by G. A. Aiken
“Can’t help it. He’s beautiful.”
“And loyal.”
Talaith smirked. “Yes. Loyalty.”
“Don’t worry, Mum. I have no intention of killing the old bitch. I still think this is an insane idea, but if there’s a chance she can help . . .”
“Do you think that’s why I’m worried about you going? It’s not. While I’m sure my mother will be more than happy to help your sister, she’ll have no use for you, Izzy. And those she doesn’t have use for—”
Izzy took her mother’s hand, held it to her chest. “Leave her to me. I promise to be careful. Very careful.”
“And what about traveling through the Desert Lands? It’s a vast region, Izzy.”
“I have maps and—”
“No worries,” Izzy heard from another stall, and she dropped her mother’s hand and spun around to see Éibhear standing by the horse he’d rode into Garbhán Isle just a few days before. “Oh. Sorry to startle you. Just cleaning out the muck from this one’s hooves.” He patted the horse’s rump. “Isn’t that right, girl?”
Taking the horse’s reins, he led her out of the stall. “As I was saying, Aidan lived quite a few years in the Desert Lands with an uncle. So he’ll be leading us once we cross Southland borders.”
“Oh.” Talaith looked back and forth between Izzy and Éibhear. “I didn’t know you’d be going with Izzy on this trip.”
“Mum wants us to handle the Iron dragoness if she turns out to be a true problem. It’s not the first time the Mì-runach have taken on this type of excursion. Besides, it’ll be nice to see where you come from, Talaith.”
“Right.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, but she didn’t question Éibhear, which seemed strange since one of Briec’s biggest complaints about his mate was that she asked too many damn questions.
“Well,” Talaith said, going on her toes as Éibhear came down a bit so she could kiss his cheek. “Both of you be careful. And I hope you’ll be back in time for the harvest festival.” She kissed Izzy’s cheek. “Good luck, luv.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
Talaith stepped back, looked both over again, then said, “Yeah, well . . all right then.” And off she went, cutting around Éibhear and his horse to head out the door.
Once her mother was gone, Izzy faced Éibhear and stared at him.
He smiled. “Well, you ready then?”
Aidan yawned and wished, again, that he was back in bed where he belonged. Honestly, the things he was sometimes forced to do for friends . . . which was probably why he didn’t have a lot of them.
He glanced over at Uther, watched the dragon in human form stick his nose against his horse’s neck.
“You can’t eat it, Uther.”
“I know.”
“Then stop smelling it.”
“It’s not my fault he smells yummy.”
“We’ll find you something to eat once we get on the road.”
“Why are we doing this again?” Caswyn asked. Instead of sniffing his horse, he merely laid his crossed arms over its back and his head on his crossed arms. A few times Aidan was sure he’d heard snoring. Then again, Caswyn was one of the few dragons he knew who could sleep while standing up . . . and with his eyes open. Aye. It was off-putting.
“Because Éibhear’s a desperate idiot,” Aidan replied to his comrade’s question.
“That’s what I thought.”
The gorgeous Lady Talaith walked out of the stables. And, gods, she was gorgeous. If her mate wasn’t a clearly unstable monarch whose brothers were even more unstable, Aidan would at least display his wingspan. He’d always found there was something about gold dragons in the early-morning suns with their wings unfurled that could entice any female. But he’d heard enough from Éibhear and his own kin—when he was still forced to talk to them—about the insanity of the Gwalchmai fab Gwyar and Cadwaladr bloodlines to know that there were some females simply not worth the risk.
Although if there was one who might possibly be risk-worthy. . .
As she walked by them, Aidan saw a mother’s concern on that beautiful face and felt the need to assure her. “We’ll take very good care of your daughter, my Lady Talaith.”
