What a Dragon Should Know (37 page)

“I will.” He tried to wipe his face and Dagmar took a clean cloth from the pocket of her dress and wiped his tears for him.

“You won’t tell, will you?” he asked. “That you found me crying.”

Dagmar rested back on her calves and said, “Your secret will always be safe with me, Éibhear the Blue.”

Gwenvael leaned over and stared down into the crib. The girl frowned like her father—no, that wasn’t right. She frowned like
his
father. And that did nothing but make Gwenvael rather nervous. Especially with those bright green eyes watching him so intently as if she were debating whether to cut his throat or not. Her brother, however, had quickly grown bored of staring and gone back to sleep.

Thankfully, his niece and nephew
looked
human. More human than he’d hoped to expect. They had no scales, no wings—no tail, which would have been awkward in the best of situations. They looked like every other human baby he’d ever seen.

Except that they appeared to be three or four months old physically and yet they already moved as if older than that. He’d give them a few days before they could roll over and crawl just like most hatchlings.

Gods, what else did their future hold? As it was, he could feel the Magick surrounding them. No, that was wrong. It didn’t surround them. It poured from them. Out of every pore. They were still weak and terribly vulnerable, but one day … One day their power would be phenomenal.

“How are they?”

Gwenvael glanced over his shoulder. Fearghus lurked in the doorway, unwilling to enter.

“They’re doing well. They’re healthy. Seem to have all the important parts and nothing in addition we have to worry about.”
At least not yet.
“You should take a look.”

“No. I need to go back to Annwyl.”

“I understand.” Gwenvael reached down and scooped up the girl. He’d done that earlier and immediately put her back down. She clearly wanted to be left alone, but he needed the same reaction he got the first time. And he got it. Her face turned red and she began screaming.

“What are you doing?” Fearghus demanded. “You’re upsetting … her or him.”

“Her. And she’ll stop eventually.”

But he knew she wouldn’t. Gwenvael’s arms weren’t the ones she wanted holding her at the moment.

Aye, very similar to how newly hatched dragons behaved.

The boy’s eyes snapped open. Like his father’s and grandfather’s, they were a coal black and at the moment, quite angry. He started screaming too, because his sister was and he was not happy about it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Fearghus reached over and took his daughter from Gwenvael’s arms.

“Clearly she wants to be left alone!”

“I was just trying to help.”

“That was not helpful, you idiot. That was stupid.”

“She’s not crying now.”

Fearghus blinked and immediately gazed down at his daughter.

“She has Annwyl’s eyes.”

“True.” He sat his brother down in the chair beside the cribs. “But the boy has yours.”

He readjusted the girl into the crook of her father’s left arm and then placed her brother in the opposite arm.

“See? Your eyes.”

“But Annwyl’s hair.”

“Aye. And I can tell by the look in his eye—he already knows he’s trouble.”

“I’m sure you’ll help him with that.”

“Me? Of course not. I don’t need any competition.”

Gwenvael busied himself around the room until he knew Fearghus was comfortable with the children he held in his arms; then he crouched in front of his brother. “You know, Fearghus, I bet they’d like to meet their mum.”

Fearghus winced, his eyes blinking rapidly. “What?” he asked, torn between being confused and angry.

“Just for a few minutes.”

He calmed down, understanding what Gwenvael meant, and nodded. “Right. You’re right.”

Gwenvael helped his brother stand and followed him to Annwyl’s room. It was unbearably quiet except for the sounds of Annwyl’s labored breathing. Together, they placed the babes next to their mother on the bed. Immediately, the little ones clung to her, their tiny fists already able to grab what they wanted.

Fearghus knelt by the side of the bed, picking Annwyl’s limp hand up and holding it between his much bigger ones.

Gwenvael briefly squeezed his brother’s shoulder and started toward the door. It was only a flash, but he saw the hem of white robes pass by. He rushed out, closing the door behind him.

“Morfyd. Wait.”

She waved him off. “Leave me be, Gwenvael. Please.”

He watched her run away, for once unsure of what he should do next. A few minutes later, Brastias stalked around the corner, stopping abruptly when he saw Gwenvael standing there.

“Well?”

