What a Dragon Should Know (39 page)

They weren’t here to give their condolences, or to offer assistance. In fact, she knew exactly what they were here for.

Knowing this would turn ugly very fast, Dagmar went to put her plan in motion.

Gwenvael cut in front of his father, pressing his hands against the old dragon’s shoulders and stopping him midway down the Great Hall steps.

“Father, no.”

“You dare come here?”
Bercelak snarled at the dragons in the courtyard with such lethal anger that Gwenvael feared the veins pulsing across his father’s temples would burst.

The Elders had shifted to human and wore the boring, brown robes they brought with them. Four of them stepped hastily back at Bercelak’s angry words, but only Elder Eanruig had the balls to look bored.

“There is no disrespect intended, Lord Bercelak,” Eanruig sighed. “But I made it clear to Her Majesty that we would come for the babes after they were born.”

Gwenvael and his father locked gazes before Gwenvael swung around and demanded, “What now?”

“We’ve come for the babes, young Prince. They will leave with us and be raised where we choose is best for them.”

“You’re not taking those children.”

“The Elders have decided, Lord Gwenvael, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I don’t care. You’ll not take those children. Fearghus will decide where they live and how they are raised. Not you. And not some bloody council.”

Briec came down the steps from the Great Hall, stopping beside Gwenvael. “What’s going on?”

Their father couldn’t even answer. He simply shook his head, his hands resting on his hips as he paced back and forth on the long step.

Gwenvael looked at his brother, the anger fairly choking him. “They’ve come for the babes.”

Briec focused on Eanruig. “Under whose authority? Clearly not our mother’s.”

The Elder smirked, and Gwenvael winced when Briec began to yell in his head,
We’re killing him! We’re killing him right now!

Gwenvael placed his hand on Briec’s shoulder.
We can’t. Let’s just be calm.

Fuck calm!

“The Council has made its decision, Bercelak the Black—”

“You’ve
made the decision,” Bercelak cut in. “This is about you!”

“—I would strongly suggest you don’t stop us from doing what we’ve come to do.”

Dagmar came around the corner of the castle. She gave Gwenvael a small wink and motioned to Addolgar and Ghleanna who stalked in behind her.

“Lord Gwenvael,” she said, smiling softly, “who do we have here?”

He passed a quick glance to Briec.

What the hell is she doing?
Briec demanded.

Trust her, brother.
For Gwenvael certainly did.

Going down the stairs, Gwenvael grasped Dagmar’s outstretched hand and said, “Lady Dagmar this is Elder Eanruig of our Council. Elder Eanruig, this is Dagmar Reinholdt of the Northlands. Only Daughter of The Reinholdt.”

Eanruig puffed up a bit when he realized Dagmar was as close to Northland royalty as one could find among the warlords. “Lady Dagmar. It’s an honor.”

She gave a small bow of her head. “I’ve read so much about the mighty Dragon Elders of the Southlands. And I am most honored to meet you.” She gave the most innocent of smiles. “So what brings you here today?”

Eanruig sighed sadly, making Gwenvael want to pull the bastard’s lungs out through his nose. “We heard about poor Queen Annwyl and we’ve decided that for the safety of her children, we should take them under our protection.”

“Ahhh,” Dagmar nodded. “I see.”

“What’s this?” Ghleanna asked, stomping forward. “I don’t understand. What are they saying, Dagmar?”

“It’s very simple,” Dagmar explained cheerfully. “For the safety of the twins, the Council has decided to rip them—in a sense only, of course—from Fearghus even as we are preparing the funeral pyre for Annwyl’s eventual death.”

Eanruig gave a smug chortle. “It’s not that simple, my lady.”

“No, it is,” Dagmar countered, still cheerfully. “You see, Ghleanna, if Elder Eanruig has the twins, he has control over the queen, because she’d never do anything to risk her own grandchildren.”

Now Eanruig frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Don’t be shy,” she praised, latching on to the Elder’s arm, a bright smile on her face. “It’s brilliant politically. Think of it. He who controls the twins, controls the queen. Yet if she denies Elder Eanruig the babes, he can rally those who’ve never been large fans of Queen Rhiannon anyway to his side and start a delightful civil war.”

Ghleanna crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And we’re letting him get away with this?”

