“I’m glad to be home.”
Princess Morfyd walked up behind her brother, patting his back. “Does my brother not look handsome, Lady Talaith?”
“Gorgeous, Lady Morfyd.”
“Stop it.” The Blue’s cheeks turned red, and he ducked his head.
“Is he blushing?” Vigholf asked.
“I think so,” Meinhard said.
“Have you ever blushed?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You’re forgetting your manners, brother,” Princess Morfyd lightly chastised.
“Oh. You’re right.” Éibhear carefully placed the woman in his arms down. “Talaith, Daughter of Haldane, this is Lord Vigholf and Lord Meinhard.”
The woman smiled, and all Vigholf and Meinhard could do was stare.
She cleared her throat and asked the royal, “Should I be running for my life?”
“No, no. I just think they’ve never met anyone from Alsandair before.”
“Ahh. I see.”
No. She couldn’t see. But Vigholf spoke for them both when he sighed out, “By the gods of war and death, my lady, you are astoundingly beautiful.”
Her grin grew, and she curtsied a bit. “Why thank you, fine sirs.”
But before Vigholf and Meinhard could fight to the death to see who would claim her hand, they suddenly had some Southland dragon in human form standing between them and their prize.
“Lightnings,” he sneered.
“Fire Breather,” they sneered back.
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “This one’s mine.”
“Oy!” came the woman’s voice from behind him.
“Tragically, this one doesn’t have wings for you to hack off anyway, but feel free to go for the one that took your hair.”
Vigholf roared at the insult, and Meinhard, hopping on one leg, reached for the battle ax tied to his back.
But good Princess Keita rushed between them. “No, no, no! All of you promised me!”
They had, and, as hard as it was, the cousins immediately apologized. The Fire Breather, however…
“I promised you nothing, baby sister.”
“You most certainly…” The princess’s words faded, and she studied Vigholf and Meinhard closely. “Where’s Ragnar?” she asked them.
Suddenly that detestable Gold known among their people as the Ruiner caught his sister’s arm and swung her around to face him.
Meinhard reached for his ax again as the Ruiner demanded, “That purple-haired bastard is here?”
Éibhear pulled his sister away from the Gold and said, “He is, and you will not act like an idiot.”
“Where is he?”
“He went off.”
The Ruiner grabbed his brother’s nose and twisted until he had Éibhear bent at the waist. “Where, you idiot? Where did he go off to?”
“I don’t know! Toward some house in the woods outside the main gates!”
“Bastard!”
The Ruiner snarled and took off running.
The silver dragon, laughing, yelled after him, “Run, brother! Run before that Lightning snatches her out from under you—again!”
“And on that note…” Princess Morfyd clapped her hands together. “Let’s get you upstairs, my lords, and get you settled.”
“I still didn’t agree to their stay—” a black dragon began.
But both princesses quickly barked out, “I don’t want to hear it!”
“Can you take care of our esteemed guests?” the beautiful Talaith, Daughter of Haldane, asked Princess Morfyd.
“Aye.”
“Good.” She caught hold of Princess Keita’s arm and dragged her toward the fortress steps. “Because this one has something to do that she’s left far too long.”
“We’re not going in there alone, are we?” Princess Keita asked, making Meinhard worried for her safety. “Shouldn’t we have guards or something to do this?”
“Stop it, Keita. They’re just children. It’s not like they bite…enough to cause permanently disabling injuries or death.”
Children?
“Explain to me why we can’t go home?” Meinhard asked.
“Because my brother’s an idiot,” Vigholf replied.
“That’s what I thought.”
“So explain this house to me, Lady Dagmar. I saw it, and I somehow knew you’d be here.”
Dagmar’s gaze roamed the room, and her accompanying smile was soft and very sweet. A smile once reserved for Ragnar alone, but now—he knew—it was strictly for another.
