Master of Dragons by Angela Knight Page B

remember?”
    Llyr’s sensual mouth tightened. “Not at the moment.”
    He was right, of course. If she tried to transform now, she’d lose the baby. The anatomical change was too radical. She was trapped in human form until Dearg was born.
    But that didn’t mean she had to back down. “Okay, so maybe I can’t get fuzzy right now. I’m still not stupid.”
    â€œI have never thought you stupid.”
    â€œProve it.”
    Llyr gave her a restless, brooding look. “There’s a rebellion brewing among the Morven Sidhe.”
    A sensation of cold spread over her. A rebellion…Her hand crept to rest on her belly. History had all kinds of nasty examples of what happened to royal offspring when somebody else wanted the throne. “I thought the Morvens had accepted us after we got rid of Ansgar.”
    â€œI thought they had, too.” Llyr made a sharp gesture. “Unfortunately, certain parties also saw his death as the opportunity they’ve been looking for. Apparently he’d been fighting a low-level war with something called the Army of Semira—a kind of rebel underground, half-religious, half-political. Now that he’s dead and I’ve assumed the Morven throne, the Semirans think they finally have the chance they’ve waited for.”
    Diana lifted her head as she put two and two together. “They’re the ones who stole the sword.”
    â€œOne of my Morven guards was a Semiran mole. He’s disappeared, taking the sword with him. Which is a very serious problem.” Llyr’s expression grew even darker. “That sword has been carried in battle by the kings and queens of the Morven Sidhe for ten thousand years, even before we became immortals. It’s the Sidhe’s answer to Excalibur, and it’s said to grant its bearer fantastic powers. Many Morvens believe only the rightful ruler can wield it.”
    â€œYou’re not exactly chopped liver yourself,” Diana pointed out. “You’re Cachamwri’s Champion.” He’d been born with the Dragon God’s image on his right arm, signifying his status as the Heir to Heroes. When Dearg was conceived, Cachamwri had predicted their son would be the next Heir.
    Llyr shook his head. “The Morven Sidhe do not consider Cachamwri their god. To them, that’s Semira, whom they believe is a goddess trapped in the sword.”
    Nineva winced. “So it’s not just a magic blade, it’s a religious object.”
    â€œExactly. And I’ve lost it.”
    â€œYour people are going to be pissed.”
    â€œThat’s putting it mildly.”
    Â 
    Nineva dragged her eyes away from the Sword of Semira to her captor’s inhumanly handsome face. Her heart was pounding, her head buzzing from the sword’s proximity, and the metallic taste of panic filled her mouth. There was only one conclusion she could draw. “You’re Ansgar.”
    For an instant, a terrifying rage flared in the warrior’s eyes, so hot she took an involuntary step back. Then it disappeared as his lips pulled into an easy smile that was somehow even more chilling. “Oh, no, Princess. Ansgar the Tyrant is dead.” He bowed with a flourish. “I am General Arralt, commander of the Army of Semira.”
    Ansgar really was dead? A little bloom of hope rose, but she found it difficult to believe. “When? Who killed him?” Had the dream man been telling the truth?
    There was that flash of fury again, at boiling odds with Arralt’s pleasant expression. “His brother, Llyr, who took his throne these eight months past. Luckily, Llyr is a weak fool.” He caught her hand in his big armored one, his expression eager. “Princess, this is our chance. Take up the Goddess Sword and free your people from the usurper.” He dropped to one knee before her, his expression taking on a fanatic’s passion as he gazed up at her. Around them,