“Why haven’t they tried to raid Southland towns?” Celyn asked, completely fascinated by all this. When he returned, he’d have to spend more time with Dagmar’s oldest offspring. He was a veritable font of interesting knowledge! Celyn could ask him questions for days! Of course, he’d need to make sure he had enough coin to get the answers.
“Luck. Our luck, I mean. The Conchobar Mountains separate their territory from ours, making it risky to move all their tribes through the narrow passes that cut through the mountain terrain. Since the entire tribes go along on raids, it would be easy to rain arrows down upon them, wiping out most of them in the process. Plus, the Southland royals who live between Annaig Valley and the Conchobar Mountains are more than willing to pay hefty sums of gold to keep the Riders from their door. That being said, of course, Annwyl would do well to either create an alliance between our two nations or at least not poke the bear, as they say. Thankfully, there’s always been enough to keep the Riders on their side of the Conchobar Mountains and away from us. But I’d hate for that to change because Annwyl suddenly decides to consider their husbands as slaves she will need to save. Please keep that in mind, cousin Celyn, when you accompany Elina Shestakova back to her territories.”
There was silence in the Great Hall as they all gazed at the boy in wonder. After a few seconds, Frederik leaned forward and stated, “Once again, I’ve asked, and according to his mother, he really, truly is only ten years old.” Then he gave a small shrug. “But I still have my doubts.”
Chapter Eleven
Elina woke up before the suns rose and was dressed and heading down the stairs into the Great Hall just as the servants began their daily chores. She started toward the Great Hall doors but stopped and turned, walking through the back double doors.
As she walked down the hall, she saw Queen Annwyl. The Southlander royal wore only her leggings and boots and had her breasts bound. She’d found a low-hanging rafter and was using her arms to pull her body up again and again, her legs bent at the knees and crossed at the ankles.
Elina marveled at the power of those muscles.
“Oy!” a voice yelled down the hallway. “Your royal majesty! Your training partner is about to set himself on fire waitin’ for yer arse!”
“Shut it!” the royal yelled back.
Annwyl released her grip and dropped to the ground. She moved her shoulders until her back cracked, then turned to pick up her shirt and the two short swords next to it. That’s when she saw Elina.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“You sure you are queen?”
“I’m sure I’m Annwyl.” She pulled her sleeveless chain-mail shirt over her head. “The rest I just take as it comes.”
“You seem like leader. But you do not seem like queen.”
Annwyl frowned at that, but she took a moment before she finally asked, “Do you mean with robes and a crown and a throne . . . ?”
“And your royal sycophants bowing and scraping and begging for attention while they let your people, the ones who work the land, starve.”
“Royal sycophants?” she laughed. “Royals don’t come to me unless they have to. They find me . . . off-putting. And a little terrifying. And I let them find me that way, so I don’t have to talk to them unless necessary.” Annwyl stepped closer. “I took the throne from my brother because he abused his people. I took his head because he abused me. I’m not here to let others lead, Elina. I’m here to protect my people. And that’s what I do as best I can.”
Although the queen, with all the scars that spoke of hard battles, had stepped close to her, Elina didn’t feel threatened. She didn’t know why. Annwyl the Bloody was kind of terrifying-looking. She had scars on her face and chest and brands on her arms.
Elina took her forearms and turned them so she could see the brands clearly. They were dragons burned into the flesh. A testament, she guessed, to Annwyl’s commitment to the dragon Fearghus.
This woman, queen or not, hid nothing. From her people. From Elina. From the gods. She was exactly what she was and no crown or throne would ever change that. Elina knew this. In her bones, she knew this.
Elina took a breath, released Annwyl’s wrists. “I will return to my people, Annwyl the Bloody. I will talk to the Anne Atli. I will tell her there are no lazy, greedy Southlanders here.”
Annwyl laughed and walked off down the hall, tossing over her shoulder, “I guess you won’t be telling her about the dragons then, huh?”
“No,” Elina muttered to herself after a little snort. “Probably not.”
She headed back to the Great Hall, stopping as she walked through the open double doors.
“You ready?”
Elina looked over at the black-haired dragon who spoke to her. He leaned back against one of the open doors, one leg bent at the knee, the foot braced against the wood.
“Do I not look ready?”
“Maybe the fur and spear are part of your nightclothes. And where did you get that spear anyway?”
“From that wall.”
“So you just stole it?”
“It is not like anyone had use for it.”
Elina headed toward the Great Hall front doors. “Come along, Dolt. I wish to see the mighty Steppes of my people.”
“Aye. Because multiple little hills are just so fascinating.”
Elina stopped and turned, her nose now only an inch or two from his chest. “Know that even your voice irritates me. But I made commitment to your queen and Queen Annwyl.”