Dragon on Top

“You think what I do is important?”

“Definitely. Because when your precious truces and alliances are broken, war breaks out.” Her grin was wide, showing all her teeth. “And then
my
important work begins.” She stood and walked over to him. “We need you peacemakers. Without you, there'd be no reason for war, now would there?”

“It's nice to know how integral my job is to your happiness.”

“And my career! Don't move up the ranks of Dragonwarrior without a war to fight, enemies to kill. So thank you, peaceful dragon, for being ever so helpful.”

“It's my pleasure, warmongering female.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

ZEBRA BOOKS

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Ghleanna the Decimator took another gulp from her battered ale cup and wallowed, quite magnificently, if she did say so herself, in her misery. It was ridiculous, she knew, to still be as devastated by all this as she had been. It would be going on six months and yet she could not move past it. Instead, she sat and she drank and she wallowed and she tried to forget. And this had been the way of things for a long time now. Too long, her kin would say.

This was all her own fault, though. She'd trusted where she shouldn't have, believed lies when she damn well knew better, and most importantly, forgot the one thing that no one else
ever
forgot—that her father was Ailean the Wicked. Also known as Ailean the Slag, well-known whore of the dragon
and
human world.

And, with a single stroke of idiocy, Ghleanna the Decimator had become Ghleanna the Idiot.

Ghleanna the Fool.

Ghleanna the Failure.

Yet perhaps “failure” was too harsh a word. She'd never thought of herself as a failure before. After years on the battlefield, she'd proved herself again and again. But a failure was how she felt now. Like a failure and a fool with no one to blame, but herself. So, in morbid shame and self-pity and with no wars or battles interesting enough to occupy her mind or sword arm, Ghleanna had returned to the safety of her cave home's ancient walls to be miserable and—if she were to be honest—hide. Venturing out only for food and ale.

Although these last few days she'd mostly just gone out for more ale.

She had no idea what her long-term plans were, but then again, should failures have long-term plans? Since Ghleanna wasn't sure, she drank more ale until sweet blackness took her and she didn't have to think about her inherent stupidity and the misery it had caused her anymore.

Ghleanna had no idea how long she'd been passed out, but as much as she might want to, she couldn't ignore the beating her head was currently taking. She forced her eyes open and watched the blunt end of a steel spear come down to crack her forehead again. She rolled away but the end of another spear hit her on the side of the jaw.

“Wake up, ya lazy sow. Wake up!”

“Leave me be, you mad bitches!”

“Is that any way to talk to your dear, sweet aunts?”

“You're not my aunts,” she lashed back.

“Close enough. It's better than Great Cousins, isn't it? Makes us sound old, don't it, Kennis?”

“That it does, Kyna. Now get up before we strip the scales from ya bones.”

Pissed that her kin didn't have the decency to leave her alone to wallow in her ale and drool, Ghleanna sat up and snarled, “What is it, you old hags? What is it you want from me?”

“Well, first, you can stop feeling sorry for yourself. Isn't that right, Kyna?”

“That's right, Kennis. Nothing worse than a mighty dragoness sittin' around in a dark, dank cave, boo-hooing over some bloody mistake of a dragon.”

“I am doing no such thing,” she lied.

“Look at her lying to us, Kennis!”

“I see it, Kyna. Lying to us and thinking we won't know. It's a shame.” Kennis shrugged. “I say we hit her again. On principle.”

“I agree.”

Ghleanna quickly raised her claws to protect her head. “Go away! Leave me be!”

“So you can sit here and continue to feel sorry for yourself? Over
him?
I'd rather put you down here and now, ain't that right, Kyna?”

“Aye. Like a poor, wounded horse.”

“I hate all of you.” Ghleanna let out a big sigh, dragging her claws through her too-long black hair. She hadn't cut it in months and it showed. She knew she must look like cold shit, but she'd not give her kin the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

“Hate us? Even though we're all worried about your worthless hide?” Kyna asked.

“All them brothers and sisters of yours
whinin'
about you. Och! The sound of it makes us mad. We had to do something, didn't we, Kyna?”

“Aye, Kennis. That we did. Or kill them all just to make them stop. But that didn't seem right, did it, Kennis?”

