The She-dragon in her human form raised a brow. “Help? An Iron? Why would I do that, boy?”
“He’s an ally to my mother.”
Beneath her black cloak, Brigida’s shoulders sort of twitched. “And?”
“Just. Fucking. Fix. Him.”
Brigida the Foul debated removing the skin from the insolent boy, but he had a higher purpose in this world than ending up on the wrong side of her anger.
She studied the torc around the Iron’s neck. She entertained the idea of leaving it there. Letting him die. He was only a few breaths from death as it was.
She had no good memories of the Irons. She’d been around when that lot had separated themselves from the Fire dragons of the Southlands. Always thought they were so above it all. Calling on the gods to make them all that iron color, twisting their horns around so they looped toward their jaws instead of sitting high on their heads like any proper dragon. Why? Because they truly thought they were better than the rest.
The whole thing had pissed her off so much that Brigida had actually involved herself in that war. Had been knees deep in blood and death and the cries of the innocent, as she often liked to be, but instead of just drinking all that in and taking what she needed from the slain and dying for her spells, she’d actually fought beside the Dragon Queen of the time. Together, they’d pushed the Irons back into the west, past the Western Mountains. Brigida had thought that would be the last they heard of them, assuming they’d die out.
That hadn’t happened. Instead, they’d grown stronger, working with the humans of the west until they were strong enough to make those humans friend or slave. Once they’d established the Quintilian Provinces, they’d spread out, keeping the Western Mountains at their back while they took over the towns and cities that surrounded them.
Now, they were the Quintilian Sovereigns Empire.
An empire once ruled by another tyrant, Overlord Thracius. But he’d been taken down by one of the new Dragon Queen’s prince-lings. The youngest. A Blue, just like his grandfather. And since then, the Provinces had been taken over by some nephew of Thracius’s. A young buck not even three hundred, and his twin sister.
It was rumored, and Brigida knew it to be true, that the mother of the twins had been so concerned about them surviving past their first century with that family of theirs that she’d called powerful witches—dragon and human—from all over the west to bless her offspring.
The fact that they still breathed proved the magick must have had some effect.
And this boy was one of those twins. She recognized that face. Not because she knew him, but because she’d known his great-grandfather and, as human, he looked just like him.
“Are you going to save him, old woman, or just stare at him?”
Slowly, Brigida looked up at the Rider standing across from her. She remembered her, too. One of Glebovicha Shestakova’s offspring. The one who hadn’t had her eye torn from her head by her own mother.
She didn’t flinch when Brigida stared at her. Surprising when even the Kolesova female turned from Brigida. Most did, if they had any sense.
The Rider pointed at the Iron. “Save him.”
“Or what?”
“Or you will have Annwyl the Bloody to deal with. I waste time with dragon only for her.”
Brigida knew this human wasn’t telling the complete truth, but she didn’t care. This dragon would serve his purpose, like everyone else.
Tucking her walking stick against her shoulder and leaning against it, Brigida raised both her hands and centered them over the torc. She was not fool enough to touch the thing, but she had no need to.
She closed her eyes and chanted words filled with ancient magicks while her fingers drew powerful runes in the air. After a few moments, the torc shook until it broke into three pieces and fell away from the Iron’s neck.
“He does not breathe,” another Rider accused.
“He will.” Brigida pulled her hands back and grabbed hold of her walking stick. She was exhausted now, so she used it to keep her upright.
“If I were you,” she warned the Riders, “I’d move back a step . . . or eighty.”
The small group took a step back just as the Iron’s eyes popped open. He took in a large, shuddering breath, and Brigida watched as color flooded his human cheeks and his human body began to grow stronger before their eyes.
After a few seconds, he rolled to the side and off the table, stumbling across the floor.
The boy started after him. Weak like his mother, that one. Always trying to help. Some things you just couldn’t help.
Brigida used her staff to block the boy from moving and watched as the Iron made his way to the middle of the room.
With his arms around his waist and his body bent over, he suddenly roared. Flames burst to life around him and he went from frail human to powerful dragon in seconds.
Powerful, hungry dragon.