by G. A. Aiken
“I’ll be down in a bit. The suns have barely risen.” Then she turned and buried her head into a warm, hard chest.
“My lady, if you do not go down to meet her, she will come up here.”
“Mhhm.”
Yes, yes. Her mother coming up to her room, seeing her cuddled up to Brastias…
Morfyd jolted awake, her entire body tensing as she sat up. “Good gods! She’s here? Why is my mother here?”
“I don’t know, my lady. But she approaches and will land soon.”
Scrambling out of bed, Morfyd pointed to her wardrobe. “Get my robes, Taffia. Hurry!” She saw Brastias watching her. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
She sighed impatiently, pouring water into the bowl on her basin. “I can’t tell her. Not yet.”
“Then when? When will you tell any of them?”
“Do you like having your arms and legs? Because my brothers will ensure that you do not. And my father—” She shuddered at the thought. Bercelak the Great had torn the wings off a young dragon once who’d stopped by her parents’ cave nearly every day for an entire moon cycle to prove his love to Morfyd. Her father had been incensed. “You’ve only turned forty!” he’d yelled, shaking her poor suitor’s wings while blood flew around the chamber. “You’re a child!”
“How long will you keep using your family as an excuse?” Brastias asked softly.
She glanced at him over her shoulder and realized he’d already gotten out of bed and was nearly dressed, heading toward the window.
“It’s not that easy,” she told his back while he pulled his shirt on.
“It’s easy enough for the rest of your kin.”
“You can’t compare us to what Fearghus and Briec—”
“I’d better go.” He pushed the window open and easily climbed through it and out onto the tiny ledge. She had no idea how he managed to do it every night and morning, but she’d be eternally grateful that he did.
“Brastias, wait.”
He pivoted toward her on the balls of his feet, those large feet the only things that kept him from falling, if not to his death then definitely to a broken body part or two.
“I love you,” he said. Then he was gone.
Morfyd had no idea how long she stood there, gazing at the spot he’d been standing in like some kind of lovesick child. He loved her? He’d not said it before now, and she knew he wouldn’t have said it unless he meant it. And, tragically, she loved him as well. Could either of them be more foolish? Taffia tugged at her elbow. “My lady? Your mother.”
“Yes, yes.”
To say she was in no mood to see her mother would be an understatement, but she had no choice. Quickly donning her witches’ robes, Morfyd dashed down to the first floor, through the Great Hall, and out into the courtyard. They’d expanded the size of the courtyard nearly two years ago to accommodate the comings and goings of dragons, and most of the humans were quite used to them now. But none were used to the Dragon Queen. Her mere presence brought out the dragonfear in nearly all the humans who served Annwyl.
Morfyd watched as her mother landed. Beside and behind her were the loyal dragon guards who protected the Dragon Queen with their very lives. Not an easy task when her mother insisted on shifting to human and demanding of all that could hear, “So where’s the whore?”
Briefly closing her eyes, trying to rein in her rarely shown temper, Morfyd said, “Stop calling her that.”
“Well, that’s what she is, isn’t she? The whore who betrayed my son?”
“Why do you refuse to believe she carries Fearghus’s babes?”
“Because it’s impossible.”
“Of all beings, Mother, you should know that anything is possible once the gods are involved.”
A panicked scream sounded and Morfyd stomped her foot at the sight of one of Rhiannon’s guards holding a stableboy in his mouth.
Frustrated, Morfyd snapped, “Mother!”
Her mother huffed impatiently. “Fine. Fine. Put him down, Cairns.”
“But my queen”—the dragon guard whined around a mouthful of screaming human—“I’m hungry.”
“Then go to the clearing and get a cow or something. But put him down!”
The human, rudely spit out, rolled across the courtyard grounds. Morfyd signaled to Taffia, and her trusted assistant went to care for the poor boy.
“Now where is she?” her mother snapped. “Where is the whore of Garbhán Isle?”
