How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

by G. A. Aiken

  “Who’s that?”

  “Dagmar’s nephew from the north.” They silently watched the boy head off . . . somewhere. Éibhear had no idea where.

  “Not the brightest thing, I’m afraid,” Gwenvael muttered when the boy was gone. “But I guess he’s family.”

  “True. True.”

  The brothers faced each other, smiled; then Éibhear caught hold of Gwenvael’s hair and rammed him head-first into the wall.

  “Let’s go find the rest of the bastards, shall we?” Éibhear asked, as he dragged his unconscious brother down the hallway by what the idiot insisted on referring to as his “long, luxurious golden locks.”

  Chapter 11

  Izzy knew that walking would calm her sister down, so she took her to one of her favorite places. A stream surrounded by trees and large boulders.

  She sat Rhi down on one of the smaller boulders and took out a clean cloth from her travel bag. She wiped the tears from her sister’s face, then held the cloth to the girl’s nose.

  “Blow,” she ordered.

  After a few hiccups, the girl did as she was told.

  “Now what happened?” Izzy asked her.

  “They just wouldn’t stop bickering. Either they’re bickering out loud or in my head, but it’s constant. And Daddy just told me I could go shopping with Albrecht and—”

  “Who’s Albrecht?”

  “Lord Pombray’s son. He gave me flowers the other day and Daddy nearly burned his hand off.”

  Izzy’s laugh was out before she could stop it and violet eyes flashed in anger.

  “It’s not funny, Iseabail! He was terrified!”

  “I’m sure he was,” she said around the laughter, unable to stop.

  Rhi stood and began to pace. “You’re as bad as Daddy! The two of you!”

  “You know how Daddy is.”

  “He won’t let any man near me if they’re not family.”

  “Man? Human, dragon, god, or centaur, if it’s male and not blood, Daddy will burn the poor bloke to the ground.”

  “I’ll be a virgin forever,” Rhi sobbed.

  “Good.”

  The sobbing abruptly stopped and her sister stared at her. “What do you mean ‘good’?”

  “I mean good. I mean fucking complicates everything.”

  Rhi’s lips twitched, a smile fighting its way forth while her cheeks and forehead turned bright red. “Iseabail.”

  “And good fucking can ruin your life. So stay a virgin forever. You’ll be much happier that way. Besides, do you really want to be the one to cause all those deaths?”

  Rhi’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”

  “When Daddy gets his claws on whatever poor male sets his sights on you . . . there will be death. Death after death after death. All at the talons of one wonderful but terribly arrogant silver dragon who adores both his perfect, perfect daughters.”

  Her sister’s smile returned, but Izzy couldn’t help but think there was also some relief there. As if she’d thought Izzy had meant something else.

  “Gods, I wish he would stop saying that. It sounds awful.”

  “I like that he thinks of me as perfect. Despite my hysterical mother’s questionable bloodline.”

  Rhi sighed, shook her head. “I truly don’t know how she hasn’t killed him yet.” She blinked, her hand covering her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that. That was a horrible thing to say about Mum and Dad!”

  Izzy gazed at her sister. “Whose family do you think you belong to?”

  Éibhear tracked Fearghus and Briec down in the war room. Using Gwenvael’s head, he pushed the door open and walked in, tossing Gwenvael next to the big wood table they sat at.

  Fearghus and Briec glanced down at a groaning Gwenvael, then immediately went back to their conversation as if they were still alone.

  “We have to figure out a course of action,” Briec said. “It can’t go on like this. I feel things building.”

  “Mum suggested—”

  “No.” Briec looked pointedly at Fearghus. “Absolutely not. Rhi adores Mum and I won’t have her turned into a tiny Rhiannon.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have named her after her.”

  Briec snarled. “I did not name my daughter after Mum!”

  Éibhear stepped close to the table. “Oy!”

  The two males stopped snapping at each other and slowly looked over at Éibhear.

  “Is there something you want?” Briec asked.

  “Do you have bones in your hair?” Fearghus asked.