“No. Not at all.”

“So you come here to do . . . what? Exactly?” Ghleanna demanded. “Besides annoy the bloody fuck out of me?”

“You're lucky it was us come to fetch you, brat. Not sure your wake up would have been so kind if it had been your mother who'd come here instead. Isn't that right, Kyna?”

“Och! Beaten your scales to a different color, she would have. She's been sick to death with worry over you, only to find out you're sitting in this cave, drinking your sorrows away on some cheap ale.”

“Well, if I'd really wanted to end it all, I would have just used
your
ale,” Ghleanna sniped.

The spear butt came at her again but this time Ghleanna caught and held it. “Stop hitting me with that bloody thing.”

“At least her reflexes are still good. Now we just need to sober her up—”

“And bathe her. She reeks!”

“—and we can get her to our queen's court while it's still morning.”

“Queen's court? Why do I need to go to Rhiannon's court?”

“Ohhh. Hear that, Kennis?”

“Aye, Kyna.
Rhiannon
she calls her. Like they're old friends.”

“Best of chums!”

The twin She-dragons cackled and Ghleanna felt the need to start destroying things.

“She's gettin' pissy, Kyna.”

“That she is, Kennis.”

“So we better get her up and ready so we can get a move on.”

Fed up, Ghleanna nearly roared, “I don't
want
to see Rhiannon!
So get the fuck out of my cave!
”

Kyna crouched down low so she could look Ghleanna in the eyes, one side of her snout pulling back to show row after row of deadly fangs, many having shown up as she'd aged.

“Now listen up, little girl. You can talk to your father and brothers like that if you want—but you'll not talk to us that way. And when the queen gives you an order—”

“—you get off your ass and you follow it. Or by the gods—”

“—we'll make you wish you had.”

Ghleanna understood now why the Cadwaladr Twins had been sent to fetch her. Although many of her siblings would put up a good fight, only her brothers Bercelak and Addolgar really had a chance at taking her, but neither would because she was their sister. The same with her father. And her mother was a peacekeeper, not a fighter. So her kin had sent the most feared Dragonwarriors in the land, the Cadwaladr Twins. Old She-dragons they might be, but that only made them more dangerous—and unstable.

“You coming, girl?”

“Yes,” Ghleanna hissed, using her front claws to push herself all the way up. It took a moment for the cavern to stop spinning and another moment for the nausea to pass. But once they did, she was ready to at least get into the lake outside and bathe.

“What does Rhiannon want with me anyway?” she asked, heading outside with the twins right behind her, debating on whether to make a run for it.

“Unlike you, brat, we don't ask a bunch of questions.”

“Our queen asks us to do something, we do it. That's our job.”

“That's
your
job,” Kennis insisted.

“Did we not train her well enough?”

“I hope that's not the case, Kyna. Hate to put her
back
through training.”

Ghleanna winced, hearing the threat in those words loud and clear. “Won't be necessary,” she muttered.

“Good. You were always one of our favorites, Ghleanna. We'd hate to have to beat you within an inch of your life because you've forgotten where you come from.”

Kyna caught Ghleanna's forearm, made her look at her. “And there's no shame, girl. No shame in who you are, who your kin are, or who you want to be.”

“And don't let anybody convince you different,” Kennis finished. “You are special, Ghleanna. And some blokes—they can never handle that. While others . . .”

“While others what?”

“While others were born to be the sheathe to your sword—you just need to find that one, lass. Like we did.”

“Like your Da did. But she can't do that if she stinks of ale and misery, Kennis.”

“Not unless she wants a miserable bastard like herself, Kyna. And gods! Who'd want that?”

And Ghleanna, realizing the truth of that, headed toward the lake and prepared to meet with her queen.

 

 

But she did. She did hug him. Right there in front of her entire court and, more importantly, in front of her consort. The most unpleasant of dragons, Bercelak the Great himself.

And Bram the Merciful, royal emissary for Queen Rhiannon of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, knew his queen did it on purpose. He knew she did it because she enjoyed torturing her mate, but she often failed to realize that she also, in the process, tortured poor Bram. Or perhaps she realized it but simply didn't care.

