“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. Al though 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?”
“You may have a point,” she said moments before another contraction tore through her. Her fingers ripped into the wooden slats of the gate, a piece breaking apart in her hands. This was no ordinary pain, Dagmar knew that now. She also knew they were quickly running out of time.
She passed a hard glance at Bercelak, and he nodded.
When the contraction passed, he stepped forward. “Let’s get you inside. Unless you’d prefer to have your children out here among the horses and hay like a homeless peasant?”
“Was there really no nicer way for you to ask me that question?” she asked once he had her in his arms, the two hated enemies staring each other in the eye.
“I’m sure there was, but I chose not to use it.”
“Of course.”
He headed out, Dagmar beside them, but halfway to the Great Hall, Annwyl made Bercelak stop.
“Before we go inside,” she said, panting heavily, sweat now covering her entire body. “I need you both to promise me something…”
Gwenvael stood in the middle of the Great Hall and tried hard not to panic.
“I doubt he’d actually kill her,” he said.
Morfyd slugged his shoulder.
“Ow.”
“You’re an idiot. Of course he’s not going to kill her.”
“All I know is that I left them here together and now they’re gone. Remember what happened the first time we left him alone with Annwyl?”
“That was the only time we left him alone with Annwyl.” Fearghus sat on the table closest to his brothers and sister. “So,” Fearghus asked casually, “how was last night?”
Gwenvael, not in the mood to tell his kin anything at the moment, shrugged. “Last night was fine; why?”
Fearghus’s eyes narrowed a bit, and then he snarled in disgust, “Gods dammit!”
He snatched a small leather pouch off his belt and tossed it to Briec.
Grinning, their silver-haired brother said, “Told you he’d fuck her.”
“I knew he’d try, but I thought she was smarter than that.”
Gwenvael folded his arms across his chest. “What the hell does that mean?”
His brothers glanced at him and then turned back toward each other.
“A woman has needs,” Briec explained to Fearghus. “Even a Northland woman.”
“I still thought she’d think better of herself.”
Now he was really getting pissed. “And what the hell does that mean?”
Before anyone could answer, Izzy charged into the hall and up the stairs.
“Look, brother, you have to face it,” Briec said. “You’re not exactly in her class.”
Gwenvael’s mouth dropped open in astonishment and he glared at Éibhear, who’d walked in a few moments after the rest of them.
“I didn’t say anything!” the pup cried out desperately.
“I am not in her class?” Gwenvael snarled. “I’m a Dragon Prince of royal blood and I’m not in her class?”
“She’s smart,” Fearghus said simply.
“And I’m not?”
Morfyd patted his shoulder. “You have your own special talents.”
“Yeah,” Briec said simply. “Fucking.”
“Briec,” Morfyd chastised. Sort of. She didn’t put any real venom into it.
“You’re all bloody bastards, you know that?”
Izzy charged back down the stairs, stopping briefly in front of them while she danced back and forth on her toes. Then she sighed in disgust and ran off down the closest hallway. “Mum! Come quick!”
Gwenvael began to pace. “As much as I do for this family and you have the gall—”
His tirade was cut off when they all started laughing at him. Briec and Fearghus were lying back on the table, laughing. Morfyd was doubled over. Only Éibhear wasn’t laughing, but he did look guilty.
Gwenvael guessed that was something.
Unreasonably hurt, he watched as Izzy and now Talaith ran through the hall and out the big doorway.
“You know what?” he said, turning toward his kin. “You can all burn in the deepest, fiery pits of hell. Because none of you bloody bastards—” His eyes strayed to the front of the hall and his words choked in his throat. “Fearghus.”
His brother sat up, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, until he saw what Gwenvael saw.
Talaith tapped her daughter’s shoulder. “Go upstairs to the room we’ve set up and turn the furs down.” Izzy charged off. “And then go find Brastias!”
There were things in the world Gwenvael never thought he’d see. A dragon with two heads—although humans did love to write about them as if they existed—his oldest sister performing a human sacrifice since she did seem to adore the humans so, and his father, Bercelak the Great, carrying Annwyl the Bloody as if she were spun of the finest glass.
Talaith had her hand on Annwyl’s shoulder as her gaze locked with Morfyd’s. “It’s time, sister.”
Morfyd nodded and snapped her fingers at Éibhear, yanking him out of the panic attack he was about to have, if the expression on his face was any indication. “Éibhear, go to the servants and tell them it’s time. They already know what to do. Then go down to the lake and tell the family. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is to be battle ready, just in case.”
Éibhear nodded and ran off.
Bercelak walked over to Fearghus. “You’d best take her. I think her desire to slit my throat is growing.”
“I’d have already tried,” Annwyl whispered, “but I feared you’d drop me.”
Grinning, Bercelak placed Annwyl in Fearghus’s arms.
“Take her up, Fearghus,” Morfyd ordered, Talaith already running up the stairs as Izzy charged back down and out the door to fetch Brastias.
Fearghus pulled his mate tight against his chest and nodded at his father. “Thank you.”
Bercelak grunted and watched until his son had disappeared up the stairs and down the hall. Once he was gone, he silently turned and headed back toward the doors.
“Where are you going?” Morfyd asked.
“To get your mother.” He stopped long enough to look at them over his shoulder. “I think we all know she needs to be here.”
Morfyd swallowed, her eyes intent on their father’s face. “Aye. We do.”
Without another word, their father left, and Morfyd headed toward the stairs.
Briec stood. “Morfyd?”
She stopped on the first step, her hand gripping the railing. “You’ll both need to be ready.”
