What a Dragon Should Know (34 page)

Dagmar easily—and rather bravely, in Gwenvael’s estimation—stepped between the two.

“Gwenvael, why don’t you get Fearghus?”

“I’m not leaving you alone when he’s snorting smoke, woman.”

“I’ll be fine. Go get Fearghus.”

“I can call him here. I don’t have to leave.”

“No. Go get him.” She peered at Gwenvael over her shoulder. “Or would you prefer your father found Annwyl on his own?”

No. That wouldn’t be good either. But he didn’t understand why she wanted to be alone with Bercelak. The old bastard still had no problems eating humans when the mood struck him, often bringing them home as treats to Gwenvael’s mother.

“Dagmar—”

“I’ll be fine here. Go.”

He was reluctant, that was obvious; but he eventually did as she asked.

“I’ll be two minutes.” He glared at his father. “No flame.”

Dagmar watched Gwenvael disappear down a hallway before she turned back to face his father.

In all her years, she’d never seen a scowl quite like that. As if the dragon were filled with nothing but hate and rage. She’d thought Fearghus’s scowl was bad, but nothing, absolutely nothing, like this.

Taunting him had been pleasurable since she hadn’t appreciated the way he’d spoken to his son. And although Gwenvael had described the older dragon to her as some kind of murdering lizard, her instincts told her something else—she just wasn’t sure what that was yet. Who was Bercelak the Great, and why oh why did she desire to taunt him the way she did her own father?

“Why are you really here, Northlander?” he demanded.

She smiled because she could tell it annoyed him. He wanted her frightened and scurrying away. Not likely.

“Why I’m here is my business and the business of Queen Annwyl. Perhaps you should tend to your own, Consort.”

He stepped closer to her. “Do you really want to challenge me,
human?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

“Do you think I’m like my son? That the fact that you’re female sways me in any way as it does him?” He leaned down a bit, his face a tad closer than she would have liked. “There is no kindness in me. No softness. No caring. And I’ll stop at nothing to protect my kind.”

“Then you and I, Lord Bercelak, have much in common.”

“Tell me why you’re here, little girl. Tell me, or I’ll tear you apart.”

She debated whether to believe him. Was he evil? Pure and simple? Was there no reasoning with someone so filled with hate and rage, who had no softness about him at all?

Following her instincts as she’d always had, she challenged, “Do your worst. I
dare
you.”

His nostrils flared, the black smoke curling out from them increasing, and she saw fangs.
That’s new.

“Granddaddy!”

Both Dagmar and Bercelak jumped as Izzy charged into the Great Hall from the courtyard, running across the table, only to throw herself directly onto the dragon’s body.

“They told me I’d just missed you at the lake,” she squealed, delighted.

Her arms wrapped tight around his neck, her legs around his waist, she kissed his cheek. “I haven’t seen you in ages! Where have you been?”

“Uh … Izzy …” He folded his arms across his chest, trying desperately to keep that scowl on his face. “Get down from there,” he snapped.

Without seeming to notice his tone, Izzy did just that.

“Morning, Lady Dagmar,” she said cheerfully.

“Good morn to you, Izzy.”

The young warrior stood in front of Bercelak, her light brown eyes glowing. “So what did you bring me?” she asked, though it sounded a bit more like a demand.

“What?” He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Her entire body shimmied like one of Dagmar’s dogs when she held up a favored toy. “You always bring me something! What did you bring me?”

“Can we not talk about this later?” he snarled viciously, even making Dagmar think of running.

But Izzy only stomped her foot and snarled back, “Give me!”

Through gritted teeth, “Back.”

Now she frowned. “What?”

“Back,” he said again and added a quick motion of his head. Izzy walked behind the dragon and squealed again, making Dagmar wince. The young girl ran back around, a gold and jeweled dagger in her hand.

“This is beautiful!” She danced from foot to foot in front of the dragon and said in one long rush of words, “I’ve never had anything so beautiful before in my entire life and I love you and I can’t wait to show Branwen—she’s going to be so jealous—and you are so amazing!” Then she added, “I love you, love you, love you!” She leaped up into his arms and kissed his face until the dragon couldn’t hold the smile back anymore.

“Would you stop that!” But he didn’t seem to really mind.