She stopped, looked at each one of the Mì-runach, smirked, and said to Aidan, “When my daughter is being a general, her legion’s well-being is of utmost concern to her. However, when she’s doing things without her legion, she’ll take risks that most would consider highly dangerous. Hence the name, Izzy the Dangerous, that she’d received long before I’d met her. So I say this as someone who is sure that all of you have someone who cares for you the way I care for my daughter—whatever you do, don’t let her get you killed. Because something does tell me . . . she’s really going to try with you lot. She’s going to try very hard.”
They watched the royal walk off.
“What was that about?” Aidan asked his comrades. His stupid comrades.
“Don’t know,” Uther sighed. “But I do like that dagger she’s got holstered to her leg.”
“Aye,” Caswyn agreed. “Very sexy. I think it’s her thighs.”
“Could anyone,” Aidan asked, “be as stupid as you two?”
“Before you get upset—” Éibhear began, but Izzy cut him off with a slight wave of her hand.
“No, no. I’m not upset.”
Éibhear forced himself not to shield his head with his hands. He just knew she was going to throw something at his head. “You’re not?”
“No. It’ll be good to have Aidan along with us if he truly knows his way around the Desert Lands.”
“He does. Even knows where to find the Nolwenns.”
“And the Mì-runach as protection? Could a general ask for more?”
“I guess not.”
“Then that’s fine. Let’s get going.”
She turned and he took a quick step back, but she merely grabbed the reins of her horse and his and headed out of the stables.
Beginning to panic, Éibhear looked around, expecting to see an arrow flying at his head or an assassin with a poisoned knife hiding in a corner. But there was nothing.
Shaking his head, muttering to himself about being foolish, he followed after Izzy. He’d just stepped outside the stables when a smelly, drooling, snarling mass of dirty, disgusting fur collided with his head, knocking him to the ground.
Izzy watched her dog express exactly what she was feeling without her having to do anything. Say anything. Dagmar had to give orders to her perfectly bred dogs. But that wasn’t necessary with Macsen.
Éibhear grabbed hold of both sides of Macsen’s neck, holding him tight, but the dog kept snapping, kept trying to rip his face off.
“Call him off!” Éibhear yelled. “Or I’m setting the bastard on fire!”
Izzy gave a short whistle and Macsen pulled back. Éibhear released him and the dog jumped off his chest and walked around him, snapping at his head once more before going to Izzy’s side and sitting at her feet.
“See?” Izzy said, pointing at the dog. “That’s loyalty. Loyalty and he listens to me. I find that invaluable.”
Éibhear got to his big feet, brushing dirt off his leggings and fur cape. “He’s a dog, Izzy.”
“Yes. Just a dog. And yet he still manages to be better than you.”
She mounted Dai, patting his big neck once she was seated. “I won’t try to stop you from coming with me, Éibhear. But if you get in my way, I’ll crush you and the Mì-runach scum with you. Clear?”
She didn’t wait for him to answer, simply turned her horse around and, with Macsen running by Dai’s side, she went off to the pub where Celyn had taken Brannie for a little late-night drink.
Éibhear went out of his way not to look at his comrades, focusing on Izzy riding away from them. Besides, he didn’t need to see his fellow dragons’ faces to know exactly what they were thinking.
“You fucked her, didn’t you?” Aidan demanded.
Éibhear shrugged, still not looking at
them. “Maybe.”
“Do you know how I can tell? Because she hates you.”
“It’s not hate. It’s confusion. I’ve overwhelmed her with my—”
“Stupidity?” Aidan shook his head. “When your brothers find out—”
“Let’s deal with one nightmare scenario at a time, shall we?” Éibhear snapped.
“Are we really going to do this?” Aidan asked him. “Because from what I can tell she hates you; her mother just gave us dire warnings; and you had what I can only term as a pathetic, love-sick look on your face even while she was threatening you and all of us.”
“Was that what I was looking at?” Uther pulled back his top lip in disgust. “I find that disturbing.”
Fed up and unwilling to talk about any of this, Éibhear strode to his horse. “Mount up, Mì-runach. We ride!”
