She walked over to the smal pit fire and sat down hard with a sigh, her back resting against her travel bag. “They’re settled for the night,” she told him of the horses.
“Think they’l take us as far as the Provinces?”
“Perhaps. They’re stil wild, so they could decide they’re done with us whenever they’d like. There’s no point in trying to tame them, we’l just hold on as long as we can.”
“How did you learn so much about horses?”
Rhona smiled, remembering. “My grandmother and grandfather. When you spend as much time as the Cadwaladrs do fighting as human, you need to learn how to ride and care for horses. My grandmother, Shalin, especial y had a way. She used to breed the most amazing war horses.” She frowned a bit. “Although al the males seemed to loathe my grandfather.”
Rhona motioned to the carcass. “That’s mine, yeah?” Vigholf nodded and Rhona blasted the carcass with her flame. When it was cooked to her taste, she began to eat.
“You don’t eat your food raw?”
“Sometimes. But I prefer cooked. Besides, at least my face isn’t covered with blood.” Vigholf touched his jaw, wincing when he felt the sticky remains of his meal. “Sorry.” Rhona shook her head. “Don’t apologize. I like a dragon who enjoys his food.”
After Vigholf finished cleaning off his face and clothes, he picked up his weapons and began examining them.
“You’re like the triplets,” she said with a laugh.
“Short, adorable, and vicious on the battlefield?”
“No. You check your weapons, I’m assuming, for any damage from recent battle.”
“Do it every night.”
“That’s how I taught my siblings,” she said. “To always check every night. Most do, too.”
“You raised them al , didn’t you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I see how they treat you and how they treat your mother.”
“Which is?”
“She’s the general and you’re their mother. A mother they adore.”
She shrugged, pretending not to enjoy hearing that. Seemed a little disloyal to her mum.
“My father give you that?” Rhona asked rather than respond to Vigholf’s observation.
Vigholf held up the good-sized steel warhammer.“Yes.” He shook his head. “Your father . . .”
“My father what?”
“He does amazing work, Rhona. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
She smiled, feeling a daughter’s pride. “I know.”
Holding the weapon between his hands, Vigholf said, “I saw you yesterday. At your father’s forge.” She blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Wel ”—she shrugged—“it’s good to have some skil there in case you have to fix your weapon and there’s no blacksmith around.”
Vigholf gazed at her, smirked. “I saw you, Rhona.”
“You saw what?”
“You. Enjoying yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw the gleam in your eye. The excitement. You want to do what your father does, don’t you?” The question struck her like a physical thing.
“Wait,” he said after a moment, “I didn’t mean to upset—”
“You didn’t. And you’re right. The first ninety years of my life, when I wasn’t raising my siblings, I was at my father’s side, working the smal forge he’d built me near his own. Without a doubt those were the best days of my life.”
“Why did you stop?”
She blew out a breath and replied, “Cadwaladrs fight. They join Her Majesty’s Army. They become Dragonwarriors. They do not spend their lives making weapons for Dragonwarriors.”
“I see no shame in it. Plus your father does it.”
“My father’s not a Cadwaladr. He’s not even a Southlander.”
Vigholf sat up, gazing at her across the pit fire. “That’s right. Keita mentioned something about that.”
“He was hatched and raised deep in the Black Mountains, near the southern Borderlands.” Vigholf thought a moment and asked, “The Black Mountains? Near the salt mines?”
“You’ve heard of them?”
“They’re volcanoes.”
“Aye.” She smiled. “Daddy doesn’t breathe fire, he spews lava.” She leaned in a bit and added, “So can I when I put me mind to it. But Mum hates when I do that. If I’m not careful, it sprays, ya see.”
“To be honest, I didn’t notice a difference between your father and any other Fire Breather.”
“The other dragon breeds can’t tel the difference either. Al you lot scent is heat and fire. That’s mostly what lava is made of. Wel , that and some melted rocks.” She smiled a little thinking of her father’s kin. “They’re not very friendly, my father’s kind. But they’ve built whole worlds under those mountains and are some of the best blacksmiths and glass blowers you’l ever know. It’s the alchemy, you see. They’ve mastered it.”
“Alchemy?”
“Aye. For the Volcano dragons, it’s in their blood. Those with the proper training can change one metal to another.”
“Can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Can you change one metal to another?”
“When I have to.”