“You are the best grandfather a girl could ever have!” She kissed his forehead and jumped back down. “I can’t wait to show Branwen!” she cheered again, running toward the exit of the Great Hall. “And Celyn!”

He’d been trying for that angry gaze again, glaring at Dagmar, when Izzy’s last words caused him to look nothing but panicked. “You stay away from Celyn!”

She only laughed. “You sound like Dad!” Then she was gone.

Turning back to face Dagmar, he seemed not to appreciate the smirk she couldn’t stop.

“You can get that look off your face, little miss. Izzy’s different. And she’s the only one. Except for her, my soul is empty. No room for anyone human.”

“That’s it!” Talaith said as she marched down the stairs. “No more wine for me.” As she landed on the bottom step, she stopped and smiled. “Bercelak! I didn’t know you were here.”

Much steadier now and recently bathed, she walked over to them and reached up to hug the dragon. “I’m so glad to see you. How are you doing?”

“Fine. Fine,” he said gruffly.

She stepped away from him, his hand held by hers. “And what brings you here?”

“He’s here to see Annwyl,” Dagmar filled in. “I was just going to take him to find her myself.” She grinned, making sure to flutter her eyes a bit as Gwenvael did. It annoyed her why wouldn’t it annoy his father? “I simply can’t wait to get to know him better.” She placed her hand over her heart. “He reminds me of my own dear father.”

“Try the stables,” Talaith suggested, completely missing the glower Bercelak seared Dagmar with. “She’s been hiding in there lately. I think she misses that war ox of hers she has the nerve to call a horse.” She beamed up at Bercelak. “I do hope you’re staying. We haven’t talked in ages.”

“Um … yeah, well …”

She released his hand and stepped away.

“Oh … uh …” Bercelak glanced at Dagmar, then muttered, “The queen wanted me to give you this.” He yanked a pouch hanging from his belt and handed it to her.

Talaith tugged the pouch open. “The Fianait root!” And just as quickly her face fell.

“It’s not the right one?” he asked, obviously concerned.

“It’s not that.” She let out a breath. “I’m just so frustrated. I work on these spells, and I see what I want. But dammit, Bercelak. I just cannot make it come together. The power is there. The energy. But I simply can’t control it. I’m getting frustrated.”

“It’ll take time to hone the power within you, Talaith,” he patiently explained. “You’re being too hard on yourself. Too impatient.”

She rolled her eyes and smirked. “I know. I don’t need you to tell me; I hear it enough from your son.”

“But apparently you’re not listening. The queen has already offered to help you; you should take her up on it.”

“She must be busy, though.”

“She’ll make the time for you. Besides, she needs the break. The Elders are making her insane, and her worries over Annwyl …” His gaze strayed to Dagmar and he finished with a mutter, “Just have Briec bring you. Or I can take you.”

“That is so sweet!” Then Bercelak was being hugged again. He glared at Dagmar over Talaith’s back, and Dagmar grinned, making sure to show him
all
her teeth.

“I simply don’t understand it,” Talaith said, pulling away from Bercelak. “How can
you
possibly be the father of Briec the Arrogant? You are so nice and he’s so not. It amazes me.”

Talaith winked. “Try to stay for dinner tonight,” she said before walking away.

Dagmar absolutely adored the silence that followed Talaith’s exit, knowing the growling, snarling dragon was feeling completely uncomfortable.

“This changes nothing,” he finally barked.

“Oh, I know. Big, scary …
you.”
She mockingly slashed at him with her hand and added a little roar sound.

“Now you’re just irritating me.”

“I know.” She took his arm. “So why don’t we find Annwyl? I’m positive she detests you and I’m sure nothing will change that.”

“I guess that’s something,” he grumbled.

Morfyd held her hands up, her body blocking the doorway. “No one is going back to the hall until you all calm down. There will not be a family free-for-all.”

“I say free-for-all for everyone!” Gwenvael cheered.

“Would you shut up?”

Really, she didn’t understand her kin. They all knew their father could be a bit of a prat; why her brothers insisted on fighting with him, she’d never know. There was no point. Although Gwenvael was in high spirits. Not surprising since he’d apparently consummated his alliance with the sharp-witted Lady Dagmar.

It had taken mere seconds for rumors of his being in her room to make the castle rounds this morning.