Chapter 25
Brannie opened her eyes and briefly wondered when she’d gotten on her horse. And why she’d gotten on her horse. And why she seemed to be riding somewhere on her horse.
She blinked, trying to clear her vision. She was so tired and a little sick, the motion of her horse not exactly helping with that.
When her vision was a little more clear, Brannie looked around. Izzy was riding ahead of her, Éibhear behind. Both seemed to be pouting.
Surrounding Brannie were the other Mì-runach.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To the Desert Lands,” Aidan said, sounding annoyingly chipper this early morning. And loud. Why was he yelling?
“Why are we going to the Desert Lands?”
“To face witches and possibly kill a treacherous Iron dragoness, unless this is all an elaborate trap and they kill us first, of course.”
Brannie let out a long sigh. “I kind of knew I’d regret drinking with my brothers last night—I just had no idea how much.”
First meal was a mostly silent affair, with everyone concerned about . . . well, about everything.
Even Dagmar, who tried not to worry about little things since Talaith and Morfyd were so good at that, was concerned. Concerned that Annwyl would be plunging them into a war with the Kyvich. Although now that she thought about it . . . that wasn’t really a little thing, was it?
Rhi charged down the stairs, dressed in a pretty gown, a fur cape around her shoulders and her bag with all her art supplies over her shoulder.
“Good morn, all!” She reached around her mother, taking a loaf of bread. She tore off a piece, shoved it in her mouth, and cheered, “I’m off to draw!”
“Stay near the castle grounds,” Briec ordered. “And away from the Kyvich.”
“I will, Daddy.” She kissed him on the forehead and walked out.
Waiting a few extra seconds, Dagmar nodded at one of the female guards and she followed Rhi out.
Unbeknownst to Rhi, Dagmar always had the girl followed once she was outside the castle gates. She’d tried to do the same with the twins, but the guards kept losing sight of them. Although it took some time for Dagmar to find out about that because the guards had always been afraid to tell her. So, instead, they’d finally told Annwyl and she told Dagmar. She tried not to think too much about the fact that the guards had been less worried about telling Annwyl the Bloody they’d lost track of her children than of telling Dagmar.
While the guard went out the door, Frederik was coming in. Only one of the double doors was open and Dagmar watched the poor boy try to move around the well-armed and well-armored woman. It was kind of like an awkward dance.
Letting out an annoyed sigh, the guard moved back and allowed Frederik through. He came in quickly, heading for the stairs.
“Have you eaten, Frederik?” Annwyl asked him, causing the boy to stumble over his own feet. But at least he managed not to fall on his face.
“Uh . . .”
“That sounds like a no.” She pointed to the table. “Food. You need to eat.”
He walked over to the table, then walked into it, stepped back, then sat down in a chair across from Dagmar.
“Good morn, Frederik.”
He nodded, but didn’t look at her. “Auntie Dagmar.”
Talaith got up from the table and proceeded to get him a bowl of hot porridge and some bread while Annwyl widened her eyes at Dagmar and motioned to Frederik with her head. Dagmar didn’t like to be ordered by anyone to apologize, but Annwyl was queen and since she didn’t stop nodding at the boy, Dagmar could only guess that the monarch was serious.
Letting out a little sigh, Dagmar began, “Frederik, about yesterday . . . about what I said—”
“Good morn, my wonderful family!” Keita announced as she walked into the Great Hall with Ragnar. “How is everyone this beautiful morning?”
“Why are you in such a good mood?” Briec’s eyes narrowed. “Who did you kill?”
Laughing, Ragnar walked around Keita and sat at the table, reaching for one of the platters of meat.
“How dare you?” Keita snapped at her brother. “To suggest that I—”
“Oh, aye,” Annwyl laughed. “Someone’s dead somewhere.”
Keita walked over to Frederik and placed her hands over his ears. The poor thing, he was beginning to look completely traumatized.
“Must you say such horrible things around the boy?”