“Ready?” Briec asked.
The breath she took was shaky, and Gwenvael knew his sister was fighting for strength. “You’ll need to watch out for Éibhear.” She looked at both of them, her blue eyes clear as was her meaning. “You know how close he is to her.”
With that, she lifted her witches’ robes so she wouldn’t trip and jogged up the steps.
Briec and Gwenvael stared at each other for a long time until Briec said, “I’ll go work with Brastias to make sure everything is locked down.”
Dagmar laid her hand on Briec’s arm. “I can handle the defenses while the rest of you handle this. I’ll need someone from Annwyl’s army to work with and a few laborers. I’ll take care of everything else. You won’t need to worry.”
Briec nodded. “I’ll arrange it.” Then he was gone.
Gwenvael sat down hard on the table, his eyes focused on the floor. He didn’t see the worn stone where everyone stomped day after day. He saw nothing. Felt nothing. Except lost. For the first time in his life, he felt hopelessly lost.
He didn’t realize Dagmar sat beside him until he felt her take his hand, interlacing their fingers.
“You wouldn’t lie to me—even if I begged you to, would you?” he asked.
Dagmar shook her head. “No, Gwenvael. Not about something like this.”
“I understand.”
“But I will be here. As long as you need me. If that helps.”
“It helps.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand.
And when the screaming started, she squeezed his hand tighter.
Chapter 24
Standing in the middle of the courtyard, the afternoon suns beginning their descent to nighttime, Dagmar gave the guard captain further instructions on what she wanted and sent him off. She pulled out her plans and studied them. Her overwhelming feeling of dread had made her choices confusing. Usually she knew what to do and when to do it almost immediately. Quick decision-making something she’d always prided herself on. But the gut instinct she often relied on was too clouded by the dread that had settled over Garbhán Isle. A dread that had magnified in the past hour. Because in the past hour, the screaming had stopped.
Dagmar had assisted on many births over the years. Not by choice but because it was expected of her. And in all those years the one thing she’d always known was that it was never a quiet affair. There was always screaming, crying, some laughing, and, in the case of many of her brothers’ wives, lots of cursing and promises of brutal retribution.
One look at Annwyl and Dagmar knew she was a curser. And yet now the queen lay quiet behind her closed door. Only Morfyd, Talaith, and several healers allowed inside. And outside that bedroom were Gwenvael’s kin—waiting.
Suddenly Dagmar heard screaming, but it was not Annwyl. It was the humans around her in the courtyard. They screamed and ran off. She only had a few seconds to wonder why when the wind stirred and lifted around her. She looked up and watched in fascination as a great white dragon touched her claws to the ground, her wings scraping against the nearby buildings. A black dragon landed behind her, and almost immediately they shifted to human.
Dagmar had to fight her urge to stare. The female was beautiful. Astonishingly beautiful with white hair that reached down to her toes and a long, strong body. But it was the markings that had Dagmar wanting to move closer to take a long look. The dragoness had been branded with the image of a dragon from the tip of one toe, across her foot, around her leg, swirling around her torso, back, chest, until it reached her neck. It was not a nasty brand she might have received while being held prisoner either. It was a beautiful brand of a dragon. Almost elegant in its execution with the darkest black markings against white skin. It should have marred her beauty, but it didn’t. And she clearly wore it with pride.
The Claiming that Morfyd and Talaith had told Dagmar about. Romantic? Really? Looked more painful than romantic.
Cold blue eyes immediately locked on Dagmar. “You. Servant girl. Where is your queen?”
Bercelak placed his hand on the female’s shoulder and turned so he could speak to her in hushed tones. That was when Dag
mar realized Bercelak had his own brand. This one covered his back all the way down until his ass met his thighs.
“This is Dagmar Reinholdt, my love. Of the north.” He gave something of a smile to Dagmar while motioning to the female. “Dagmar, this is the Dragon Queen of Dark Plains.”
Sizing the monarch up almost instantly, Dagmar dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “My liege. It is a great and overwhelming honor to meet you.”
“Hhhhm,” the Dragon Queen said. “One who knows the proper ways of things.”
Long legs, one of them branded, now stood in front of Dagmar. “Rise, Northlander.”
Dagmar did. “What is thy bidding, my liege?”
“Yes,” she said. “This one has been taught well.” She motioned toward the castle. “Take me to Annwyl.”
Dagmar headed back to the castle, the two dragons behind her.
“We need to put clothes on,” her consort told the Dragon Queen.
“I don’t have time for that.”
Dagmar stopped right inside the doorway leading to the Great Hall. “Your daughter left you clothes for your convenience, my liege.”
“Honestly! Humans and their weakness.”
“I couldn’t agree more, my lady.”
The queen sniffed and held her hand out. “Just give me the damn things.”
Once the queen had slipped the simple sheath gown over her head and Bercelak had pulled on black leggings and boots, Dagmar led them up the stairs and to the back of the hallway. The room had been set up specifically for when Annwyl was ready to give birth. Supplies had been stocked and at the ready and the bed had been much smaller than her own so that the healers and Morfyd could move around it easily.
As soon as they stepped into the hallway, the Dragon Queen’s offspring pulled themselves up from the floor.
The queen’s blue eyes swept across the group before she stepped next to Briec. “Where is Keita?” she demanded softly.
The silver-haired dragon shrugged and rolled his eyes. “I have no idea.”
The queen let out a sigh. “Foolish brat. I should have known…Never mind. I’ll deal with her later.” She leaned over and kissed her son’s cheek. “Briec.”
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