by G. A. Aiken
“Thank you, General.”
Annwyl hugged Izzy again, then asked, “Why are you here?”
Izzy pulled back, gazed at her queen. “I was told I was requested.”
“Requested? By me?”
She shrugged. “I really didn’t know, but I knew it wasn’t Mum because she usually contacts me herself if she needs me to come home.” As a practicing witch, her mother was able to talk to Izzy directly using only her mind, just like Rhi could, the distance between them meaning nothing. But, and Izzy appreciated this, her mother didn’t contact her that way often. Instead she wrote to Izzy regularly to fill her in on the day-to-day events of life at court and saved contacting her through her mind for emergencies and such.
“Well, I didn’t send for you. I wanted you to concentrate on those ogres.”
“It’s been handled. Their leader is dead. I left my next in command to round up and execute any stragglers.”
“Good. But that’s honestly all I’ve needed from you the last few months, Iz.”
“I didn’t send for you either, Izzy,” another voice called out.
The queen blinked, her gaze still locked with Izzy’s. “Why is your sister hiding behind that boulder?”
“At first it was for safety. But now I can only imagine she’s hiding out of fear of telling you the truth.”
“The truth?” Annwyl sighed, her eyes briefly closing. “What did the twins do now?”
“Nothing!” Rhi rushed around the boulder, her hands twisting together in front of her. “It was my fault. I promise.”
“It’s never your fault,” Annwyl said.
“But it was this time. I . . . I overreacted.”
“Which meant The Girl was doing something.”
Rhi stomped her tiny foot. “You always accuse her! And it wasn’t her fault!”
“You do always accuse Talwyn,” Izzy reminded Annwyl, making sure not to laugh when her queen rolled green eyes skyward.
“Fine,” Annwyl said with a very heavy sigh. “It wasn’t The Girl’s fault. You just overreacted to . . . nothing?”
“It doesn’t matter. I overreacted. Badly. I think I hurt her.”
“Hurt her how?”
Rhi used the tips of her fingers to comb loose silver curls behind her ears. “I used Magicks to . . . to . . . throw her and Talan. He hit the Great Hall wall, but Talwyn went out the door and into the buildings across from the courtyard.”
“I see.” Annwyl stared down at her niece, her face very stern. “And tell me true, Princess Rhianwen . . . did my daughter’s hard head damage my wall?”
Izzy snorted and quickly looked off. Rhi, however, was typically appalled. “Aunt Annwyl!”
“What? It’s a valid question. You know that girl’s head is as hard as her father’s. Do I need to call in the stone masons again?”
“I don’t understand this family!” Rhi charged before she stalked off. Poor thing . . . she stalked off often around her kin.
“Nicely handled, my liege.”
“I still say it was a valid question. Stone masons cost money, you know.”
Talaith was gently wiping blood from Éibhear’s head when Rhi stormed into the Great Hall.
Talaith turned, watching her daughter head up the stairs.
“What’s wrong?”
“This family is ridiculous!”
Shaking her head, Talaith went back to her task, muttering low, “I’ve been warning her of that fact since birth. Yet she always seems so bloody shocked.”
“I can hear you!” Rhi yelled from the stairs, startling them both.
“She flounces quite well,” Éibhear noted when his niece disappeared in a flurry of pretty pink satin and silk.
“Your brother always tells me I taught her how to flounce, but I’ve caught Keita giving her lessons several times.”
“It’s definitely a Keita flounce, with a bit of me mum thrown in.”
Talaith chuckled and dunked the cloth she held in a bowl of water, squeezing the material to get out the excess liquid. While his brother’s mate had her head down, Éibhear watched Izzy walk into the Great Hall with Annwyl. Izzy saw him before Annwyl, her eyes growing wide at the sight of him, then narrowing suspiciously. He grinned and her eyes narrowed more. But when Annwyl turned toward him, he quickly changed the grin into a wince and placed his hand to his head.
“Éibhear? Is that you?” Annwyl rushed to Talaith’s side. “Gods! What happened to you?”