“I mentioned once to Gwenvael—after too much of his father’s wine, I imagine—that I’d always dreamed of having my own little house on my father’s lands. A little spinster home of my own. I said that I guess I wouldn’t get that now that I had a mate. A mate who, according to him, wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon since he knew how much I adored him and couldn’t live without his presence.” She laughed at an arrogance most couldn’t tolerate for two seconds. “A few months later, Gwenvael brought me here. He’d had the royal builders make this just for me. And it’s perfect, isn’t it? Exactly how I imagined it. I was concerned it was too close to the castle, but I am continually amazed at how lazy you dragons are. If I’m sitting right in the Great Hall, you’ll stop and talk to me or around me for hours. But to traipse a few hundred feet away from the gates to chat…that takes a taller order, apparently.”
“You forget, my good lady, that you can’t group us all together. There are many dragons, with all sorts of differences, and we hate each other equally.”
She laughed. “Good point. I always forget that.”
Ragnar reached across the table and took her hand, his gaze fixed on where his fingers stroked her knuckles. “I’m very glad to see you happy here, Dagmar. And I am sorry about how things ended for us.” No. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t look away from what he’d done. He had to face it directly as he’d done with Keita. “I’m sorry,” he said again, this time making his eyes meet hers. “For how I lied to you all those years about who I was and what I was. I truly never saw a choice and—”
“Stop,” she cut in.
Dagmar looked off for a moment, and he knew she was getting her thoughts organized as she liked to do. No dramatic emotional moments for her, and that was fine with him.
When she returned her gaze to his, it was calm and controlled. Just like her. “I’ll admit that finding out that you’d lied to me did hurt. It hurt me in a way, I imagine, no one else could have. But I’ve also come to understand why you did it. More importantly, I now know and understand that everything you’ve ever done for me, ever shown or taught me, has led me to this. Has led me to a place where I can be who I am without fear or worry. For that alone, Lord Ragnar, all past transgressions are forgiven, and I strongly suggest we leave the past where it is and move on from there.”
A weight that had been on his shoulders for far too long lifted. “Do you understand, my Lady Dagmar, that you will always be one of my greatest triumphs?”
Her smile was small but powerful, yet whatever she was about to say in return was cut off when her dog got to his feet and began to bark hysterically at the front door. A moment later, the gold dragon who held Dagmar’s heart threw the front door open and stormed in.
Ignoring the frothing dog right in front of him, Gwenvael the Ruiner focused on Ragnar. “The Liar Monk has returned, I see.”
Since it appeared they would not even pretend to honor the basic rules of greeting, Ragnar replied, “Ruiner.”
Gwenvael’s eyes locked on where Ragnar held Dagmar’s hand. “I’m beginning to feel the need to start hurting things,” the Fire Breather announced.
“Quiet.” And it took Ragnar a moment to realize Dagmar was actually talking to Canute. The dog stopped barking, but he kept growling, his eyes fixed on Gwenvael’s throat.
Noticing the dog, the Fire Breather leaned in and asked it, “Miss me, old friend?”
The barking started again, and with a sigh,
Dagmar pulled her hand away from Ragnar and walked to the door. She held it open and gestured to Canute. “Out. Now.”
Snarling and reluctant, the dog went outside, where it would most likely stare at the door until it opened again and he could be near his mistress once more.
“Why do you taunt him?” Dagmar demanded, slamming the door once the beast had gone.
“I wasn’t. That was me being nice to him.”
“Then we have much work to do, I fear. Because while you may be replaceable, Defiler, Canute is not!”
“It’s Ruiner! Even this idiot gets it right! And another thing,” the Gold went on, “when I gave you this house, my lady, I never expected you to entertain peasant males who may come wandering in unannounced, and I have to say I am extremely displeased at…cookies!”
His apparent rage gone as quickly as it had come, Gwenvael walked to the table and reached into the tin. And that’s when Dagmar slammed the lid on his hand.
“Ow! Viperous female!”
“You’re lucky I didn’t add blades to the lid so that they’d remove your fingers altogether.”