“I can’t believe you’re still not talking to me.”
“And I can’t believe you wouldn’t bring my dog.” Dagmar waited until Gwenvael settled in a clearing no more than a league or so from their destination—if she was guessing correctly—before she slid off his back. She tried to walk away, but her legs wouldn’t hold her steady and she had to grab onto the dragon’s neck to keep from falling to her knees.
“Gods!” Gwenvael growled, ignoring her discomfort. “Are we here again?”
“Yes! We are here again. You saw how upset he was!”
“Woman, he’s a dog! And I am not a beast of burden to carry your pets around.”
“He’s more than a pet. He’s my companion and protects me.”
“I’ll protect you now.”
“And somehow that gives me so little ease.”
The dragon moved away and Dagmar stumbled, almost falling. But his tail landed against her ass, keeping her upright…and taking liberties!
“Oh!” She planted her feet firmly, reached back, and slapped at his exploring tail. “Stop molesting me with that thing!”
“I’m not. I was merely helping you stand.”
She gritted her teeth. “Then why is it between my legs?”
“You moved.”
Feeling her strength return right along with her annoyance, Dagmar stepped back and raised her foot, slamming it down on the tip.
“Ow! Evil barbarian viper!” He rose on his hind legs, his front claws grasping his tail. “You are aware this is attached to me?”
“Yes. That’s how I knew it was taking liberties!”
Gwenvael put the tip in his mouth, sucking it as she might suck on her finger after slamming it in a door. They scowled at each other, neither speaking. Then his gaze drifted and he said, “I know that city.”
Dagmar looked out over the ridge, exhaled. “The great city of Spikenhammer. I’ve always wanted to come here. They have the most amazing library that you’ll find anywhere in the Northlands.”
“Spikenhammer,” he sneered. “Could that name be more obvious?” The dragon abruptly dropped his tail and frowned. “Wait. I don’t understand. I thought we were going to a monastery.”
“Why would I go to a monastery?” She pointed at the big city she’d always heard about but had never been to. “We’re going there.”
“But you told your father—”
“I lied. He never would have let me come here, with or without him.” She headed down the ridge, eager to reach the city. “We have a bit of walking, so you’d best hurry.”
“What else have you lied about?” he yelled after her.
Dagmar laughed. “You’ll have to be much more specific than that, I’m afraid.”
The guards told him his mother had arrived, but he would have been able to tell without the notification. He could hear the yelling throughout the castle.
He stepped into the Great Hall and saw the two females standing toe to toe. Because neither female would let the other finish a sentence, Fearghus had no idea exactly what they were arguing about, but it was definitely heated and poor Morfyd was caught in the middle as always, trying desperately to calm the situation.
His mother towered over the other yelling female, but that didn’t make the smaller one back down—and she wouldn’t. Fearghus had learned that about her shortly after meeting her, and, at the moment, he appreciated it.
And while the two females argued, no one noticed him as he crouched down next to the chair of the woman h
e loved.
“What did I miss?” he murmured, his lips brushing against Annwyl’s cheek.
“Not sure. I walked in, your mother took one look at me, and it simply blew up from there. They talk over each other, so I’m not sure what they are saying. But Talaith does seem quite angry,” Annwyl said.
Fearghus chuckled, enjoying the way his brother’s mate, Talaith, practically dared his mother to turn her into a ball of flame. “I’m glad she’s handling it. I wouldn’t be nearly as nice.”
“Let your mother say what she wants about me, Fearghus. I don’t care.” It was true, Annwyl didn’t care. Not like she used to. Not like the Annwyl he remembered, who, Gwenvael once said, “would fight her own shadow if she thought it was getting a little haughty.”
But his mate, his consort, was tired. At twenty-nine winters, she shouldn’t be so tired. Even heavy with twins, she shouldn’t be this tired. Circles under her eyes, lines around her mouth. She wasn’t aging, so much as…He didn’t know. He didn’t know what was wrong. And it terrified him.
