“All right—”
“But do not push, Dolt.”
He smirked and she wanted so badly to slap the expression off his face. “Or what?” he asked. “You’ll try to sneak up on me, get caught, and end up not killing me?”
“Life and the land between here and the Steppes are filled with unfortunate accidents.”
“And you’d be sad if something happened to me?”
“No.” Elina threw her hands into the air, forcing the dragon back a few steps to avoid getting hit, and bellowed, “I would welcome your demise like the rising of the suns!” She rammed her forefinger into his chest, her voice low again. “But I am trying to do right thing by your queens and by my people. So do not piss me off.”
“I can’t promise that,” Celyn told her with what seemed like honesty. “But I do promise not to try to piss you off.”
Celyn led Elina to the stables and to the stallion his mother often used when she went into battle as human. The horse was from a line of large beasts bred specifically for their size, strength, speed, and ability not to become completely terrified at the mere scent of nearby dragons.
He’d asked his mother the evening before if he could take her horse and, since she was sticking around for a bit, she’d said yes. She was also able to provide him with human-ready clothes, weapons, and equipment since Celyn rarely traveled far from his queen’s side. Unlike his sister, who fought so often with Annwyl’s human army that she now commanded her own human battalion.
Holding onto the reins, Celyn led the horse out of the stables until he stood in front of Elina.
“Ready?” he asked.
She’d been focusing on a shop across the square, so she turned to look at him and her eyes blinked wide.
“What is that?” she asked.
Surprised—he had always heard about the Outerplains people’s love of horses—Celyn replied, “He’s a . . . horse.”
“He is mountain that runs on four legs. Why do you need something so . . . ridiculous?”
“He’s not ridiculous. He’s bred to carry dragons in human form into battle. They’re fast. Smart. And loyal.”
“How fast can he be with so much of him?”
She walked around the horse, examining him closely, her lips curling in deep disapproval.
“He is like moose with long legs,” she finally said. “You should be eating him, not riding him. Do you ride cow, too?” she suddenly demanded.
Celyn was about to answer, then realized it was a stupid question.
“Can we just go?”
“We can try. If you get your travel-cow to move.”
Celyn bit back an annoyed sigh and moved off, bringing his “travel-cow” with him.
As they walked past the gates, Celyn saw his father and sister Brannie coming toward them in human form, both enjoying treats from the baker in town. True, they could get the same quality of treats from Annwyl’s castle baker, but going into town and chatting with the locals was how Celyn’s father made sure to always have access to the latest gossip. While Dagmar used coin and, when necessary, extortion to get the information she needed, Bram the Merciful had always used his pleasant disposition.
“So you’re off?” Bram asked once he was near enough to Celyn and Elina that there was no need to shout.
“Aye.” Grinning, Celyn carefully wiped away the cream his father had on his chin.
Bram laughed. “Thank you. And, Celyn, remember. No need to always be so curious.”
Confused by that comment, Celyn said, “I thought curiosity was a good thing.”
“Not for you.”
“I never saw it as an issue.”
“I know, but trust me. You don’t go to many territories outside of the Southlands, and curiosity—”
“Or just being plain nosy,” Brannie said around a mouthful of cream and pastry.
“—is not welcome everywhere. Understand?”
“No,” Celyn admitted since he’d never understood why a few questions irritated so many so quickly. Especially his Cadwaladr kin. They really hated his questions, but Celyn had no idea why. How could one hate questions? You couldn’t get to the bottom of things without asking questions.
And Celyn loved questions.
“I don’t understand,” he went on to his father. “But I’ll do as you say for this trip.”
“That’s all I ask, my dearest son.”
Elina, who’d been standing silently beside father and son, finally announced, “I still do not see it. How can such a dolt be the son of such a fine dragon? She,” Elina went on, pointing at a startled Brannie, “has her father’s wit and intelligence. But you . . .” She gave a sad shake of her head. “I see nothing but thick skull and dazed, stupid eyes. Like your travel-cow.”
Celyn looked at his father, but the old bastard was too busy grinning to give any sympathy to his poor son, who would be trapped with this female for days and days.
“It was good to meet you, Bram the Merciful,” Elina said, her hand reaching up to land on Bram’s shoulder. “I hope death finds you well for many more centuries.”
“Safe travels to you, Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains.”
Celyn glanced at his wide-eyed sister before asking his father, “How do you remember that ridiculously long name?”