Bring the Heat
Page 2It was shaping up to be quite the long-lasting war from what Kachka could tell. The Southlanders and the inhabitants of the Quintilian Sovereigns Empire were unwilling to give up their multitude of gods. And those who did choose to follow Chramnesind were unwilling to let the others worship anyone else. Armies were being built. Battle plans arranged.
And Kachka wasn’t involved in any of it.
That didn’t really surprise her, though. She wasn’t of these lands. She was a Rider, and her people’s fighting style and reasons for fighting were vastly different. The Anne Atli and the Daughters of the Steppes did have an alliance with Queen Annwyl and the Southlanders, but it was less about fighting by the Southlanders side and more about not stopping the Southlanders and their other allies from traipsing through Outerplains territory when necessary.
What dug into Kachka’s soul more than anything, though, was that before her sister had returned home with that request to speak to the Anne Atli—the title given to all their leaders since the first Anne Atli wrestled power away from the useless men—on Queen Annwyl’s behalf, Kachka had been moving up through the ranks at a nice, steady pace. She would never have been the Anne Atli, but she could have led her own troops into battle. Perhaps sat in on the all-tribes meetings when large decisions were made.
In other words . . . she’d have had a purpose.
Kachka needed a purpose. She needed a goal. She needed to make a name for herself. Their mother had never liked Kachka or her sister, but Kachka’s skill and willingness to throw herself into battle couldn’t be denied.
Where did that leave her here?
Of course, she could join the Queen’s Army, but marching in formation and taking orders from mostly men . . . no. Never!
She was a Daughter of the Steppes, not some sheep blinded to the decadent life offered in these Southland territories.
Which left Kachka . . . where? Exactly?
“Um . . . excuse me? My lady?”
Kachka cringed at the ridiculous moniker these Southlanders insisted on using. She’d gotten tired of correcting them, so she let out a breath and snapped, “What?”
As the sheep went on—begging—and Kachka stared her in the face, she raised her bow, an arrow already nocked and ready, and shot the first thing she saw from the corner of her eye. The bison cried out once before dropping to its knees and bleeding out from the wound on its neck.
“Anything else?” Kachka asked.
The woman was pale now, her head shaking in answer.
Disgusted—hunting was not a challenge for a Daughter of the Steppes; it was more like breathing—Kachka turned away and started walking.
“Kachka?” She stopped and looked over her shoulder to see her sister.
“Fuck,” Kachka muttered as her sister walked over to her.
“You can’t be nice?” Elina asked in their native tongue.
Kachka’s sister wore a bright purple eye patch where her left eye should be. It had been the last thing their mother had taken from Elina. Over time, she’d grown accustomed to the loss, her skills at using her bow improving day after day. But the eye patches . . . this ridiculous purple one could have only come from that idiotic She-dragon, Keita. Her obsession with what Elina wore bordered on the disturbing. Wasn’t it bad enough the Shestakova sisters had already become decadent and lazy? Must they also become pathetic as well?
“I was nice,” Kachka replied, but when Elina pursed her lips, Kachka threw up her hands. “What more do you want from me, sister?”“How about not terrifying the staff?”
“You mean the sheep?”
Gaius Lucius Domitus, Iron dragon and the one-eyed Rebel King from the west, rolled that one eye and continued out of the back halls of the Senate and toward the royal palace. He had important plans to make and he didn’t have time for yet another discussion about his poor kingly skills.
“I think you’re a fool to do this.”
“Thank you, Auntie. I appreciate your confidence.”
“Don’t get that tone with me.”
“What tone?”
Lætitia Clydia Domitus grabbed Gaius’s arm and yanked him around. She was a small She-dragon and ridiculously tiny in her human form, but there was a power to her. There had to be in order for her to have survived as long as she had. There were few who had survived Overlord Thracius’s reign while openly loathing him, but Lætitia had managed. Somehow.
“First off—” she began.
“Gods,” Gaius groaned. “There’s a first off.”
“—you shouldn’t be walking around these streets alone. You’re the king now. That makes you a clear target. Second, you’re king now. You can’t run off on stupid errands every time you get a bug up your ass. You have an empire to rule.”
“An empire that will no longer exist if I don’t get control of my cousins and, more importantly, squash the rise of Chramnesind cults.”
“I don’t disagree with you, but I don’t know why you need to go yourself. You have dragons and men at your disposal. Why do you not use them?”
“Wait! I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No. I didn’t. I love your sister—” Gaius snorted at that, and Lætitia gripped his arm again and yanked him around to face her with even more strength than he’d given her credit for. “Do not, boy, question my loyalty to you or your sister. Ever. You two are the only thing left of the one sibling I adored, and that means something. But your sister went through hell. Absolute hell. And she hasn’t recovered from it, no matter how much both of you want to pretend that she has. So leaving the throne in her claws while you go off to be the hero king seems a . . . risky decision at best.”
“Well then . . . I guess . . .” Gaius glanced off, pretended to think a minute. “You’ll just have to give her your guidance while I’m gone.”
From the corner of his one eye, he saw his aunt desperately try to hide a smile. It wasn’t an evil smile. She, unlike most of his kin, was not evil. But, for the first time, she felt she’d be allowed to use her knowledge and skills directly rather than behind the scenes, which was usually where one could find her. Her machinations had been legendary, but they were often attributed to one of her other siblings. Of course, it was her willingness not to be openly involved that had kept her alive this long.
“Your sister,” Lætitia finally said, “won’t like that.”
“Of course she will,” Gaius lied. “She respects you, Auntie.”
“Good gods, Gaius Lucius Domitus!” she cried out. “You’re just like your father—such a liar!”