  Ignoring Fearghus’s question, Éibhear asked, “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

  Briec thought a moment then answered, “No.”

  “Why are you here?” Fearghus asked.

  “My commander thought it was time I came home to visit my loving kin.”

  Fearghus frowned. “Which is who exactly?”

  Briec laughed and Fearghus shook his head. “No. I mean, who’s your commander?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Because I want to know if I can trust his decision to send you back here.”

  “His decision to . . . what?” Éibhear took a moment before asking, “You lot had me sent away?”

  “It was in your best interest.”

  “But mostly our best interest,” Briec clarified. “You were becoming a right prat.”

  “And Mum would have been mad if we’d beaten you to death.”

  “So you lot had me sent to the Mì-runach?”

  “That was Dad’s idea.”

  “We suggested the salt mines,” Briec explained. “But Dad was afraid the rest of the troops would turn on you because of your incessant whining and inability to follow orders.”

  “Sending you to the Mì-runach was,” Fearghus reiterated, “in your best interest.”

  Éibhear pulled off his fur cape and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

  “Gods,” Briec gasped. “The bastard’s gotten bigger.”

  “I stopped growing five years ago.”

  “Not soon enough.”

  “Let me ask you,” Éibhear went on, determined to understand all this. “Sending me away . . . that didn’t have anything to do with Izzy, did it?”

  Gwenvael looked up from where he still lay on the floor. “It took you ten bloody years to figure that out?”

  His brothers burst out laughing and Éibhear walked close to the table Fearghus and Briec sat at. He raised his fists and slammed them against the hundred-year-old, thick wood table. It broke into three distinct pieces and crumpled to the floor.

  His brothers looked over the mess until Fearghus said, “I’m making you tell Annwyl you broke the war room table.”

  Izzy put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Everything!”

  Izzy closed her eyes so that her sister didn’t see her cross them in exasperation. Gods, had she been this dramatic when she was sixteen? Izzy doubted it. Her life had been so serious up to that point, how could she be dramatic?

  Taken from her mother right after her birth, Izzy hadn’t met Talaith again until she was sixteen. In the years before that meeting Izzy had traveled the countryside with three soldiers she called her Protectors. Men who’d left their lives and families behind just to protect Izzy from the goddess Arzhela and her followers.

  For years those followers had hidden the fact that they’d lost Izzy so that they could keep control of Talaith. It had worked too, until Briec the Mighty came along and changed everything for mother and daughter. He’d fallen in love with Talaith, making her his mate. Or, as the dragons called it, Briec had Claimed Talaith. And from the very beginning, Briec had treated Izzy as his own daughter, without question, without doubt. To a girl who’d never known her birth father, Briec’s unconditional love had meant so very much.

  “Can we narrow ‘everything’ down to something manageable?” Izzy asked.

  Rhi dropped her head, the back of her hands wiping her cheeks and
eyes. “What if I’d killed her?” she whispered.

  “Killed who?”

  “Talwyn.”

  “With that hard head she has?”

  Rhi pushed Izzy’s arm off and stalked a few feet away before facing her. “I’m not joking, Izzy.”

  She really wasn’t. Rhi was truly distraught, fingers twisted into knots, her entire body shaking.

  “But you didn’t kill Talwyn. I saw her, luv. She’s fine.”

  “But I could have.”

  “And I could have killed many over the years, but I haven’t. Mostly.”

  “It’s not the same, Iz.”

  “What’s different?”

  “I have no control.” Her hands fluttered around. “Over any of . . . of . . . this.”

  “Your Magicks?” Izzy moved closer. “What did you mean to do to Talwyn and Talan?”

  “I didn’t want them to start fighting. Again. For once Daddy was being reasonable and they were ruining it. So I only wanted to push them away from each other. Just a few feet.”

  “And they went flying.”