“Those idiot brothers of his,” Talaith complained. She again pressed the cloth to his head.
“What is wrong with them?” Annwyl petted his cheek. “You poor, poor thing.”
Behind the women, Izzy’s mouth dropped open and she gawked at him.
“It’s all right,” Éibhear said, lowering his eyes to look more sincere and to give himself a moment to get control in the face of Izzy’s outraged expression. “I’m sure they didn’t mean it.”
“They just don’t deserve you as a brother,” Talaith nearly snarled.
“I’ll go talk to them,” Annwyl said. But she cracked her knuckles. “Right now.”
Izzy cut in front of Annwyl, forced a smile. “Why don’t I talk to them? Daddy listens to me.”
“You want my sword?”
Izzy blinked. Hard. “No. I don’t think that’s necessary. To talk to my father and uncles that I adore.”
“You want me warhammer then?”
Deciding not to answer Annwyl, Izzy turned and faced her mother. “Hi, Mum.”
Talaith went up on her toes and hugged Izzy tight. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Did you send for me?” she asked.
“No.” Talaith stepped back. “I didn’t. Why?”
“Ragnar said she was wanted home,” Éibhear explained.
“That didn’t come from me.”
“Dad?”
“You’ll have to ask him. I’m not talking to him right now.”
Izzy cringed. “Again?”
Lips pursed, Talaith turned from her daughter. “He’s in the war room.”
Izzy headed off, but as the other women focused back on Éibhear, Izzy turned on her heel and shook her head at him in disgust. Too bad for her that only made him laugh a little.
After getting Gwenvael off the floor and fetching cold cloths for her father and uncles’ heads, Izzy asked, “So Mum has been right all this time.... You do continue to fight with him.”
“He started it,” they stated in unison and Izzy rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers.
“That’s pathetic. You’re his wiser and older brothers . . . and Gwenvael.”
Gwenvael smiled. “I missed you, too, Iseabail.”
She kissed the dragon’s golden head. “And I you. But I still don’t know why I’m here.”
The three dragons looked at each other and back at her, then shrugged.
“Why are you here?” her father asked.
“Didn’t you send for me?”
“No.”
Fearghus cracked his neck. “Last we heard, you were killing ogres. Why would we stop you from doing that? We know how you enjoy it so.”
“Ragnar said I’d been sent for. At least that’s what he told Éibhear.” She briefly studied the males. “And why were you fighting with Éibhear?”
“He didn’t like what we had to say about why he was sent to the Mì-runach.”
“Although, he was lucky,” Briec argued. “It could have been the salt mines.”
“Did sending him away have anything to do with me?”
“Sending him away?” Fearghus shook his head. “Of course not, Izzy. We’d never do that.”
“Good.”
“But keeping him away? Aye. That we did.”
Izzy winced and had to admit, “That doesn’t seem fair to him.”
“Perhaps, but it seemed easier that way,” Briec sighed.
“Easier for whom?”
“For me. Was I not clear on the importance of me?”
&nbs
p; Izzy smiled at Fearghus and Gwenvael. “I love my daddy.”
Briec sniffed. “Of course you do.”
Éibhear grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table, shaking his head as he bit into the fruit.
“Ragnar didn’t tell me who asked for her,” he said around the bite of fruit in his mouth. “Then again, I didn’t ask.”
Annwyl, who was sitting on the table and ramming the wood with a dagger, demanded, “How could you not ask?”
“By not opening my mouth and speaking.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You and that sarcasm.”
“I was actually just being honest.”
Talaith checked Éibhear’s head wound again. “That ointment I put on there should help heal this by tonight.”
“Will it leave a scar?”
“Do you care?”
“Maybe. If I’m left hideous, will you still love me as you do?”
Talaith folded her arms over her chest. “Who says I love you now?”
“You do . . . with your eyes.” Talaith and Annwyl laughed, and Éibhear, grinning, reached blindly over for another piece of fruit. But what he now held in his hand didn’t feel like an apple. More like a melon . . . covered in chain mail.