“I think we should all calmly go and talk to Father and see what he wants.”

“Fine. We’ll do that. Now move.” Briec grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the door while Fearghus snatched it open and stormed out, the other two right behind him.

“Dammit!” She went after them but found them standing around the Great Hall, looking confused.

“Where did he go?” Fearghus asked. Morfyd knew how her brother hated when he was ready for a fight and there was no one there to fight him.

Gwenvael, however, appeared the most panicked. “Where’s Dagmar?”

Briec stared at his brother. “Finding out what dragon stomach acid is like?”

As Talaith had suggested, the Blood Queen was in the stables. Not the main Garbhán Isle stables where the army commanders kept their war horses. No, she was in a separate stable specifically for the queen’s war stallion, Violence.
Lovely name. And what a lucky horse, too.
So he wouldn’t be lonely, he had his own stable dog—a delightful 50-pound mixed breed who ran up to Dagmar and licked her boots—and a bevy of worthy mares. The one in the stall closest to him kept nuzzling his side, while Annwyl petted his muzzle.

It all appeared very serene and a bit sad, but something was off. Dagmar could feel it. She held her hand up, silently ordering Bercelak the Great to hold his position at the door. And one of the greatest warriors of the Southland dragons did as she bade.

She approached cautiously, not wanting to startle the queen, but as she neared, the feeling that something was wrong grew until it nearly strangled her.

“My queen?”

“What?”

The first sign Dagmar was right: She’d only been here for less than two days, but she’d never known the woman not to correct anyone stupid enough to title her with anything but “Annwyl.” Or, at the very least, a simple “my lady.”

Dagmar moved closer, her eyes examining everything. “I’m sorry to bother you, my lady, but you have a visitor.”

The queen wouldn’t look at her, her gaze focused on the horse she petted with one hand. The other hand was not resting on her belly as it had been since Dagmar had met her, but instead gripping the stable gate penning in her horse. Readjusting her spectacles a bit, Dagmar watched as the long, strong fingers of the queen dug into the wood until it began to splinter.

Now Dagmar understood.

“How long have you been having the contractions, Annwyl?”

She’d thought Annwyl merely had quickened breathing due to the load she currently carried; now Dagmar saw that she’d been panting. Not dramatically, but as a way to control her pain. Something a warrior learned early in training, just as Dagmar’s kinsmen had.

Annwyl swallowed but still wouldn’t look at her. “Days.”

Days? She’d been having contractions for days and she’d said nothing?

Dagmar let out a breath. Yelling at the nitwit wouldn’t help; she needed the queen calm and pliable at this moment.

“But it’s gotten worse in the last few hours?” she asked, keeping her voice even and unaffected.

Annwyl nodded. “But it’s too soon, Dagmar. They can’t come out yet.”

“I believe it’s no longer your choice, my lady.”

“Yes, but I—” The pain was so brutal and swift, the queen’s words were cut off and she had to use both hands on the gate to prevent herself from dropping to the floor.

“Annwyl—”

“It’s too soon,” she repeated, once she could speak.

“Perhaps not,” Bercelak said softly, now standing behind Dagmar.

“You?” the queen fairly snarled. “What are you doing here?”

He ignored her question and said instead, “Mostly all my offspring were hatched after six months. Why should my grandchildren be any different?”

Seemingly stunned by his statement, Annwyl stared at Bercelak for a long moment. Then she asked, “Mostly?”

“Gwenvael lasted eight months. But I think that’s because he is and always will be a lazy prat. He lounged in that egg for months until, I’m convinced, he fell asleep and accidentally broke the shell while turning over. As I said, lazy prat.”

The queen smiled, her laugh a little breathy. “Then you don’t think this is … uh …”

“Ill timed?” Bercelak shook his head. “No. Not at all. But we need to get you back inside, Annwyl. To a bed, so the grandchildren of someone as great as I can be born in luxury and comfort.”

Her smile quickly turned into an intense expression of distrust. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I am in the mood to do so.
Do not question me!”
he bellowed.

“Don’t yell at me!”
she bellowed back.

Dagmar held her hands up. “Perhaps we could have this delightful yelling another time.” She leaned over and whispered to Annwyl, “And how many times do you think you can get him to carry you?”