  “Talwyn got the worst because she pissed me off the most . . . and she was closer to an open door.” She covered her face with her hands, but Izzy could still hear her words clear enough. “And if it had been anyone but Talan and Talwyn, they probably would be dead. Their brains dashed—”

  The sobbing started again and Izzy went to her sister, pulled her into her arms. “It’s all right, luv. I’m here. I’m home. We’ll figure this out together.”

  And her sister gripped her so tight that Izzy knew she owed that big blue bastard for insisting she come back.

  Dammit.

  Talaith had gone to a nearby village to see a woman who would be giving birth soon. All was going well, but it was the woman’s first child and she was, not surprisingly, nervous. Besides, Talaith wanted father and daughter to work these little issues out on their own. Briec had to learn to listen to Rhi, and Rhi had to learn to stand up for herself without tears and foot stamping. Although Talaith was no royal, her daughter very much was. And, truth be told, if she could learn to manage her father, gods knew she could manage anyone.

  Dismounting her mare, Talaith nodded at her armed guards. “We’ll return to the village tomorrow. Sometime after first meal. I’ll see you then.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” said the older guard. He took the reins from Talaith and headed to the stables with his companions.

  Briec had insisted on Talaith having guards if she was going to be “gallivanting all over the land helping others birth more future running snacks for my kin.” Not exactly how Talaith would put it, but she had laughed.

  She headed up the stairs to the Great Hall, hoping not to find father and daughter in yet another screaming-crying match. That did nothing but give her such a headache. But when Talaith walked through the big doors, she stopped and gazed at her twin nephew and niece. Morfyd was busy sewing up a gash on Talan’s arm and Talwyn had a block of ice from the kitchens pressed to the side of her head.

  “What the hells happened?”

  The twins looked at each other and then away. “Nothing,” they both muttered, which meant it had been something. If it was nothing, Talan would gleefully make up some lie to start trouble while Talwyn would wander away, bored.

  Talaith took a quick look around. No Rhi. No Briec. Not liking that at all, she stalked back toward the war room, where Briec and Fearghus had been spending much of their time lately. And not even thirty feet away from the door, she could already hear the bloody fighting!

  Éibhear had finally gotten Briec in a nice chokehold after knocking Gwenvael out completely and possibly breaking a couple of Fearghus’s ribs. He was about to twist Briec like a piece of rope when he heard footsteps approaching. He knew from the lightness of the steps that it was definitely not Annwyl. And the quickness told him it wasn’t Dagmar. That left Talaith and Morfyd.

  He scented the air. A human female. Talaith.

  Lifting Briec up, he tossed him across the room, trying not to smile when his brother hit the wall, then the floor, gasping out, “Bastard!”

  Then he smeared some of the blood from a cut on his head farther down his face and quickly sat on the floor. He’d just rested his back against the wall when the war room door flew open.

  Talaith took one look around, her dark gaze finally resting on Éibhear. She frowned, probably confused by his Ice Lander look.

  “Éibhear?” she finally asked.

  “Talaith,” he said softly.

  She gasped and rushed to his side. “Oh, Éibhear! What did they do to you?”

  “Us?” Briec demanded, trying to pick himself up off the floor—and failing. “You’re blaming us for this?”

  “Quiet, lizard!” She studied the wound on Éibhear’s head. “You poor thing. I can’t believe your brothers did this to you.”

  “I’m all right, Talaith,” he said . . . weakly. “Really.”

  “Let’s get you out of here.” She took his arm and he let her help him off the floor. With one hand on his forearm, the other on his back, Talaith led Éibhear through the door. Although he did manage to look back at Fearghus and Briec—not Gwenvael, since he was still out cold—and smile.

  And that ball of fire that slammed into the wall right outside the door but missed him and Talaith? That only managed to make him smile more.

  Izzy decided more walking was in order for her sister because exercise always calmed Izzy when she was upset. But she’d forgotten that her sister . . . not much for exercising. Less than five miles in, she was already whining.

  Stopping to face her, Izzy asked, “Are you panting?”

  “Think we can slow down a bit?” Rhi asked, her hand pressed to her chest. “Maybe you can carry me?”

  “Aren’t you a little young to be so . . . weak?”