Gwenvael started to say something, but really he had nothing to say. He shook his head instead.

“Is she—”

“Not yet. Soon.”

Brastias rested back against the wall, his eyes staring off. He and Annwyl had always been close. A kind of brother and sister who had been through hell together. The general glanced around the hallway, suddenly standing up straight. “Where’s Morfyd?”

Gwenvael watched the human male for a long moment before he motioned with his hand down the hallway. “In her room, I suspect.”

Brastias headed off, and Gwenvael felt his heart break for all the things he couldn’t do to help his kin.

Morfyd ran into her room and slammed the door shut. She pressed her forehead against it and finally let the tears explode out of her.

She’d failed. She’d failed everyone. Her brother. Her friend. And now her niece and nephew.

And it had been she who’d held the dagger that cut Annwyl open. Something her mother had never done before, but Morfyd had. Only two of the ten she’d helped this way had not survived, their pregnancies troublesome from the beginning. Yet Annwyl had been too weak. Her body simply drained. They’d had no choice but to cut the twins out or risk losing both mother and children.

She knew Annwyl had made her choice. She believed what Dagmar had told them. But none of that made Morfyd’s failure any easier.

Then she’d come in as Fearghus and Gwenvael placed the babes on their mother. Like any hatchlings would, they wanted their mother’s attention and were annoyed they weren’t getting it, but were not yet at the age they could reason why. But Fearghus knew why, and the pain of that showed on his face.

Of all her kin, she was closest to Fearghus and the thought that she’d let him down, that she’d failed him in something so important, tore her in ways she never thought possible.

“Morfyd?”

Startled at the voice from the other side of the door, she stumbled back.

“Morfyd, open the door.”

“I … I need some time …”

“Open the door.”

Not bothering to wipe her face, Morfyd pulled open the door and quickly stepped away from it, turning her back.

She’d let Brastias down too. She knew how he felt about his queen and his comrade. They’d faced death together many times, Annwyl and Brastias. This was hurting him too.

“I’m so sorry, Brastias,” she sobbed. “I’m so—”

He was there, in front of her, pulling her close, his arms tight around her.

“You’ll not say that again,” he told her gruffly. “You’ve done all you could. Now I want you to let it go, love.”

She did. For hours. Sobbing into the poor man’s surcoat until she practically passed out in his arms from exhaustion.

Izzy dashed up one of the highest hills within three leagues of Dark Plains and screamed into the night,
“What have you done?”

When there was no immediate answer, she bellowed, “Don’t you dare …
Don’t you dare ignore me!”

The flame-imbued lightning flashed out and Izzy barely moved in time as it struck at her feet.

“Ordering me?” a voice she knew as well as her mother’s boomed.
“Me?”

“You should have protected her! I told her to trust you!”

Rhydderch Hael, the father god of all dragons, appeared. He did not come out of the darkness as much as he was a vast part of it. His dragon body stretched for what looked like miles and his hair glowed in the moonlight. She’d seen him three times now like this. Before her mum had sacrificed herself to save Izzy seven months ago, she’d only met Rhydderch Hael in her dreams. If it was urgent, she’d hear him in her head.

Lately, however, things had changed. He’d appeared the first time while she’d been off practicing with her spear by one of the lakes. She’d tried to hug him, but she couldn’t even hope to reach her arms around him, so she sort of ended up squeezing his enormous dragon neck. They’d talked for hours, and Izzy had promised never to tell that he’d come to her in physical form. But his voice could still pop in her head unbidden. Like it had that morning when he told her it was time for Annwyl’s babes to be born.

She’d given her childhood heart to Rhydderch Hael a long time ago. And then she’d given her soul in order to save her mother.

“We all make sacrifices, little Izzy.”

“You’re a bastard,” she snapped. “A right bastard.”

His dark violet eyes flashed and his twelve-horned head lowered a bit. “And I’m still the god you’ve committed your life to. Your loyalty is to me.”

“My loyalty is to my kin. And they’re my kin. You’re not.”

“You say dangerous words, little Izzy.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care because my queen is dying. And it’s all your fault.” She wiped her face and realized at that moment that she was crying. “I know you’re a god, and we mean nothing to you. But just remember, those babes are your creation. No one will protect them like their own mother. Like Annwyl. No one.”