“Oh, Bram! You look so wonderful. Doesn't he look wonderful, Bercelak?”

Bram heard that growl of disapproval across the queen's chamber.

“Bercelak thinks you look wonderful, too,” the queen lied. She patted Bram's shoulder and stepped away. “So my dearest Bram, are you ready for your most important of trips?”

“I am, my queen. I think nothing but good can come from this and I look forward to—”

“Yes, yes.” She sat down on her throne, a bit of rock jutting from the cave wall. It never looked very comfortable to Bram, but the queen didn't seem to mind. “But I've been worrying about your safety.”

“My safety? I'll be fine, Your Majesty.”

“I've been hearing rumors. There are those who do not want this alliance to go through. They will try to stop you.”

“Why? It's not Lightnings I go to see. The dragons of the Desert Lands have never been our enemies.” He was simply ensuring that they would not side with those who were.

“Always so logical, my old friend. Logical and thoughtful and smart. But still . . . nothing is ever easy in the world of dragon politics, and you of all dragons should know that.”

“Understood, my queen. And I promise you that I'll be quite care—”

“So I've arranged for your protection.”

Uh-oh
.

“Your Majesty, my contact in the Desert Lands is only expecting me. Not an entourage.”

“An entourage sounds so large and daunting, and it's nothing of the sort. Just a few of my most trusted Dragonwarriors to ensure you make it safely to and from your destination.”

“Dragonwarriors?” Gods, kill him now.

Which nightmare Dragonwarriors had this female dug up from the pits of hell to send him out with? Probably Bercelak's brothers. Or, even worse, Bercelak himself. The black dragon had never liked Bram due to Bram's apparent affliction to “thinking too much and lusting after my sister.” And Bercelak was right, of course. About the thinking—and the lusting.

Ghleanna the Black, now the Decimator, had been Bram's unobtainable dream since he was a young dragon, barely even sixty winters. She'd stolen his heart from first glare when she'd slammed Bercelak's head into the wall and ordered him to, “Leave off the royal!”, meaning Bram. Ghleanna had been in a recent battle, one of her first, and she'd gotten her first scar. A six-inch thing that cut across her collarbone. Bram had seen that scar and his mouth had dried up, his knees had gone weak, and he'd forgotten words. Not specific words, but
all
words. She'd rendered him temporarily mute.

But unlike Bercelak, Ghleanna barely noticed Bram after that, barely paid attention to him, barely remembered his name. He was the royal who sometimes visited her mother or her sister Maelona. The “thinkers” in the Cadwaladr Clan.

“And which warriors would that be, my queen? Anyone I know?”

The queen smiled—something that did not give Bram ease—and he heard a voice he knew so well say from behind him, “I can't believe you sent those mad bitches to fetch me, Bercelak. Do you not care for me at all?”

Bram briefly closed his eyes before looking at the female who now stood beside him. They eyed each other for a long moment until Ghleanna the Decimator sneered and demanded of her brother, “Babysitting? You dragged me all this way to be a babysitter to a weak-willed royal?”

“Thank you, Ghleanna,” Bram murmured. “That was very nice.”

“Nothing personal,” she muttered back, her claw patting his shoulder. “Long night.”

Long night? Looked more like a long century. Although he knew what it was that had one of the most decorated and feared captains of the last few centuries appearing as if she hadn't slept in years. Her hair, always short and well groomed, now reached her shoulders, the ends uneven. Her armor, always spit-shined and battle-ready, was now covered in dirt and dents and, if Bram wasn't mistaken, bits of some poor sod's brains. Even her battle axes, her favorite weapons as far back as Bram could recall, looked as if they had not been cleaned in months, the blade edges still encrusted in blood and bits of bone. No, this was not the Ghleanna he had known all these years. The Ghleanna he'd adored. More fool him.

“Oh?” Rhiannon asked Ghleanna. “Are you frightfully busy at the moment?”

“I know I'm too busy for this centaur sh—”

“Honestly, my queen,” Bram cut in, “there's no call to involve Captain Ghleanna. I'm quite fine traveling on my own.” In fact, he preferred it. This trip was too important for him to be distracted by the one female who still kept him up some nights. Sweating.