“Why don’t you go to bed?” He motioned to one of the servants standing around, watching the sideshow. “I’ll be up in a bit and we’ll nap together.”
“Your mother is here for a reason. I should find out why.” She looked down at her hands resting on the table. They were strong, capable hands that had many scars and had done much damage over the years. “But I just don’t care, Fearghus.”
“And you shouldn’t. I’ll handle it. So will Morfyd.” He kissed her forehead, stepped back, and helped her out of the chair. Handing her off to the servant, he said, “Take her to our room and make sure she has everything she needs. Then return here. Make sure you close the door to our room when you leave.”
A smile teased Annwyl’s lips. “That was awfully specific, Fearghus.”
“You like when I’m specific. Now go.”
Leaning against the table, he first watched Annwyl make her slow, laborious way up the stairs. When she disappeared down the hall, he turned his attention to his mother and Talaith.
“What did I miss?” Briec asked, stepping up beside Fearghus.
“The arrival of our mother.”
“Talaith’s in a fine spitting rage…Mother call Annwyl a whore again?”
“Don’t know.” Fearghus glanced at his brother. “What happened to your face?” The gash went from his cheek down under his chin, and his bare chest and black leggings were covered in dirt and blood.
“My daughter.”
Fearghus flinched. “By the dark gods—you didn’t get in the training ring with her, did you?”
“I had to make sure Brastias was right before I ever talk to her mother.”
“And?”
Briec smirked. “I’m sure.”
“I could have told you that myself.” He handed his brother a rag lying on the table. “Blood’s dripping.”
Pressing the rag to his face, Briec said, “I heard from Gwenvael this morning.”
“And?”
“There’s a cult from the Ice Lands coming for Annwyl.”
“The Ice Lands?” He’d heard people lived there but could never imagine anyone surviving that horrible terrain. “Shouldn’t be too hard to spot then. We’ll alert our troops near the Outerplains—”
“He thinks they may be traveling underground.”
Wonderful. Fearghus exhaled and briefly closed his eyes. “Has luck deserted us completely?”
“No. But nothing’s ever easy. Not for us. Don’t worry, though. We’ll take care of it.”
“We will?”
“Gwenvael had a suggestion; I agreed it was good, so we set Éibhear to do the rest.”
“Why Éibhear?”
“Father never hits him.”
“Gwenvael’s grand plan involves Father?”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got it under control.”
Fearghus doubted it, but he was in no mood to argue and was simply grateful his siblings had stood behind him and Annwyl during all this. They were an annoying lot, but they were his.
The servant appeared again at the bottom of the stairs, indicating he’d done what Fearghus bid. Knowing Annwyl was resting and out of hearing range, he straightened, motioned his brother back a bit, and swung his fist overhead, bringing it down on the table. The table splintered and buckled where his fist landed. Both Rhiannon and Talaith jerked back from one another, Talaith with her dagger now in hand and Rhiannon with a spell on her lips.
“You come here,” he said to his mother, keeping his voice low and barely controlled, “and call my mate a whore, and then you’re upset you don’t get a polite welcome?”
“I didn’t call her a whore.” When everyone simply stared at her, Rhiannon clarified, “I didn’t call her a whore to her face…today.”
“Then what’s going on?”
Rhiannon’s hands landed on her waist and her foot tapped against the floor. If she were in dragon form, it would be one of her talons. “I simply didn’t understand why neither of these two idiots didn’t contact me sooner?”
Talaith slipped her dagger back into the sheath tied to her thigh. “Contact you so you could call her a whore to her face?”
“I called her a whore when I thought she’d bedded another.”
Fearghus walked toward his mother. “And now?”
“And now I know differently.”
He couldn’t help but be a little suspicious. “What? Just like that?”
“Aye. Just like that.”
