How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (18 page)

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Authors: G. A. Aiken

BOOK: How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
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The air around her stirred, trees beginning to sway, and she knew large wings were flapping her way.
Izzy lowered her body, readying herself to strike.
Claws dropped to the ground and blue wings and hair temporarily blinded her as she heard Éibhear bellow, “It’s me! It’s me! Don’t do anything!”
When Izzy was able to finally see again, she saw that Éibhear had one claw over his eyes, his head turned. She almost laughed, realizing he was expecting her to strike. Although that was a good expectation.
She re-sheathed her sword. “What are you doing here, Éibhear?”
Spreading his talons, he peeked at her through the clear space.
Izzy held her hands up so he could see she’d put her sword away.
The big baby!
Relaxing, he dropped his claws and faced her. “Thought I’d come along. Keep you company.”
“I don’t need company. In fact, what I need is some time to myself.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because I said so.” Izzy quickly held up her hands again to stop what could easily become a childish spat. “I’m merely going to your Uncle Bram’s house to pick up some papers that he left behind. I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Oh. All right then.”
With a nod, Izzy re-mounted her horse and settled into the saddle. Éibhear stepped back, allowing her to pass. But she held the reins and looked up at him. “You’re going to follow me anyway, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
He said it so simply, it made her feel kind of stupid. Like she should just understand that he’d be following her to Bram’s whether she wanted him to or not.
“Why?” she decided to ask, rather than yell.
“There’s some dangerous roads between here and Uncle Bram’s.”
“There’s dangerous roads everywhere. I’ve never needed you to follow me around before, so why would I need you now?”
“You’ve had an army at your back before. Now it’s just you. I’d rather not take the risk.”
“You’d rather not take the risk?
You?
”
“Aye.”
“
You’d
rather not take the risk with
my
life?”
“Aye.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Well, you and my brothers agree on something.”
Tired and worried about more important matters, Izzy said, “Do as ya like, Éibhear. You always do.” Then, with a touch of her knees, her horse moved forward. Macsen eventually followed but only after barking at Éibhear until they went around the bend in the road.
 
 
Éibhear landed about a half-mile from his uncle’s home. A small castle near the Bolver Fields. He shifted to human and changed into his clothes, walking the last bit to the castle.
By the time he walked through the open gate, Izzy was dismounting her horse. He expected her to snarl at him again for coming along, but she didn’t. Instead she looked around and asked, “Uncle Bram always leave that gate open?”
“He used to until Ghleanna became his mate. Nothing drove her crazier than to find the gate open. Is that how you found it?”
She nodded and, taking the reins of her horse, walked toward the main building.
“What’s his assistant’s name again?” he asked.
“Robert.”
“You check inside, I’ll check the other buildings.”
Éibhear searched the grounds and even went outside the gates and looked around for about two miles, but he found nothing. When he returned, Izzy had put up her horse in the unused stables and was now sitting on the big table in the middle of the hall. The table was only used for dining when Ghleanna and Éibhear’s cousins were in attendance. Otherwise, the table was covered in books and papers. And now Izzy’s butt.
“Nothing,” Éibhear said when he walked in. “You?”
“Empty.” She glanced around. “I guess Robert could have gone into town. Perhaps he’ll be back later.”
Standing next to her, Éibhear folded his arms over his chest. “Unless he had work to do. Depending on how much responsibility Uncle Bram gives his assistants, Robert could be gone for days. Do you know what Bram needs?”
“Yes, and a general idea of where it should be. Still . . .”
“You sound extremely disappointed,” he noted. “Were you and Robert . . . friendly?”
“I’m friendly with lots of people, Éibhear. But if you’re asking if we were fucking, then no—”
“I was not asking—”
“But he does make a wonderful leg of lamb and I am really hungry.”
“I can make you leg of lamb.”
“Thank you, but I prefer my meats cooked rather than burned to an unidentifiable crisp.”
“That’s Morfyd. She always overcooks the food. I, however, am a wonderful cook. I cooked for your mother. Didn’t she tell you? And by the gods of piss and blood,
what is that horrible smell?
”
“Oh, yes,” she sighed, not bothering to look at him. “The porridge story. Haven’t heard that in six . . . months. And that horrible smell is my dog. He’s under the table.”
“Can’t we put him outside?”
“No,
we
cannot.”
“Then can I—”
“Leave my dog alone. He’s not bothering you.”
“He’s bothering my senses. Between that smell and that slobbering sound he’s making.”
“He has allergies, it makes him drool.”
“And this is who you sleep with?”
“He sleeps on his back so there’s much less drool.” Then she added, “Although he does tend to wake up in the middle of the night choking.”
Shuddering, Éibhear stepped away from the table. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore. I’ll find something to feed us and you find what Uncle Bram needs.” He headed off to the kitchens. “Are we leaving tonight?” he asked as he walked.
“I have no idea what you’re doing, but I’m staying the night. I need time to think . . . preferably by myself.”
Éibhear stopped and faced her. “Will you be less caustic if I get a little food in you?”
“I might be,” she snapped. “As I said, I’m hungry and I have
a lot on my mind!
”
“Now we’ve got bellowing,” he muttered, again heading toward the kitchens. “Lovely.”
 
