Celyn growled in pain, fangs clenched together, while his bones locked back into place and knitted themselves whole.
Although some would probably take the less painful but longer healing route, Ragnar knew why this one wouldn’t—Iseabail. Celyn wasn’t about to let his cousin have any time alone with her. Not if he could help it anyway.
Ragnar had seen it before. The fight between kin over a female.
Something that rarely ended well.
After fixing the last bone, Ragnar checked to make sure he hadn’t missed anything that could lead to hemorrhaging later. Once he felt confident about that, he lowered his claws, and his body dropped back. He’d have hit the ground if his brother wasn’t there to catch him.
Panting, he nodded at his kin. “Thanks.”
“Here. Something for you to eat.”
Vigholf helped Ragnar to the still thrashing cow, letting him be the one to finish it off by wrapping his maw around its neck and breaking it.
Then Ragnar fed until he felt his strength return.
By the time he offered the remainder of his meal to his brother, Celyn was sitting up. A lot of blood still covered his body and Ragnar was sure he’d be sore for days, but he was alert.
“Thank you,” Celyn said with a nod.
“You’re welcome.”
The young dragon got to his feet but stumbled a bit.
“I better help him back.” Vigholf walked off with Celyn, and Ragnar stayed behind picking cow flesh out of his teeth.
He’d just dislodged a good-sized rib bone when Keita walked toward him. She’d changed into another gown, her hair tied into a loose ponytail down her back, and still no shoes. What did she have against shoes?
“Hungry?” he asked, offering her what was left of the carcass.
“No, thank you. How’s Celyn?”
“Better. I fixed his bones, and stopped the bleeding. How’s your brother?”
“Playing the self-righteous Lord of Gloom by one of the lakes with Morfyd as his adoring nursemaid.”
Ragnar shifted to his human form. “You sound angry with him.”
“I am. Very angry. And I’m angry at Celyn. Playing this game with poor Izzy caught in the middle of it.”
“‘Poor Izzy’ can hold her own.”
“I guess.”
She was pacing, tense. “What’s wrong, Keita?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why do you seem fit to crawl the walls?”
“I don’t know. I just feel that…”
“Something’s coming? Coming to destroy all you love?” Keita stopped pacing and faced Ragnar. “Actually, I was going to say I just feel like I wouldn’t be happy until I saw you, and I had no idea what any of that meant.”“Uh…oh.”
“But I sense the ‘something’s coming to destroy all you love’ should be a bit more of my concern right now, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well…”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Do not f**k me about, warlord.
What haven’t you told me?”
“It’s something Vigholf told me about your human queen. It has been bothering me since.”
“Gods, who did she try to kill now?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just…she’s been having dreams.” Keita’s arms slowly lowered to her sides. “What kind of dreams?”
“Of brutal warriors riding on demon horses that are coming for her children.”
Keita paced away from him again, her gaze on the ground. “Human warriors?”
“Humans, yes. But witches. If I’m guessing right, she’s dreaming of the Kyvich. Warrior witches from the Ice Lands.” Keita stopped pacing, her back to him.
“Ragnar…do their horses have horns?”
Annwyl had canceled her training today, and she was glad she had too. There was simply too much going on for her to be able to concentrate.
And not being focused meant more damage than she was in the mood to tolerate at the moment.
She walked in to the Great Hall, coming in the back way, and found Talaith at the dining table. She had food in front of her, but seemed to be picking more than eating.
“How’s it going?” Annwyl asked, dropping into the chair beside her friend.
“It could be worse, I suppose. I wish it were better.”
“What has you worried? Other than the obvious, I mean.” Talaith shoved her plate back. “I worry that Izzy’s going to make stupid decisions just to irritate that idiot I adore like my own son.”
“It is frustrating when you love them but still want to smash their faces in, isn’t it?”
“They’re too young for all this.”
“I can send her to another troop. She can deal with the raiders on the coast.”
Talaith scrunched up her face. “That kind of makes it her fault, doesn’t it? She adores her unit, but we’ll be sending her away because of this…this…”
“Centaur shit?”
“Exactly. By the way,” she said, abruptly changing subjects, “I adore Ebba.”
“Adore,” Annwyl agreed. She raised her hand. “Listen. She’s keeping them quiet, but you don’t have that sense of dread that we’ll be hearing her horrified screams at any moment.”
“It’s wonderful.”
“Uh-oh.”
Talaith cringed. “What?”