through her. “Oh, Bríghid!” The female opened her arms and leaned down a bit, allowing Keita to run right into them.
“I don’t believe it,” Bríghid said, stroking Keita’s hair and kissing her forehead. “Look how you’ve grown.”
“The last we heard about you,” Keita said, “you’d moved down to the Alsandair borders.”
“I gave my heart to the wrong centaur, so I returned to my herd.” She pushed Keita back and took her face in her hands. “Gods, Keita. You’re actually more beautiful. How is that possible?”
“Excellent bloodline.”
Bríghid laughed. “That’s my Keita.” She looked at the group again.
“Morfyd?”
“Hello, Bríghid.”
Bríghid held her hand out for Morfyd, and Keita’s sister took it. The pair embraced before Bríghid said, “My girls. How beautiful you both are.” She kissed them both on the top of their heads. “I’ve heard such wonderful things about both of you. I’ve always been so proud.” Keita, knowing it would annoy her sister, added a smirk to highlight Bríghid’s words. Morfyd bared a fang, and instantly Bríghid grew tense.
“Still fighting?” And the warning was in her voice. As it had always been.
“No, ma’am,” they immediately said.
“Good. Now.” Bríghid stepped back, studied them both. “Neither of you are your mother, nor have you replaced her on the throne. So what has you risking my annoyance and the annoyance of my herd?” Since Bríghid’s “annoyance” was often more vicious than her rage, Keita quickly explained, “You know I would not have risked this beautiful hide of mine had I not desperately needed your assistance.”
“You?” Bríghid asked. “Or her?”
When Bríghid’s gaze locked on Annwyl, the queen’s hand immediately moved to her sword, but Dagmar slapped Annwyl’s hand away, eliciting a whined “Ow!” from the brave, deadly queen.
“This is Fearghus’s mate.”
“She who bore the twins,” Bríghid went on. “The twins who should not exist.”
“But they do. And, although they are human in body, they are dragon in spirit.”
Bríghid snorted. “The humans can’t handle them, eh?”
“The nannies run away.”
“Can’t their mother care for them?”
Annwyl, always easily insulted, stepped forward, but Dagmar jumped in front of her. “The queen, of course, does what she can. But she has a kingdom to run. A kingdom to keep safe. You and your herd, as you call it, are free to run through these lands as you like, my lady, because Annwyl is queen and has no desire to enslave you. Would you prefer someone else take her place who may not be as…open minded? I believe that hunting your kind was a favorite sport of her father’s at one time.” Eyes narrowing, Bríghid pushed Keita and Morfyd aside and walked forward, hooves now stomping on the ground, until she stood before Dagmar and Annwyl. Leaning in, she brought her face close to Dagmar’s and asked,