“I’d heard they loathe you, but I hadn’t heard they’d become your enemies.”
“I don’t know they are, but I’ve been hearing for years that the Sovereigns are readying for war.”
The princess snorted and looked out over the sea, shaking her head.
“My Lord Ragnar, the Sovereigns are always readying for war. So I wouldn’t feel too special.” She looked over at him and, with a small smile, said, “From what I understand, they’ll kill just about anybody.”
“Gods, Ren. The Sovereigns? If she’s had any dealings with them, I won’t be able to help her. No one will.”
Ren of the Chosen Dynasty watched his friend and traveling companion stare off across the small lake they’d been relaxing in while they waited for Éibhear to finish cooking the meat he’d brought back.
“Before you begin panicking—”
“I do not panic.”
“—let’s see what we can find out first. We’ll be passing Fenella in the next two days anyway. We’ll stop there for a bit. I know someone who can appraise the necklace for us, and I’d trust him quicker than that slack-jawed barbarian.”
Keita chuckled a little. “And I can visit Gorlas. If anyone knows anything—”
“It’ll be Gorlas,” Ren agreed, knowing their old friend and mentor’s reach wasn’t confined to the Southlands. That elf had connections everywhere and knowledge about everyone. He prided himself on that. “But I want you to stop worrying about your aunt for now. There’s nothing we can do at the moment.”
“I guess.”
Not willing to let Keita obsess over what she couldn’t control, a little-known curse of hers, Ren removed the wine cup from her hand and placed it on the hard-packed dirt beside them. He motioned to his hair and turned away from her.
“My hair needs a good scrubbing, not your whining.”
“I’m not a servant, Eastlander.”
“But no one does it quite as well as you, my dear, old, sweet friend.” He looked over his shoulder at her and fluttered his eyes.
“You’re pathetic,” she reminded him even while she rested on her knees and proceeded to scrub his hair clean of all the dirt and grime.
“’Tis true, but I’ve learned to accept my weakness. You should as well.”
He sighed luxuriously and let his head fall back a little more. “I guess I should warn you that when we get back to Dark Plains, we may have to deal with your cousin.”
“You’ll have to be more specific than that, I’m afraid. If there’s a feast at Garbhán Isle, there will be many cousins I’ll have to deal with.” Ren laughed. “Good point, but I was specifically speaking of, um, Elestren.”
“Oh.”
Ren was sure that Keita’s last few days at the Dragonwarrior training mountain, Anubail, were still firmly etched in her often fleeting memory.
What a bad suggestion that had been on his part. A few months of unarmed combat training were all she really needed, and she only needed that to help her get over how helpless she’d felt while in the hands of the Northlanders.
What he hadn’t counted on was that green-scaled cousin of hers. For not only was Keita no better in a fistfight now than she had been then, but last either of them had heard, even Keita’s father—Bercelak the Great himself—could not manage to get the ban lifted that prevented Keita from ever returning to Anubail Mountain. “I still say that was not my fault,” Keita went on. She’d been arguing this same point since the day he’d come for her at her father’s urgent request. Still bleeding from a head wound and nursing a broken forearm, Keita kept saying what she was saying now. “What happened to her was an accident…self-defense even, and she has no one to blame but herself. Besides, how many times should I apologize? The fact that I, a descendant of the royal bloodline, apologized at all, should be enough. But ignoring that I not only apologized multiple times but also sent that whiny viper some very decorative and fashionable eye patches to cover that gaping wound where her eye was! In my mind that should be more than enough. Don’t you agree?”
Ren clenched his jaw, but the snort slipped past his best defenses and he began laughing. Keita’s arms dropped over his shoulders, her cheek pressed against his, and she joined him. Both laughing until they cried—and until they knew they were no longer alone.
The Northland dragonlord stood a few feet away, in his dragon form, scowling at them. Ren knew the Lightning was confused. He didn’t understand their relationship, and Ren found that delightful. He had the feeling this dragon was not remotely used to feeling confused.
“Do you want something, warlord?” Keita asked, wiping tears from her eyes.
“There’s food,” he said. Then, pointing at them, he asked, “Are you two…what I mean is…are you…” He stopped and briefly shut his eyes.
“Forget it,” he said. And they watched him head back to camp.
Holding Keita’s arms, Ren looked at her. “My, my, you do have his c**k in a knot, don’t you?”
Keita frowned. “You think?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“He glares at me mostly. And talks to me as if I’m the stupidest female he’s ever met. I don’t think he likes me.”
“I can’t argue that point with you, my friend. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t lust after you.” And it immediately struck him how he could distract his friend for a bit until they found out more information on her aunt.