A Tale of Two Dragon

Bercelak frowned. “Do we know you?”

“I’m Bram,” the dragon said, appearing confused. “I stayed with your parents last summer.”

“Oh.” Ghleanna glanced at them. “Right. Uh . . . Brogue.”

“Bram.”

“Right. Bram. Bram the . . . Friendly?”

“Merciful.”

“Of course!” Ghleanna smiled, patted his shoulder. “Bram the Merciful. My father speaks quite highly of you.”

“Really? What did he say?”

“Uh . . .”

“We don’t have time for this!” Addolgar pushed Ghleanna out of the way and grabbed the young dragon’s forearm. “Just go in there and do something, whoever you are.”

“Do what?”

“They’re trying to stop the execution of Braith of the Darkness,” Rhiannon stated, still calmly.

“Well, that execution’s practically written in stone.”

“Then unwrite it!” Addolgar barked. “Or I’ll go in there and lay waste to everyone!”

Not liking that response, Bercelak snarled, so Addolgar added, “Everyone but the Queen.”

“Then you’re of no use to me,” the princess muttered.

“Rhiannon,” the young, unknown dragon chastised. “Remember our discussion about things to say out loud and things to keep in one’s head? This is a keeper.”

Bercelak suddenly stepped into the young dragon. “You seem awfully familiar with Princess Rhiannon.”

Blinking up at Bercelak, the dragon stuttered, “Uh . . . well . . . uh . . .”

“Gods, Bercelak.” Ghleanna shoved Bercelak aside and caught hold of the young male. “Go in there, Bram, and do whatever is necessary to get us some time. Can you handle that?”

“Aye.”

“Good. Now go.”

Bram the Whatever rushed off toward the throne room.

“Where’s Da?” Addolgar demanded.

“He’ll be here. But you need to calm down,” his sister warned.

Bercelak, uninterested in any of this, faced the princess again. He smiled and she, in turn, sneered. “Low borns. I have absolutely no use for them.” However, she did nod at Addolgar. “Good luck saving Braith’s life, Cadwaladr. You probably won’t, but . . . good luck just the same.”

She turned, the sharp tip of her white tail nearly slicing Bercelak’s snout in two before she disappeared into a nearby chamber.

“You do realize you don’t have a chance with her, don’t you?” Ghleanna asked their younger brother.

“Shut up before I remove your scales.”

“Your father’s betrayal,” the Queen went on, “does not sit well with me, Braith of the Darkness.”

And Braith didn’t bother replying to that or anything else the Queen said. What was the point? Braith could tell by the way this was going that nothing would save her, and speaking out would probably only make it worse. In fact, she hoped if she kept silent the end would be quick. So she kept her eyes lowered and waited for it all to be over.

“Uh . . . excuse me, Your Majesty?” a voice said from behind Braith.

She didn’t turn around, but she could hear another dragon moving up behind her.

“What is it, Bram?” the Queen testily asked.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty, but I was hoping to involve myself in this.”

“Involve yourself?”

“Uh . . . yes. Involve myself. With Braith’s defense.”

“Defense?”

“Why, yes, Your Majesty. Braith will get a defense, won’t she? Since the accusation has been against her father and not actually Braith herself. Correct?”

There was a long, painful pause, and Braith expected the Queen to order her guards to just cleave off Braith’s head. No one would exactly be surprised if she did, and the way the entire chamber became quiet . . .

Braith simply closed her eyes and waited, but in the silence, she heard something. The sound of wood striking stone and it kept moving closer.

It was curious how everyone became so silent, even the Queen. Unable to wait any longer, Braith looked over her shoulder. And that’s when she saw Brigida the Foul slowly moving across the throne room, her dragon body leaning heavily on her wooden walking stick, her left back claw dragging behind her as if unable to function at all.

As she moved forward, everyone stepped out of her way. Royals, guards . . . everyone. Braith had never seen anything quite like it.

Brigida was a Cadwaladr. Not mated into the Clan but born into it like Ailean and Addolgar and all the rest. She was, as far as Southland royalty was concerned . . . a low-born dragon. And royals didn’t move back from low-born dragons unless they needed the low borns to remove a half-eaten carcass. Yet no one approached Brigida. No one stopped her. And the Queen gazed at her with something that Braith truly believed to be fear.

“Gods,” Bram whispered to her. “This was Ailean’s idea to save you?”

Braith could only shrug, because she had no idea what the Cadwaladrs were planning. Which, at the moment, was the most horrifying thing about all this.

Addolgar looked at his siblings, but all they could do was shrug helplessly. Why their father would send Brigida to help Braith, he didn’t know. The Queen was not a fan of witches in general, and seemed to loathe White Dragonwitches specifically. No one knew why, but many suspected it had to do with her daughter, Rhiannon. Rhiannon was a white She-dragon after all. But she did not seem to have the same level of mystical power that Brigida or the few other White Dragonwitches of the Southlands had.