  “Could you say that with any more distaste?”

  “Aye. I could.”

  Izzy heard footsteps approaching—many footsteps—and she pulled her sword, motioning Rhi to get behind a large boulder. And, as she’d been trained, Rhi followed orders without complaint.

  Soldiers wearing the armor of the Elite Guard came through the trees. They were younger men, and their unadorned shields told Izzy they were still in training. In other words, they hadn’t yet left Garbhán Isle to be royal escorts.

  She also doubted they had any idea who she was because she didn’t recognize them at all.

  Plus, she didn’t have on her military armor, nor her bright red surcoat with the Queen’s crest of two dragons. Instead, Izzy only wore chain mail, worn leather boots, a dark brown cape, and every weapon she could fit on her body.

  It was the weapons that probably worried the young soldiers. The one at the head of the small group called out a warning and the soldiers dropped their shields so they created a sort of wall.

  “Speak!” one of them demanded. “State your purpose!”

  Izzy? she heard her sister whisper in her head, as if these human males could hear her as well. They couldn’t and Izzy shouldn’t be able to either, but Rhi had been talking to her this way for years, sometimes over a thousand leagues away. It was something that took Izzy a while to get used to.

  It’s all right, she assured her sister. Stay where you are.

  Izzy took several steps toward the soldiers and they immediately pulled their weapons, their bodies tensing behind their tall shields.

  Gripping her sword in both hands, Izzy pulled it back and readied for her attack, the soldiers following suit.

  “Hold!” a voice ordered and the soldiers were pushed aside as a warrior walked past.

  The red-headed soldier urgently said, “My lady—”

  “Stop calling me that,” the Queen of Garbhán Isle ordered her men.

  “Sorry, my . . . uh . . . Annwyl.”

  Annwyl the Bloody crossed her arms over her chest and gazed at Izzy. “You dare come to my lands and challenge my guard?”

  “They look like they need a ch
allenge. You’d be better off with a loyal squire. Someone young, perky, and good with your horse.”

  “Perky?” Annwyl laughed. “You were never perky, you lying harlot!”

  Izzy shrugged. “It depends on your definition of perky.”

  “My definition is not Izzy.” Grinning, Annwyl walked toward her, arms thrown open. Izzy slid her sword back into her holster and threw herself at Annwyl, the pair hugging and laughing.

  “I’m so glad you’re home,” Annwyl said. “It’s been ages.”

  “Ten moons is hardly ages.”

  “It is to me.” Annwyl stepped back, looked her over. “A new scar. From a battle axe?”

  “Angry raccoon in my tent.”

  Laughing again, Annwyl gripped Izzy’s forearm and Izzy turned her hand to grip Annwyl’s. And, as Izzy often did, she used her thumb to trace the outline of the mark burned into Annwyl’s flesh. A brand placed there by Annwyl’s mate, Fearghus. The dragon’s way of Claiming his partner for life. Annwyl wore her brands on both forearms—and, Izzy had found out while she was Annwyl’s squire, on her inside thighs—Talaith wore hers on her lower back, and Dagmar’s was right on her ass. Something the family still teased her about. Yet of all the brands Izzy had seen on her mated kin over the years, it was her grandmother’s that Izzy secretly envied. Rhiannon’s went from the base of her foot to just below her chin, winding around her entire body as a small dragon would. And when Izzy was younger, dreaming of the day some dragon worthy of her would Claim her as his own, she’d planned on a similar mark.

  “Gods, I missed you, Iz.”

  “And you.”

  Annwyl turned to her guards. “You lot, this is Izzy. But you can call her General Iseabail of the Eighth, Fourteenth, and Twenty-sixth Legions.”

  Color drained from the soldiers’ faces, their eyes growing wide.

  “General, sir!” said the one who’d been speaking from the beginning. “We apologize, sir. We didn’t know—”

  Izzy waved all that away. “I didn’t announce myself and I’m not wearing our colors, so I’d expect you to err on the side of caution when it comes to protecting our queen.”