No, something was wrong. He looked from one witch to another, the three at different levels of skill—Talaith centuries behind the other two but catching up quickly—and he knew they were hiding something.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Rhiannon stroked his cheek and gave him a soft smile. In this moment, she wasn’t the frightening Dragon Queen who ruled with an iron tail. She was his mother. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in her touch. “My son, there is nothing to worry about. We’re simply going to try to find a way to get her energy back up so she’s not dragging for the next few weeks.”
His mother was lying to him. He knew it, deep in his bones. Yet he couldn’t push further, because he wasn’t ready to hear the truth. Not now. Because he knew she wasn’t lying to hurt him—she was lying to protect him.
“All right?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “All right.”
Talaith looked up at Briec, her eyes narrowing on the open wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. “What happened to your face?”
Briec stared at her a long moment before calmly replying, “Nothing.”
And Talaith didn’t seem remotely convinced.
“A little tired, are we? Feet sore?”
Dagmar gritted her teeth and answered, “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t fine. She was in agony. Her feet were not sore—they hurt! She could feel sores developing with every step she took. Her muscles had begun to scream in protest as well. And her forehead burned from the low-hanging two suns above her, the clouds that always hid them not providing nearly as much cover as she always believed they did.
Dagmar had always thought her occasional brisk walks around her father’s fortress had kept her in shape. However, the laborers kept the even, tiled grounds clean. The main road to Spikenhammer, tragically, was riddled with rocks and deep indents she didn’t see until her foot encountered one. Nor was the road one, straight path, but instead a winding route that went up and down hills, which also meant the city wasn’t nearly as close as her eyes and those inaccurate maps had led her to believe. For more than three hours they’d been on this road with no apparent end in sight and the dragon seemed more than comfortable continuing.
“Sure you don’t want me to fly? I can swoop us right in there so your tiny royal feet won’t have to touch this dirty, mean-spirited ground a moment more.”
His sarcasm certainly had gone up a notch since he’d discovered she’d lied to him. But, to her surprise, he hadn’t insi
sted they return to her father’s lands immediately. It was strange being around someone whose behavior she couldn’t easily predict. She’d always relied heavily on that particular skill.
“And get us shot down in the process?” she asked. “Spikenhammer does not allow your kind beyond its gates.”
“It may not allow dragons, but I can assure you dragons are in there somewhere. We’re everywhere.”
Dagmar stopped walking, disturbed and fascinated by his statement. “Even on my father’s lands?”
“You had me there.”
“You don’t count.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “And no, no. There couldn’t have been. I would have noticed. Unlike those who are fooled by the Magick of gods, I am not. I would have noticed,” she said again, desperately trying to convince herself more than him.
“How?” He pointed at the crest on his surcoat. “True, you knew of this army, but do you know every crest of every army that’s been destroyed over the centuries?”
“Because of course the Horde dragons must be as vile a gang of liars as the Southland dragons.”
“Just admit it. You’ve probably had Lightnings in and out of your fortress and never knew. Some soldiers passing through, trying not to look too tall or always in their cloaks to hide their purple hair. There’s no shame in not noticing. We’ve been fooling you humans for eons. Why should we change now? For instance—”
“Ahhhhh!” Dagmar fell forward, her foot stuck in one of those infernal holes in the ground, her arms stretching out before her to brace her fall. Her hands slammed into hard, unforgiving Northland ground, her tender palms torn open by the jagged rocks and bits of glass, stone, and other trash littering the area. Her breath left her in one big “woosh!” and her spectacles flew off her face.
Of everything, the loss of her spectacles worried her the most.
She reached out, her eyes squinting, trying to find the small round frames she’d come to depend on so much. When she got home, she would beg Brother Ragnar for several new pairs.
“No one’s ever taught you to fall, I see.”
Exhausted, in pain, and afraid she’d broken the only things that could help her see clearly, Dagmar glared at the dragon beside her. He’d crouched down next to her, so his form only blurred at the edges. “No, Lord Gwenvael, no one has ever taught me to fall.”