Eanruig snatched his arm away from Dagmar. “There is nothing to get away with, Low Born,” he sneered. “What the Council decides to do is none of the business of the Cadwaladr Clan.”

“He’s right, Ghleanna,” Dagmar cut in. “This has to do with the royal bloodline and those connected directly to it like Bercelak. Unfortunately”—she seemed to mock Ghleanna by winking at Eanruig—“that has little to do with you or Addolgar.”

“Bercelak is our brother.”

Dagmar patted Ghleanna’s forearm. “This is about bloodline, dearest. Am I correct, Elder Eanruig?”

“You are,” he snidely agreed.

“And coming from a low-born bloodline, you have no real connection to the Dragon Queen or any say in these decisions. Now, why don’t I get the babes?” She smiled at Eanruig.

“Thank you kindly, Lady Dagmar.”

As Dagmar walked up the stairs, Ghleanna scowled up at Bercelak. “You’re going to let him get away with this, brother?”

Sighing dramatically, Dagmar took hold of Bercelak’s arm.

“What choice does he have?”

“He can strike the bastard down.”

“No. He can’t. Nor can Briec or Gwenvael. Because of their connection to Queen Rhiannon, they could never strike an unarmed Elder down. Even if openly challenged … as some might consider this situation to be.”

Ghleanna blinked, her scowl lessening. “ ’Cause they’re directly connected to Rhiannon?”

“Right.”

“But we’re not?”

“Unfortunately, you’re just meaningless low borns who could easily interpret this as a threat to the twins and act accordingly.”

Eanruig frowned. “Wait … what?”

“Well, they are low borns, my lord,” Dagmar stated flatly as they all watched him back away. “What exactly did you expect?”

Even if Eanruig was hundreds of years younger, he’d never have been able to move fast enough. He was a politician, like Dagmar, not a trained warrior. He had no speed, no skills, and no hope of outrunning a battle-trained dragoness who was quite pissed off.

Ghleanna sliced through Eanruig’s human body with her sword, cutting him from right shoulder to left hip. As she pulled her blade from his torso, his screams making the observing humans run for their lives and the other Elders scramble away in fear, Addolgar’s blade was slicing through the air overhead, slamming into the middle of Eanruig’s skull. The weapon didn’t stop its descent until it came sliding through the Elder’s groin.

And with that, the screaming stopped.

Flames briefly burst and Eanruig’s human remains returned to their natural form. Dagmar felt nothing as she stared down at what remained of Elder Eanruig. Perhaps it should have been other babes he’d set his sights on, but he’d come after Annwyl’s. That had made it almost a pleasure to work with the Dragon Queen to make sure the laws of her kind would protect Ghleanna and Addolgar, who’d been told nothing and yet reacted as Rhiannon guessed they would.

Ghleanna raised her blood-covered weapon and pointed it at the remaining Elders falling over each other. “Now listen up, you lot. As of this moment, Fearghus the Destroyer’s twins are under the protection of the Cadwaladr Clan. You come near them again without express permission from one of us or the queen herself, and the Cadwaladrs will come down on you like wolves on a wounded deer. We will tear the walls of Devenallt down around you and show you what the true meaning of civil war is.” She stepped closer. “Don’t fuck with my kin, or I’ll kill every last one of you and leave your rotting bones in front of the dens of your offspring.” She flicked her sword up, Eanruig’s blood splattering across the Elders, before she shoved it into the sheath tied to her back.

“Get out of our sight. And never come back here again without an invitation.” When the Elders only stared at her in mute horror …
“Move!”

The old dragons shifted and slammed into each other as they fought to get away.

Brushing one hand against the other, Ghleanna headed back toward the training grounds Dagmar had dragged her and her brother from.

With a wink and a smile, Addolgar followed after his sister.

Dagmar realized she had the attention of Gwenvael, Briec, and Bercelak. “Yes?”

“She’s good,” Briec muttered.

“That she is.” Gwenvael slid his arm around her shoulders, his lips grazing against her temple. “With an impeccable sense of timing and knowledge of our bloodlines.”

“Don’t be nosey.”

“Tricky, tricky, tricky.”

“My Lady Dagmar!” A young soldier called out as he ran toward her. “Lady Dagmar!” He slid to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

“Take your breath first, lad, and then tell me what you think I need to know.”

