Page 68 of A Kiss of Flame
“I should have chosen one of your sisters instead,” Callum grumbled dismissively.
Sera glowered at him. “You could have chosen your own daughter,” she clipped back.
Queen Eithne’s eyebrows rose at that, her eyes narrowing on Callum. He had no children as far as they knew. “You’d have me give ye my son, an’ ye couldnae even offer up yer own daughter,” Eithne growled.
Callum glared daggers at Sera. “She’s too young,” he offered as an excuse. “And her mother and I are not mates.”
"Howyoung?" one of Eithne’s advisors asked with irritation. Given Callum’s age, she was doubtfully under a hundred years old.
“It doesnae matter,” Flòra interjected. She stood at the table and looked at the queen and the Ceanadachs. "Barith’s right. I know advisors an’ leaders from six other hordes who’d be open to discussin’ the formation of a new tribe."
Callum huffed a bitter laugh. “You can’t even control your own children, Eithne. How the Hells would you rule over both of our hordes?”
The queen ignored Callum’s slight, her gaze shifting to her children before landing on Flòra. “You stand wi’ Barith, then?” she asked flatly.
Flòra nodded and moved to stand beside Jude. "Aye, I do.”
All the Ceanadachs began to chuckle then, except for Sera. Eithne let out a low growl, silencing them.
"If other hordes are considerin’ this, it’s only a matter of time before someone takes the first step,” the queen pointed out. “Would ye refuse them, Callum?"
Callum replied with a dismissive grunt, though his silence was telling.
Eithne slowly rose to her feet, her wings unfurling behind her. Her gaze was fixed on Callum, but she spoke to the room.“I’ve fought an’ bled for my horde—for my family—the whole of my life. My mate died over a stupid feud with the Ice Bjorn over sea routes. My son is right. If there’s to be a new tribe, I’d rather be the one leadin’ it—Wouldnae ye want the same?”
“Yes,” Agnus answered begrudgingly for Callum when he said nothing. “We would.”
Callum let out a string of angry curses under his breath, then stood. “We’ve spent near a year negotiating this agreement—And now you want to change everything because of this boy’s silly dream of starting a new tribe?”
Eithne squared her shoulders, her eyes meeting Callum’s with fierce resolve. “Ye shouldnae have asked for even more of my sheep before they came in,” she clipped.
Callum looked stricken, staring at the queen. When she didn’t yield, he cursed and ran his hand over his beard in frustration. He looked to the others, but with each passing second, reality began to set on him. When it finally settled that the agreement was blowing up in his face, he let out another curse and grunted.
“Angus told me asking for more sheep would only make you mad,” he admitted.
The tension began to lift from the room, and Barith glanced at his sisters. Jude gave him a subtle nod, her expression softening. Flòra looked pale as if the weight of this confrontation had turned her stomach. Barith caught her eye and nodded reassuringly. She gave him a weak smile in return. It was thanks to his sisters any of this had come to pass. Without them, he’d still be lost in his cups, passed out in a field somewhere.
Despite the apparent success, his heart still ached for Levian—a deep, unrelenting pain that made each breath feel heavy. He missed her like he was missing a part of himself, and even now, he had to fight the urge to fly off and find her.
“What of our grand feast?” Callum asked Eithne, drawing Barith out of his thoughts. “The hordes will be disappointed not to celebrate.”
“It’s already bein’ prepared,” one of Eithne’s advisors told her.
Eithne nodded, her gaze sweeping over those present. “Then we celebrate for a different reason. As the first two hordes tae cast our banners under a new grand tribe of dragons.”
Callum turned to his advisors, and though no one seemed particularly thrilled, there was no outright refusal. “We’ll need to discuss specifics,” he grumbled, “but the Ceanadachs are open to it. We’d be even more willing if you’d cut me in on some of that fine ale of yours.”
Queen Eithne let the faintest of smirks tug at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll send ye a load of barrels,” she agreed. Callum clapped his hands together, satisfied to have squeezed one more concession out of her.
As the conversation shifted to details of forming the new tribe, Callum approached Barith and Sera. “I suppose I should tear up your contract, then?” he posed. “Unless you want him of your own choice?”
Sera glanced at Barith, then shook her head. “No.”
Barith huffed a pained laugh. Sera was pragmatic, and he respected her honesty, integrity, and strength. He had no interest in making her his mate either, but it still stung to be set down so flatly.
Callum glared at Barith, stepping closer, his posture challenging. “We should square off some time, you and I,” he grumbled. “Real dealings are settled on fields, not over tables.”
“Anytime,” Barith replied coolly, and Callum smirked.