Sucking on his wounded body parts, the Fire Breather said around them, “As much as you love what I can do with my fingers? You’d only be hurting yourself in the long run.”
Dagmar slashed her hands through the air. “And now we’re done!” She grabbed the tin of cookies and held it to her chest.
Gwenvael snorted and leered, his eyes focused on Dagmar’s chest. “Like that’ll stop me.”
Not really wanting to see any of that sort of thing, Ragnar stood and said, “I guess I’ll be—”
“Why are you here, Lightning?” the Gold asked.
Ragnar had thought Keita’s moods and whims were impossible to follow. But this dragon…Ragnar had no idea how Dagmar tolerated the bastard.
“Your mother sent for me,” he replied.
“Are you her puppet warlord chief now—ow!” He grabbed his forearm and glared at his mate. “Pinching? Now we’re pinching?”
In even less of a mood for a fight than for leering, Ragnar confessed, “She asked me to pick up her sister Esyld in the Outerplains.”
The couple stared at each other for a moment before slowly focusing on him.
“Why did she want Esyld?” Dagmar asked.
“And you dragged her here?” Gwenvael demanded.
“I have no idea why she wanted to see Esyld,” he told Dagmar. “And I didn’t drag her anywhere,” he explained to her mate, “because she wasn’t there to be dragged.”
“She’s gone?”
“And has been for some time. Your mother seemed concerned about that. As did Keita. Perhaps you should talk to them about it.”
“I’m talking to you, Lightning.”
Ragnar smirked at Gwenvael. “Challenge me if you dare, Ruiner. Although I’m sure Keita will miss your presence greatly. She seems fond of you.”
“That’s enough,” Dagmar said softly. “From both of you.”
She gestured toward the door. “Let’s return to your brother and cousin, my lord. And then we can talk to Keita.”
The two males continued to glare at each other until Dagmar added, “Please don’t make me get terse.”
Ragnar could see from the Gold’s expression that he understood—as Ragnar did—that Dagmar’s terse was equivalent to a dragon army destroying an entire continent. They gestured to the front door and said to Dagmar together, “After you.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Here.” Talaith shoved the bundle into Keita’s arms. “Say hello to your newest niece since you couldn’t be bothered to come and meet her when she was born.”
“I thought you weren’t mad at me,” Keita complained, barely glancing at the child.
“And when, pray tell, did I say that? You fly off in a pouty princess rage and leave me, Dagmar, and Annwyl to deal with all that gods-damn brotherly whining that followed. You’re lucky I didn’t lock you in a room with those three.”
“It’s not like I lived here, Talaith. All of you rarely saw me anyway.”
“Very true. But your brothers have always been in contact with you. At least once every few moons or so. But this time…nothing.” Wearing simple black leggings, a sheathed dagger tied to her right thigh, black leather boots that reached her knees, and a rather large grey cotton shirt, Talaith dropped into a chair. Considering how she dressed and, to a degree, how she acted, it amazed Keita that Talaith, Daughter of Haldane, was one of the most beautiful females she’d ever met. “And why is it that we haven’t heard from you exactly?”
“If you must know,” Keita said, holding the blanket-covered baby in her arms but staring out one of the windows and the bright sky just out of reach, “I guess I was embarrassed.”
“I didn’t know any of you were capable of being embarrassed.”
“Only the females have that issue,” she said without much thought.
Talaith laughed, and, as Keita glanced over to smile back, an impossibly tiny brown hand touched her chin. Something strong and electric shot through Keita’s system, and she immediately focused on the babe.
Wide violet eyes gazed up at her from a tiny brown face surrounded by curly silver hair. Not in all her years had Keita seen anything quite so beautiful. Quite so…clear. Yes. That was the word for it. Clear. Pure and clear and untouched by centuries of anything.
Voice thick with emotion, she said, “She has Briec’s eyes. And his hair color.”
“Aye,” Talaith agreed, watching Keita closely. “She does. And you do know what that means for the rest of us, don’t you?”
