The friends gazed at each other for a long moment until Dagmar finally asked, “What exactly are you thinking?”
Annwyl glanced at Talwyn and her daughter nodded. “I’m thinking . . . we can’t wait around for Salebiri to come to us. Not anymore.”
“I think you’re right. I’ve been working with Brastias. Quietly. No need to make everyone panic.”
Annwyl smirked—knowing that neither was speaking of the common people but their own kin—and reached out, grasping Dagmar’s forearm. “You do understand I can’t do this without you. Knowing you’re keeping my people safe here.”
Dagmar swallowed, shocked by the admission. “I’ll make sure everything is ready when you are.” She cleared her throat. “What about Rhiannon?”
“Let her focus on this Eyes of . . . whatever. Work with Bercelak and Celyn. They’ll make sure their troops are ready.”
“All right.”
“And we’re okay?”
“As long as you stop taking baths in the freezing-cold lake water . . . I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”
Annwyl stomped her foot. “I knew that bothered you!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“The thing to remember,” Aidan told them as they neared his childhood home on horseback a few hours before sunset, “is that they are horrible, reprehensible, detestable beings and should be treated carefully. Like poisonous snakes.”
Kachka frowned. “We still speak of the dwarves?”
“No,” he replied. “My family. The dwarves are a whole other issue.”
“You talk about your family that way, handsome dragon?” Zoya asked.
“Well, they’re not like, let’s say, Brannie’s family. Are the Cadwaladrs rude and abrupt with no social etiquette whatsoever? Absolutely. But they are also direct and honest, to the point of absurdity. My kin? They smile and embrace you as one of their own while they stick a dagger in your back and steal the gold from your fangs. Never forget that, any of you, no matter how much they may smile. In fact, the more they smile, the farther you should move away from them. If they all start laughing as if they’re having the best time? Find the nearest exit and run for your lives.”
“I am just adoring this plan,” Gaius grumbled.
“I have no plan,” Kachka reminded him, enjoying the way he glared at her.
“I am keenly aware of that, and I have to admit, it greatly disappoints me.”
“Also,” Aidan went on, “if you truly expect any help from them, plan to barter. There’s always a price to pay in my father’s territories.”
“These are the Dragon Queen’s territories,” Brannie reminded him.
“You keep thinking that and see where it gets you, Captain.”
Kachka didn’t know what to expect when she arrived at Aidan the Divine’s home. She’d never come this far before because Salebiri’s fanatics had stayed far away from this area. Now that they neared the lands, she understood why.
The territorial lines that divided Annwyl’s lands from that of the Western Horse Riders went from soft grasslands covered in rushing rivers and peaceful lakes to harsh marshlands in the blink of an eye.
No wonder Annwyl didn’t try to claim any of this territory as her own. If it weren’t for the slaves the Western Riders insisted upon having—and selling—Kachka doubted that the queen would bother with anyone in this region unless she was specifically called upon.
It wasn’t that it was ugly land. It wasn’t. But it was dark and foreboding. The air thick, the land soft, the vegetation overwhelming.
This would be a harsh place to fight any war.
Their horses, unused to such muddy terrain, were miserable before they’d traveled more than a few hours, but Aidan brought their party to a stable where they could leave their horses until they were ready to return.
Once their horses were tended to, they set off on foot. But it was difficult going. So difficult, even Zoya stayed silent, focusing on where she stepped and how deep she might sink in.
Aidan was more surefooted, and they followed him, finally forming a single line rather than spreading out.
It was nearing suns-down when Aidan finally said, “Up here.”
They followed him up a very small hill and when they reached the top, Kachka had to admit her surprise at what she saw.
They’d reached the very edge of the Western Mountains and jutting from them was a beautiful castle made entirely from mountain rock.
“My great grandfather and a few dragon stonemasons built this right from the mountain. Took them several years but well worth it.”
“I can’t believe you left,” Brannie said.
Aidan chuckled and began his descent down the hill. “When you meet my family, Branwen the Awful, you’ll understand that I had very little choice in the matter.”
The armor gleamed. The soldiers stood ready. Dragons in human form guarded the front. Dragons in their natural form, but still in full armor, flew around the castle walls.