Rhydderch Hael yawned and motioned her away with his claw. “Go home, little Izzy.”

His black dragon body shimmered, and then he was gone. And she felt the betrayal all the way to her bones.

* * *

Dagmar stood outside Gwenvael’s door. She’d almost knocked three times. This wasn’t like her. Not knowing how to handle something. She handled
everything.
But she didn’t know whether stopping by would be … inappropriate? That seemed the best word.

Their one night together did not mean anything more than what it was.

But she was worried about him. Everyone seemed to be taking all of this so hard. Even the servants and the soldiers. On her way in, she’d passed poor Izzy running out. She didn’t bother trying to stop her, knowing the girl needed her own time to deal with this.

She knew Gwenvael loved Annwyl, and she felt the almost overwhelming need to care for him, which seemed absolutely ridiculous.

Besides, would Gwenvael even want that kind of comfort? At least from her?

She hated feeling like this. Insecure and confused. It wasn’t like her, but she guessed everyone had these moments.

The door was snatched open and she looked up into Gwenvael’s face.

“How long were you going to stand out here?”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I just—”

He grabbed her hand and dragged her into the room, slamming the door shut. He pulled her over to the bed and pushed her onto it.

“Roll onto your side,” he ordered. “Facing the window.”

“All right.” She did as he bade, the bed behind her dipping a bit as Gwenvael, fully dressed, crawled in behind her. His arm wrapped around her waist and he moved in close behind her. He rested his chin against the top of her head, and they both lay there staring out the window.

Neither spoke, nor moved, and they remained where they were until the two suns rose the next morning.

Keita the Virtuous, a name recently given to her that would cause her brother Gwenvael to roll around the floor and laugh like a hatchling should he hear it, stared out over the cold, hard lands of the Northlands. She was in Horde territory, standing on the flat mountaintop of the Olgeirsson Horde lair, and all she could see for miles and miles in either direction were more snow-covered mountaintops.

But for nearing two weeks now, she’d been trapped in this place … with
these
dragons.

She had yet to meet a Lightning who wasn’t a barbarian. Appalling manners, distasteful habits, and brains the size of cooked peas. Every day had been a new experience in dealing with idiots.

Yet, as with most idiots, they were crafty enough.

Her talons brushed the steel collar locked around her neck. A long chain went from it to the spike buried in the floor and surrounded by several-feet-deep marble.

Aye. Crafty cretins, one and all. They weren’t smarter than her, but she’d realized quickly that aggression would only put her in deeper. They were used to Southland females like Keita’s mother, Queen Rhiannon. No matter the situation, Rhiannon only reacted with aggression and violence. Morfyd had always been weaker, but she wasn’t above using her Magicks to fight off her enemies. Unfortunately for Keita, her Magick skills were basic. She was a dragon, so automatically a Magickal being by nature, but she had no spells that could move mountains or turn a dragon’s blood to metal spikes. When she shot flame, it came out straight and true. Her mother’s flame could snake around corners and into crevices. She used it like a whip.

Her brother Briec also had skills far superior to many dragons, Fearghus a little less. But Keita, Gwenvael, and Éibhear only had the dragon basics, which meant she had to find other ways out of this hell.

What helped her, though, was the fact that there seemed to be nothing but males around her. Big, lonely males who were ready to settle down with a mate and have hatchlings of their own. Because females were so scarce, they’d have to fight for her in a tournament called The Honour. Brother against brother, kin against kin—all to be the one to Claim Keita. To put their brand on her, as if she were some farmer’s cattle.

That may have been her mother’s way, but it wasn’t what Keita wanted. It never would be. She liked her life just as it was. With human males hard and ready at the asking, beautiful gowns, and the freedom to go anywhere she pleased at any time. She answered to no one, and that included her mother or some male who thought he might own her.

For two weeks, she’d been amusing herself with the idiot kin of Olgeir the Wastrel, blocking her whereabouts from her parents and siblings. She knew her brothers well enough to know they’d come for her. They’d die for her, and she’d die for them. But after one night among the Olgeirsson Horde, she knew the risk they would most surely take would be unnecessary.