“I was hoping I’d made the right decision. He was in so much pain.”
“He looks familiar to my eyes,” another older She-dragon noted. “Do we know him?”
“He’s Addolgar the Cheerful,” Braith answered. “Of the Cadwaladr Clan.”
The one called Crystin gasped. “Gods. One of Ailean’s offspring?”
Then, in unison, the four older She-dragons sighed out, “Ailean.”
Braith’s back straightened, understanding the smile on her older kin’s faces far too well.
“All of you?” she asked. Actually, it was more a demand.
“Not all at the same time,” the one examining his wound stated. “That would have been wrong.”
“And disgusting,” one of the younger ones muttered.
“He looks quite a bit like his father,” another older one stated. “In the face. Similar snout. Don’t you think, Crystin?”
“I do. But there was just something about that dragon, wasn’t there, sister? Something . . . delicious.”
“You know my father’s not dead, Mum?” one of the younger ones complained. “He may not be here, but you could at least show a bit of respect around his favorite daughter.”
Another young one looked at the first. “Daddy never said you were his favorite.”
“But I know I am.”
“We should move him,” his healer stated, resting back on her haunches. “He needs warmth from a fire, and it’ll take me some time to get this out without killing him in the process.”
Addolgar didn’t know if Braith made a sound or an expression that he missed, but the older one quickly soothed her with, “Do not worry so, Braith. This won’t be the first time I’ve fixed this kind of wound. And all those who’ve come to me have survived. We just need to take care. And I need you to be strong. Understand?”
“I do.”
She nodded. “You have your mother’s strength, child. You’ll be fine.” The healer looked at Addolgar. “I’m Owena. I’ll be taking care of you. And you’ll be fine. Understand, Addolgar?”
“That’s what’s been missing,” Addolgar noted, raising his talon and weakly pointing at Braith.
“Missing?” Owena asked him.
“With Braith. I see it now,” he told them, wanting them to understand, should Owena have her first failure with this type of wound. “She’s home now. It was never her father.” He smiled up at Braith, took her claw in his. “You’re home now.”
Addolgar had other things to say, but he was so tired and everything was going sort of black anyway. It made more sense to close his eyes and stop worrying. So he did.
Braith gripped Addolgar’s claw. “He’s dead,” she gasped.
“He’s not dead,” Aunt Owena told her.
“He looks dead,” one of her cousins muttered.
“Shut up, Heledd.” Owena motioned to them. “Let’s get him inside.”
Together, they all lifted Addolgar—not an easy feat even for them—and carried him deep into the lair of the Penardduns. They placed him in a cavern with a blazing pit fire and a chest filled with Owena’s healing tools.
Braith’s mother had once told her that Owena was more fighter than healer, but someone among them had to do it and Braith’s grandmother had decided it would be Owena.
Once they had Addolgar facedown on a fur bedroll, Owena again examined his wounds and ordered two of the younger females to pull together clean cloth, water, and tools while Crystin grabbed Braith’s forearm.
“Come with me. Now.”
Braith knew what was about to happen. She’d come here out of desperation. That was all. But she’d face anything to save Addolgar. She truly would.
Crystin pulled Braith out of one chamber and into a much larger one. There was an enormous table surrounded by chairs that she assumed were used when the Penardduns were in their human forms. Another aunt, Aledwen, if Braith remembered correctly, walked in from a separate passageway, her eyes widening at the sight of Braith, just as Crystin’s had done.
Aledwen put her claw to her chest. “Gods. For a moment . . .”
“I know, sister,” Crystin said, her gaze on Braith. “I also thought our beloved sister had returned to us. You look so much like your mother, Braith.” Crystin straightened up a bit. “And you came here when you needed help—”
“I’m sorry about that,” Braith quickly cut in. “I know this wasn’t what you wanted, but you were the closest and Addolgar needed help now.”
“Not what we wanted?” Crystin glanced back at her sister. “Who told you that, Braith?”
“You did. I was considered my father’s child, not a Penarddun. Your letter after my mother died made it clear how you all felt.”
Crystin sighed, shook her head, while Aledwen turned away.
“What?” Braith asked.
Crystin shrugged. “I never wrote you a letter, Braith.”
“It was your dragon script, Crystin. I know it.”
“I never wrote it.”
Tragically, Braith wouldn’t put it past her father to have someone copy Crystin’s style of dragon script, but that didn’t explain anything else.
“Whether you wrote the letter or not, you never came to see me after Mum’s death. You never . . .” She choked back tears threatening to come. “You never came for the Ritual of Ashes. You never came just to see me.”
“You’re right. We didn’t. We stayed as far away from you as we possibly could. Didn’t even come to Devenallt Mountain when invited, took the role of protectors of our borders when necessary. You’re absolutely right. We did all that.”
“Well,” Braith said, knowing she sounded bitter but unable to help it, “glad we got that cleared up.”
She turned, ready to go back to Addolgar’s side, when Aledwen suddenly blurted out, “He threatened to kill you.”
Braith stopped. “What?” she asked, without looking at either aunt.
“He threatened to kill you.”
“Eventually,” Crystin added. “First, he threatened to take your title and any fortune our sister left you. But he quickly realized that threat held no meaning to a Penarddun. But then he said if we made any attempt to contact you again, he’d have you killed. He knew poisoners. ‘The best in the land,’ he said. That he could do it, even while you were safe here. And that, child, was when we believed him.”
Braith slowly faced her aunts, studied their faces, and quickly saw the truth in their eyes.
“To be honest,” Crystin went on, “we thought you’d come to us. So we waited rather than risk your life. But we should have known your father had found a way around that as well.”
“But why?” Braith asked. “He has no use for me. No love. Why would he care if I was here with you or alone in my cave?”
“The Penardduns are matriarchal, child. His first threat didn’t work with us because anything and everything your mother had, including title, was passed down to you. I honestly think that at first, he was just being his usual, vindictive self when he kept you from us.”
“We used to openly mock his weak arms and that tiny little neck of his,” Aledwen said, grinning. “He hated that.”
“But once he understood the true power of our line, he understood that without you, Emyr and his idiot sons risked losing all of their standing among those court royals who actually give an ox’s shit about all that as well as your mother’s fortune—and that he would not stand for.”
“But he wouldn’t have lost his Elder status.”
“Do you really think your father cares about being an Elder?” Crystin asked.
Aledwen gave a hard laugh. “Do you think he would have even gotten that had it not been for your mother?”
“Emyr has always had much bigger goals than to be a mere Elder.”