“I was hungry!”
“Gaius Lucius Domitus!”
“Oh. Hello, Zoy—” Gaius froze, realizing that not only was Zoya hugging him, she was lifting him off his feet.
Even more annoying was that Kachka and Marina were standing behind her . . . not helping.
Zoya dropped Gaius back to the ground. “It is so good to see you again, my friend!”
“You, too, Zoya.” Gaius quickly stepped back in hopes of stopping her from hugging him again.
“You look so much better than first time I saw you. Nearly dead. Nothing but a walking corpse I thought I would be forced to bury.”
Marina laughed out loud and walked away, but Kachka merely shook her head, the cloth on her face soaked through.
Worried about that wound, Gaius moved around the Rider and over to Kachka. He motioned to Aidan and the dragon pulled a cloth from his travel pack. Gaius peeled the saturated one off Kachka’s face—noting that she didn’t even wince, although he was sure it must hurt—and placing the new one on.
“We need to get this tended.”
“It will not kill me.”
“I’m sure it won’t, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore a wound like this.” Gaius glanced around. “Uther,” he called out when he spotted the brown dragon.
Uther shifted back to human and came to Gaius’s side.
“Her cheek.”
Uther pulled the cloth back and studied the wound. “Yeah. I can sew that up in no time. Let me get me bag.”
After he walked away, Kachka muttered, “Uther Giant Head? He will sew me up with those large, orc-like hands? Sew me up like stuffed doll?”
“First, don’t mock the dragon’s head. He can’t help that it’s so big. From what I heard from Brannie, he’s been cursed with that giant head since hatching. And second, he’s sewn up many of our wounds over the last few months, and he’s done a fine job.”
“Did you give them wounds yourself? With your ridiculous sword?”
“You’re not letting that go, are you?”
Kachka didn’t answer, simply walked around him and followed after Uther.
“Do not feel bad, Rebel King,” Zoya said, patting Gaius on the back—which actually felt like the time his Uncle Thracius ripped a one-hundred-year-old tree from the ground and slammed it against his spine. “Kachka has no interest in men once she fucks them.”
Gaius turned and faced Zoya. “You forget, Zoya Kolesova. I am not a man.”
“Oh. You are king! You think that makes you better?”
“No, my friend. I’m better because I’m dragon.” He winked at her and walked away as Zoya’s loud laugh rang out over the valley.
Chapter Twenty
Uther leaned back and smiled. “There you go! Should heal up real nice. Leave little scarring.”
Kachka stared at the dragon. “Why do I care about scars?”
“Well . . . pretty girl like you. Figured you’d want to keep your looks as long as you can. You know, until you can trap a man.”
As Kachka debated how to remove Uther’s human head from his human body, Brannie pulled him away by grabbing the scruff of his chain-mail shirt and yanking him off the tree stump he’d been sharing with Kachka.“But—”
“No!” Brannie barked. “Don’t speak, Uther. Just go. Go!”
“You females,” he muttered.
“Sorry about that,” Brannie said, carefully touching Kachka’s chin and examining her cheek. “Shame Morfyd’s not here. She could have made you completely scar free.”
“If true, then why does Annwyl have so many scars?”
“Annwyl likes her scars. Fearghus likes her scars, too. They’re a unique couple.” She dropped her hand. “So . . . where are you lot off to next?”
“Do not know. We need to figure out how we move from here. Clearly the cult knows about us.” Kachka blew out a breath. “Annwyl may order us back. She will be disappointed.”
“Are you kidding?” When Kachka just gazed at her, “After the name you lot made for yourselves over the last few months? You’ve pushed the cult out of her territory”—she leaned in and whispered—“and right into King Gaius’s.”
“Name?” Kachka had to ask. She’d been out of touch with everyone from Garbhán Isle since she’d left.
“Yes.” Brannie dropped her travel pack to the ground, squatted next to it, and began digging through it. “The priests and priestesses you’ve saved have been calling you Ghost Saviors.”
Kachka couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Oh.”
“But everyone else has been calling you lot—oh! Here it is.” She stood, a small jar in her hand. “This will help with healing.” She unscrewed the top and dug a large white glob out with her finger. She came at Kachka with whatever that shit was, and Kachka pulled back.
“Come on. Give it a try. It won’t hurt.”
“The rest have been calling us what . . . exactly?”
Brannie briefly glanced away before admitting, “The Scourge of the Gods.”
“What?”
“For their great sins . . . the gods have sent you as punishment.”
“I see.”
“I wouldn’t take it personally, Kachka,” she rambled on, taking Kachka’s silence to mean she was upset and also that she acquiesced to putting that useless cream on her face. “Annwyl gets mad when they call her Annwyl the Bloody, but I don’t know why. A name like that buys one respect. Strangely, she doesn’t mind Mad Bitch of Garbhán Isle, and that one seems a tad rude to me. But,” she kept going, continuing to put that stuff on Kachka’s throbbing wound, “neither of us likes Whore Mother of the Abominations.”
“Because only women can be whores.”
“Not with dragons. We are quick to call out our male whores. Like Gwenvael. My grandfather.”
“You have many whores in your family.”
“I wish I could say we don’t . . . but I’d be lying.” She stepped back. “There. Now don’t you feel better?”
She did, but Kachka wasn’t about to admit it. Instead, she just walked away and appreciated that doing so didn’t seem to offend the She-dragon.
“The Scourge of the Gods,” Gaius said from behind Kachka. “Fancy name you’ve got there.”
“If you knew name, why did you not tell me?”
“I’m a royal. I was trained to only reveal so much excitement. But Brannie is still a young dragon. She can happily reveal all to everyone without concern. I thought you deserved that.”
“We should camp together!” Brannie suggested. She had a spear in her hands and was moving through the fallen soldiers, finishing off any who still breathed with a quick jab to the back of the neck or to the heart. “It’ll be fun! But let’s move away from this smell. It’s getting a bit over—gods! Caswyn! Stop eating! I can’t think with all that bloody crunching!”
“But I’m still hungry!”
After eating her dinner, Annwyl was lounging on her throne, deep into a fascinating book about the wars between the Southland dragons and the Irons, when she saw her daughter walk quickly into the Great Hall. Talwyn leaned down and whispered to Elina. The Rider’s eyes grew wide and she abruptly walked out; Celyn and Talwyn went after her.