 
Annwyl sat at the desk she rarely used, one foot on the edge of the desk, her gaze focused on the stained-glass window. When the knock on the door came, she ignored it. But, as she’d learned over the years, there were few who lived at Garbhán Isle with her who let one ignored knock deter them. Yet she also knew that whoever was on the other side of that door was human, for dragons rarely knocked at all, and if they did knock, they rarely waited for her answer.
By the third knock, Talaith’s voice said from the other side, “Come on, you bitchy sow. I know you’re in there.”
Laughing a little, and also a little relieved to be pulled from her darker-by-the-day thoughts, Annwyl called, “In.”
Talaith entered, closing the door behind her. “You all right?”
“Do I have to be?”
“You should at least try. For the children.”
Then they laughed because some days it seemed like the last thing their children needed was them.
Talaith sat down in a chair on the other side of the desk, her hands resting on the wood. She wore her usual ensemble of black cotton leggings, black knee-high boots, and a loose cotton shirt. This time in a bright blue. Her long hair was loosely tied with a leather strap at her nape, the curly tendrils reaching down her back, and she wore no jewelry except for a lone silver necklace that she kept under her clothes and close to her heart. She was a woman with simple tastes and yet the most beautiful Annwyl had known.
She tried not to hate Talaith for that.
“How did it go with Izzy?” Annwyl asked.
“Surprisingly awful. Who knew she hated my mother so much? She’s never even met her.”
“Do you really not know how protective Izzy is of you?”
“I don’t need protection.”
“It doesn’t matter. Not to Izzy. As far as she’s concerned, your mother is a demon incarnate and deserves to burn for eternity for what she did to you.”
“Well”—Talaith shrugged—“she’s right, but that’s not the point.”
 
 
Izzy would have to say that going through Bram the Merciful’s desk was quite fascinating. The dragon seemed to have some connection to
everyone
. He had correspondence from the hills and valleys to the west that went far past the territorial lines of the Sovereigns. He also had ongoing correspondence with the people of the east, who lived far across the dangerous seas. He’d also been in communication with warlords from the Northlands and Ice Lands, attempting to broker peace between different tribes and hordes. There were other documents that she assumed were from dragons. She couldn’t read them since they were written in the old language of the dragons, but based on the size of the documents . . . yeah, probably dragons.
“Find what you need?” Éibhear asked her from the doorway.
“I think so.” She held up a document. “Does this look right?”
He took the parchment from her and studied it. “Based on what you told me, it does. But Annwyl will never agree to this.”
“If anyone can talk her into it, it’s Bram.” Izzy dropped back into the chair. “But you’re probably right. She hates the Western Horsemen and their horse gods.” The nomadic tribes in the west had been the bane of Annwyl’s existence for many years. They were mostly slavers, raiding weak, poorly defended towns and kidnapping children and the weaker men and women to sell to the Sovereigns. Annwyl hated slavery of any kind, which made her an enemy of the Horsemen. A much hated enemy.
“They tried to kill the twins and Rhi when we were all away at war against the Iron dragons and Sovereigns,” Éibhear reminded her.
“True. And all those involved were wiped from this world by Annwyl’s sword and rage when she returned to Garbhán Isle.”
“I believe your axe was involved also.”
“Well, I was her squire. I couldn’t leave her to fight alone.”
“When do you ever?” He handed the parchment back to her. “Food’s ready.”
“Yeah, all right.” She looked at the other papers she’d set aside. “I think I’ll bring these as well.” She scooped them up and put them into her travel bag. “Just in case.”
Izzy followed Éibhear back to the hall, but she stopped and closed her eyes. “Gods . . . that smells wonderful.”
“I had to go with boar. There was no lamb.”
“I’m so hungry I don’t care.”
“No wine either. I looked everywhere.”
“Oh, I know where that is. He hides it.”
“Hides it? From who?”
When she stared at him, mouth open, he nodded. “Right, right. His own offspring.”
Izzy went to the closet buried deep in Bram’s library where he kept cases of wine and ale and pulled what looked the most interesting. When she returned, the food was on the table and a fire was going in the nearby pit. Éibhear had also put out plates and utensils, their chairs cattycorner from each other.
“Will this do?” she asked, figuring the royal would have a better understanding of wine and ale than she.
Éibhear took the two bottles from her and blew the dust off them. Then his eyes grew wide when he looked at the seal. “Gods, Izzy. This is my grandfather’s.”
“Ailean?”
“We can’t take these. It’s probably all Bram has.”
“You mean except for all those cases he has in the library closet?”
“He has
cases
of my grandfather’s ale?”
“Aye.”
“That stingy bastard. It never occurred to him to share?”
Izzy took the bottles back and placed them on the table. “Apparently not with you.”
“This isn’t to be wasted on the meal,” he said, moving the bottles away from the plates and moving a carafe of water closer.
“If it’s not for the meal, then what’s it for?”
Éibhear grinned. “Dessert.”
 
 
“Have you talked to Talwyn?”
Talaith watched her friend. Annwyl had been so quiet lately. Not like her. It wasn’t so much that she was a boisterous monarch. She wasn’t. But she wasn’t so quiet either. So removed. It was like she was waiting for the other boot to drop.
And maybe she was right to be feeling that way. Although Talaith had her own concerns with her child, the Kyvich weren’t one of them. As mortal enemies of her Nolwenn sisters since the beginning of time—at least that’s what she’d been told from birth—the Kyvich tolerated the presence of her daughter but didn’t engage her.

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