Gwenvael chuckled. “I very much doubt the boy cares.” He focused on Frederik and yelled, “Do you, Frederik?”
Dagmar glared at her mate. “Why, by all reason, are you yelling?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Leave the boy alone.” Keita moved her hands from his head and leaned down, yelling at the boy, “Are you enjoying your time here, Frederik? Is there anything we can do for you?”
Dagmar slammed her hands on the table. “Why are you both yell—”
“That reminds me,” Ragnar cut in, his calm, reasonable voice snapping her back.
“Reminds you about what?”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a book and a small wood box. He walked around to Frederik, moved his porridge out of the way, and put an open book on the table in front of him. “Can you read that?”
“Ragnar?”
He held his hand up at Dagmar, silencing her.
“I can,” Frederik said low. “Just not very well.”
“Right.” Ragnar crouched down next to him and pulled a pair of spectacles out of the box he held. Taking his time, he placed them on Frederik, adjusting them behind the boy’s ears and around his nose. “Now look again.”
The boy shrugged, his gaze moving to the book in front of him. He stared. Blinked. Leaned in a bit. Blinked.
“I . . . I don’t understand.”
“It seems you have the opposite of what your Aunt Dagmar has. She has trouble seeing far distances. You have trouble seeing close up. That’s why you struggle with reading. It probably gave you headaches when you tried to read? Your eyes felt tired?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you teach yourself not to squint?”
Frederik looked over the glasses at Dagmar. “I used to squint. My father said it made me look weak. So . . . I stopped.”
Dagmar, shocked, focused on Ragnar. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “It was a guess. And the more Keita and Gwenvael talked to the boy, the louder they became. Before Frederik arrived, they only seemed to do that with you.”
“But”—Keita covered the boy’s ears again, and whispered—“he still seems clumsy and awkward. You don’t want to convince him that these pieces of glass will cure all his problems.”
“You have a point.” Ragnar reached across the table, grabbing a piece of fruit from a bowl. He tossed it to Talaith. “Lady Talaith. If you please.”
Talaith shrugged and pitched the fruit at Frederik’s head. Dagmar cringed, afraid it would hit him directly in the face. But he caught the fruit in his hand. Without even looking.
“Oh.” Keita stepped back. “I see.”
“So do I.” Dagmar pus
hed her chair back and stood.
“Where are you going?” Gwenvael asked her.
“To write my father.” She walked toward the hallway that would lead to the small office she kept inside the castle, her two dogs slipping out from under the table and following her. “This level of deception and lies must be addressed immediately.”
“Aunt Dagmar—”
She stopped, faced the boy, raising a single finger. “No, Frederik. There’s nothing more to discuss.”
Frederik lowered his gaze. “I understand.”
Gwenvael rested his chin on his raised fist, smirked at Dagmar. “What are you going to do with him, my love?”
“What do you think?” Dagmar demanded. “Keep him! I’d never send a plotting little liar like this back to the dullards of my family. Oh, no. I will keep you, boy, and I will train you, and I will use you to the fullest extent of your twisted capabilities.” She clapped her hands together. “I’m so damn excited!”
She spun around and again headed to her office, but she heard Gwenvael say to the boy, “Welcome to the family, Frederik.”
They stopped for a brief meal break in the woods not far from the road they were traveling. Izzy sat down next to Brannie, offering her some dried beef and bread.
“Are you still not talking to me?” Izzy asked.
“I’m hungover. But you can’t just keep kidnapping me anytime you want to do something ridiculously dangerous.”
“But if I ask you when you’re sober, we spend hours arguing before you just finally agree. This cuts down on the arguing.”
Her cousin glowered at her. “You are a plotting little cow and some days I loathe you.”
Izzy put her arm around her cousin’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “But most days you love me because there’s nowhere else you can get this level and diversity of combat training.”
“Yes, I just need to survive long enough to enjoy the benefits.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be general before you know it.”
“Unlike you, that has not been my lifelong goal. I do have a question, though, cousin.”