Confused, he looked over and realized that he’d inadvertently taken hold of Izzy’s right breast. Even worse, his three brothers stood behind her, all of them focused on where his hand met her chest.
Éibhear raised his gaze and met Izzy’s. They stared at each other, with Éibhear’s hand still . . . there.
Izzy raised a brow and asked, “You just going to leave it there?”
“Well,” he answered honestly, “it is comfortable.”
That’s when Gwenvael slapped his hand off and Briec and Fearghus began pummeling him, slamming him to the table. He didn’t have to look to know Izzy had walked away.
Chapter 12
Izzy grabbed some clean clothes from her old room and went down to one of the lakes to take a bath. She scrubbed herself clean in the cold water, trying not to think too much about having Éibhear’s hand on her. It surprised her, the effect that one touch had had on her. Surprised and annoyed her. She shouldn’t have any feelings about Éibhear’s hands being anywhere—except maybe a slight loathing.
Izzy went under the water once more, hoping the cold would make her forget everything. It didn’t.
But as she walked to shore, she smiled at the woman serenely waiting for her by her clothes.
“Lady Dagmar,” she greeted.
“General Iseabail.”
“Something wrong?”
“There is some . . . thing in my dog kennels. Eating metal, wood, and rocks. And shitting. Everywhere.”
“Is he shitting metal, wood, and rocks? Because that would be fascinating.”
Prim lips pursed, Dagmar tapped one toe and Izzy giggled.
“I hate that thing, Izzy!” Dagmar finally exclaimed, laughing with her. “Hate it.”
“He is loyal and I love him. You said the loyalty of a dog is all.”
“I lied,” the Northlander told Izzy flatly. “He’s ugly. He farts. Constantly. He drools. He’s always dragging that giant penis of his around!”
“How is that his fault? And what am I supposed to do about that? Force him to wear doggie leggings?”
“Well, do something because the first thing he did was escape from his run and then try to mount every one of my in-heat bitches he could get next to.”
“Was Mum upset about that? Annwyl? Because they are Claimed by others.”
The toe-tapping began again, but Dagmar was having a hard time with that smile. She couldn’t quite hide it. “Not those bitches, dear niece. The four-legged ones.”
“Ahh.”
They both laughed and Izzy hugged her aunt. “Don’t worry. I’ll take him to my house. I’ll probably stay there anyway while I’m home.”
“You’re getting me soaked,” Dagmar complained, playfully pushing Izzy away. “I can’t be coldly calculating when I’m covered in lake water.”
“Never fear, dear aunt. You’re coldly calculating no matter what you do.”
“You’re staying at your house?” Dagmar asked, never one to let something slip by her.
“I like my house. Gwenvael had it built for me.”
“He did. But you only stay there when you’re meeting with some man—”
“Dagmar!”
“—or you’re avoiding another fight with your mother. But usually it takes a little time for you two to get into a good, frothy battle of wills, and I haven’t heard anything about you sleeping with anyone at the moment—”
“Wait. How do you know when I’m sleep—”
“—so that leaves a third option, which I’m going to assume is you’re avoiding dear, sweet Éibhear.”
“Dear, sweet who?”
Éibhear stepped out of the tub and grabbed a giant cloth to dry himself off.
Home only a few hours and already two fights with his brothers and a tit grab with Izzy. Although the tit grab had been an accident. Not that his brothers wanted to hear that. They just wanted to believe he was the kind of bastard who would run around grabbing a woman’s breast without compunction.
Of course, if it had been anyone else, he would have immediately released that breast, but his hand had been comfortable. So what was a dragon to do? Besides, Izzy hadn’t seemed to mind too much and it was her breast after all.
But leave it to his kin to turn something so innocent into the worst offense ever known to dragon or god.
Bastards.