Keita winced in sympathy, knowing exactly what it meant. “It means that as far as her father’s concerned, she’s the most perfect child ever to walk the world if for no other reason than she came from his loins?”
Talaith briefly raised her hands. “Now you see what you’ve left us to deal with all this time. For that alone, we should oust you from the family ranks.”
Grinning, Keita asked, “Has my brother been completely insufferable?”
“He’s always been completely insufferable. Now he’s also intolerable.” The displaced Nolwenn witch rested the heel of her foot on the chair and wrapped her arm around her bent leg. “He adores that child as wolves adore the moon. All day, every day, we all hear about how perfect she is. ‘Look how she perfectly squeezes my finger. Look how she perfectly throws up her breakfast. Look how she perfectly shits her diapers.’ It’s endless!”
Keita laughed.
“Of course you laugh. You don’t have to live with it. And what will I do if she believes him? I mean arrogance in a man is one thing, since few of us take them seriously anyway, but in a woman? And if she becomes even a tenth as arrogant as Briec, then she’ll be well on her way to becoming—”
“My mother?”
Talaith agreed with a nod of her head and a flip of her hand. “Exactly.”
Keita walked over to one of the bigger windows so she could get a good look at her niece in the bright light of day. She was an astoundingly beautiful child and barely a year and a half old, but it wasn’t her beauty that snared Keita. Nor was it the fact that she had her father’s eyes. It was what Keita saw in those eyes for someone so young. Intelligence. Vast intelligence and kindness. A benevolence and understanding that Keita had rarely seen in adult beings, much less the eyes of a child.
“Talaith…”
“I know. I know. Those eyes stop everyone in their tracks. And it’s not the color, is it? It’s like she can sense everything you feel or will ever feel.”
“If there’s truth to that, my friend, her life will not be easy.”
“I know that as well.”
Wincing that she had to ask the question because she had not been here to witness it or help, “Was it a hard birth for you?”
“Do you mean did I die, only to be brought back from the other side by a god so that I could slaughter a herd of Minotaurs trying to kill my child?”
Laughter wiped the
awkward moment away, and Keita nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
“Sorry. Nothing so exciting as what happened to Annwyl. Just your typical, miserable labor with lots of screaming and swearing blood oaths at your brother for doing this to me. Very similar to my Izzy’s birth.” Talaith studied the babe in Keita’s arms. “But this time no one took my daughter from me. This time I can hold her whenever I want to. She’s mine to raise as I like.”
Knowing the human female spoke of how the god Arzhela had secured Talaith’s obedience for some sixteen years by holding her now-eldest daughter hostage, Keita said, “Gods, Izzy must be so excited by this. Her own little sister.”
When Talaith didn’t answer, Keita looked away from her niece’s intense little face. “Talaith? You have told her, haven’t you?”
“Well, like you, Izzy hasn’t been home in two years.”
“So you haven’t told her?”
“Don’t yell at me!”
“How could you not have told her?”
Talaith rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “It just never seemed the right time.”
“Well, two years later is certainly not the right time. It’s bad enough she didn’t even know you were pregnant, but when she finds out there’s been a child and no one told her—”
Talaith slapped her hand against her leg. “You know, for someone who hasn’t deigned to reward us with her presence in two bloody years, you certainly seem aware of what’s going on. And have opinions!”
Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith and Briec, Future Champion of Rhydderch Hael—probably—Future General of Queen Annwyl’s Armies—She hoped! She hoped!—and sometimes Squire to Ghleanna the Decimator, kept her head down and tried hard not to show any reaction at all. She’d learned this approach after the first time her unit had come into one of these small towns, only to find it decimated by one of the barbaric Western tribes. When she’d first arrived as a new recruit for Queen Annwyl, the troops often went into towns just like this one, either to protect the residents or to deal with the aftermath, if they were too late. But even when they were too late, they usually found only the men dead. The women and children were taken off to be slaves, and more than once, some of the units were able to rescue them before they’d been sold at the slave market.