Hands on his knees, his breath coming in gasps as he bent over at the waist, he finally spit out, “You told me to tell you if I heard anything—”

“Yes, yes. What is it?”

“About three hundred leagues from here, my lady. Hoof prints.”

“You’ll have to tell me something a little more interesting than that, I’m afraid.”

“Pairs. What I mean to say is pairs of two hooves, marching, side by side. And then they just disappear. We can’t find where, although it looks as if they disappeared into rock.”

Not disappeared into rock, she’d wager, but
under
it. The way of the Ice Land Minotaur. Not only could they find their way underground with ease, but they could also cover their tracks quite well. They didn’t fool her. She’d bet they’d gone underground several leagues from where those tracks were found, most likely aware Annwyl’s army had been warned of their coming.

Dagmar motioned the young soldier away. “Good work. Tell General Brastias if he doesn’t already know.”

“Aye, m’lady,” the young soldier promised before running off again.

She nodded at the dragons who watched her expectantly.

“They’re here.”

Gwenvael found his brother where he’d been for the last three days. He hated to bother him now, but he’d received his orders from Fearghus himself three days before.

“Brother.”

Fearghus raised his head. “Aye?”

“Dagmar has received word that the Minotaurs are near. We’re all meeting now with Father, Ghleanna, and Addolgar in the war room to discuss next steps.”

“Fine,” Fearghus said, his voice sounding very weary. “I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t have to. We can take care of—”

“These are my children’s lives we’re talking about,” he cut in. “I’ll be right there.”

Fearghus didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t get snappy as he was known to do in simpler times. Instead he no longer showed any emotion at all.

“We’ll wait for you,” Gwenvael said, and left.

Dagmar heard another shout and then more slamming from behind closed doors, but it was Talaith who jumped at the noise yet again.

“I can’t concentrate when they get like this!” She looked at Dagmar. “How do you ignore it?”

“You so clearly have not met any of my family.”

Talaith let out a breath and returned to the book in front of her.

Dagmar glanced over at the woman. She hadn’t been sleeping, the circles under her eyes a clear indication of that. Instead she spent nearly every moment trying to help Annwyl in a last ditch effort to save her life. Or, on occasion, helping Dagmar. “Talaith, perhaps you should get some rest?”

“I can rest when she’s dead,” she answered gruffly. Then, horrified at her own words, she shoved the book away from her and covered her mouth with her hand. “Good gods.”

Dagmar rested her hand on Talaith’s shoulder. “There’s only so much you can do.”

“I know. But I can’t stop hoping that Morfyd or I will find something, anything, that can bring her back. Even Rhiannon’s power won’t hold for much longer.”

Dagmar sat back in her chair, her maps and notes spread out in front of her. “Tomorrow?”

Talaith shook her head, immediately understanding what Dagmar’s real question was.

“More like tonight.”

“Does Fearghus know?”

“Has anyone told him? No. Does he
know?
I strongly think yes.”

Letting out a breath, Dagmar sat up and began to lean over the maps again when she saw him. He strode through the doors and absolutely no one paid him any mind. Considering the way the security had been ridiculously amplified—at Gwenvael’s firm direction—the fact that no one would even look his way irked her. She’d specifically added that even dragons in human form were to be questioned or Gwenvael’s kin alerted.

“Who is that?” She motioned to him with her chin and Talaith looked directly at the dragon.

“Who? Samuel the washing boy?”

Dagmar frowned and looked again, quickly realizing Talaith spoke of the boy currently on his knees scrubbing the floor.

“Not him.” She searched for him again and saw him casually walking up the stairs. “Him.”

Talaith stared blankly at the stairs. “Who?”

“You see nothing?”

“Am I supposed to see something?” She made it sound as if Dagmar had lost her mind. Dagmar knew witches like Talaith and Morfyd could see what others could not, but as long as Dagmar wore her spectacles, she wasn’t blind. She knew what she saw … so why hadn’t Talaith seen as well?

Pushing her chair back, she stood. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Lifting the skirt of her gown, Dagmar went up the stairs after him. As she stepped into the hall, she realized he’d disappeared. Perhaps he was someone’s lover, stopping in for a visit. Yet she heard no doors opening or closing. Saw no midmorning light momentarily streaking into the hallway as someone entered a room.