Éibhear pulled on a pair of black leggings. Clothes that he’d left behind a decade ago and, to his annoyance, his brothers were right. He’d grown since he last stayed in this room. His hips were still narrow, but his thighs barely fit into the material and he wouldn’t discuss how the bottom of the leggings did not reach to his ankles. They barely covered his calves.
“I need to get new clothes,” he decided, reaching for the things he’d just taken off to have his bath. He loathed putting them back on since they were covered in travel dirt, but at least they didn’t make him look foolish. His kin made him look foolish enough, no need to assist them further with that. But before he could get his hands on the calfskin leggings, there was a knock at his door.
“What?”
The door opened and the wounded male he’d seen earlier in the Great Hall walked in. Éibhear wouldn’t say he recognized the tall boy as someone he knew, but he recognized those black eyes.
The boy looked him over. Smirked. “Uncle Éibhear?”
“Talan.”
“Yeah.” He walked in, closing the door behind him. “Aunt Dagmar said you may need these.” The boy handed him a stack of clothes. “And I see by those leggings . . . she was right.”
Éibhear chuckled, shrugged. “I seem to have outgrown the clothes I left behind.”
“Clearly.”
While Éibhear changed into the clothes—and thank the gods, they actually fit—the boy lifted the fur cape Éibhear had lying across the bed.
“What is this made of?”
“Buffalo. They’re all over the Ice Lands, used for their meat and hides. There’s little the Ice Landers don’t make good use of.”
“What’s it like there?”
“Cold. Very, very cold.”
“Did you hate it there?”
“No.” And realizing that surprised Éibhear. “I wouldn’t like to set up a cave there. Or live there in my later years.” He moved his shoulder around and cringed when he added, “Our scales tend to freeze together. I can’t express to you how unpleasant that can be. Especially when you’re about to go into a fight.”
Finally dressed in clothes that fit and weren’t made of rough animal hide, Éibhear sighed. He’d forgotten what it was like to put his human form in nicer clothes; to sleep in an actual bed, to eat food he hadn’t beaten into submission himself.
“So you’re the infamous Éibhear the Contemptible,” the boy said.
<
br /> Éibhear faced his nephew. “I am?”
“That’s not your name?”
“That’s my name, didn’t know I was infamous.”
The boy studied him, arms crossed over his chest. For someone so young, he was amazingly confident.
“Would you train with me?” Talan asked.
“If you’d like.”
“I watched you kick the shit out of my uncles and father. That’s what I’d like to learn.”
“That was just brotherly—”
“Abuse?”
“Some might say. But I prefer good-natured—”
“Brawling? Battery? Assault? Destruction?”
Éibhear shrugged. “Depends who you talk to.”
“So no one knows why I’m here?” Izzy asked while she dried off her body.
“You weren’t summoned by any of us, that I know of,” Dagmar said, “but I am glad you’re here.”
“Why?”
“I have concerns.”
Uh-oh. Dagmar didn’t mention “concerns” unless she was terribly worried.
“Concerns about what?”
Dagmar sighed, looked off. “Oh, where to begin . . .”
Uh-oh.
They invaded quietly, like the Mì-runach. Slipping into his room while he talked to the boy. First, there was Talan’s twin, Talwyn. A beauty that one, but dangerous. Unbelievably dangerous. Like her mother. But in those green eyes there was none of the love combined with insanity that Éibhear had always seen in Annwyl’s. What kind of leaders would these twins make? Both seemed surprisingly cold, but curious. Like jungle cats that toy with the wounded deer found lying by a tree. They poke with their paws, bite down with their fangs. They test, taste, and wonder . . . is it worth tormenting anymore? Or is it already dead?
But then he met his youngest niece, Rhianwen. She was now called Rhi by everyone and just sixteen winters. She was, in a word, beautiful. Stunning. And he could see why his brothers were so protective of her. Not only because of her beauty—beauty could be found anywhere. It was that wonderful, bright smile; that inherent innocence; and that intense goodness. Her warmth. While her cousins sized Éibhear up like a very large bug they’d found under their beds, Rhi came to him, arms opened wide, tears in her eyes.