G.A. Aiken Dragon Bundle: The Dragon Who Loved Me, What a Dragon Should Know, Last Dragon Standing & How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (66 page)

Taunting him had been pleasurable since she hadn’t appreciated the way he’d spoken to his son. And although Gwenvael had described the older dragon to her as some kind of murdering lizard, her instincts told her something else—she just wasn’t sure what that was yet. Who was Bercelak the Great, and why oh why did she desire to taunt him the way she did her own father?

“Why are you really here, Northlander?” he demanded.

She smiled because she could tell it annoyed him. He wanted her frightened and scurrying away. Not likely.

“Why I’m here is my business and the business of Queen Annwyl. Perhaps you should tend to your own, Consort.”

He stepped closer to her. “Do you really want to challenge me,
human
?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

“Do you think I’m like my son? That the fact that you’re female sways me in any way as it does him?” He leaned down a bit, his face a tad closer than she would have liked. “There is no kindness in me. No softness. No caring. And I’ll stop at nothing to protect my kind.”

“Then you and I, Lord Bercelak, have much in common.”

“Tell me why you’re here, little girl. Tell me, or I’ll tear you apart.”

She debated whether to believe him. Was he evil? Pure and simple? Was there no reasoning with someone so filled with hate and rage, who had no softness about him at all?

Following her instincts as she’d always had, she challenged, “Do your worst. I
dare
you.”

His nostrils flared, the black smoke curling out from them increasing, and she saw fangs.
That’s new.

“Granddaddy!”

Both Dagmar and Bercelak jumped as Izzy charged into the Great Hall from the courtyard, running across the table, only to throw herself directly onto the dragon’s body.

“They told me I’d just missed you at the lake,” she squealed, delighted.

Her arms wrapped tight around his neck, her legs around his waist, she kissed his cheek. “I haven’t seen you in ages! Where have you been?”

“Uh…Izzy…” He folded his arms across his chest, trying desperately to keep that scowl on his face. “Get down from there,” he snapped.

Without seeming to notice his tone, Izzy did just that.

“Morning, Lady Dagmar,” she said cheerfully.

“Good morn to you, Izzy.”

The young warrior stood in front of Bercelak, her light brown eyes glowing. “So what did you bring me?” she asked, though it sounded a bit more like a demand.

“What?” He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Her entire body shimmied like one of Dagmar’s dogs when she held up a favored toy. “You always bring me something! What did you bring me?”

“Can we not talk about this later?” he snarled viciously, even making Dagmar think of running.

But Izzy only stomped her foot and snarled back, “Give me!”

Through gritted teeth, “Back.”

Now she frowned. “What?”

“Back,” he said again and added a quick motion of his head.

Izzy walked behind the dragon and squealed again, making Dagmar wince. The young girl ran back around, a gold and jeweled dagger in her hand.

“This is beautiful!” She danced from foot to foot in front of the dragon and said in one long rush of words, “I’ve never had anything so beautiful before in my entire life and I love you and I can’t wait to show Branwen—she’s going to be so jealous—and you are so amazing!” Then she added, “I love you, love you, love you!” She leaped up into his arms and kissed his face until the dragon couldn’t hold the smile back anymore.

“Would you stop that!” But he didn’t seem to really mind.

“You are the best grandfather a girl could ever have!” She kissed his forehead and jumped back down. “I can’t wait to show Branwen!” she cheered again, running toward the exit of the Great Hall. “And Celyn!”

He’d been trying for that angry gaze again, glaring at Dagmar, when Izzy’s last words caused him to look nothing but panicked. “You stay away from Celyn!”

She only laughed. “You sound like Dad!” Then she was gone.

Turning back to face Dagmar, he seemed not to appreciate the smirk she couldn’t stop.

“You can get that look off your face, little miss. Izzy’s different. And she’s the only one. Except for her, my soul is empty. No room for anyone human.”

“That’s it!” Talaith said as she marched down the stairs. “No more wine for me.” As she landed on the bottom step, she stopped and smiled. “Bercelak! I didn’t know you were here.”

Much steadier now and recently bathed, she walked over to them and reached up to hug the dragon. “I’m so glad to see you. How are you doing?”

“Fine. Fine,” he said gruffly.

She stepped away from him, his hand held by hers. “And what brings you here?”

“He’s here to see Annwyl,” Dagmar filled in. “I was just going to take him to find her myself.” She grinned, making sure to flutter her eyes a bit as Gwenvael did. It annoyed her; why wouldn’t it annoy his father? “I simply can’t wait to get to know him better.” She placed her hand over her heart. “He reminds me of my own dear father.”

“Try the stables,” Talaith suggested, completely missing the glower Bercelak seared Dagmar with. “She’s been hiding in there lately. I think she misses that war ox of hers she has the nerve to call a horse.” She beamed up at Bercelak. “I do hope you’re staying. We haven’t talked in ages.”

“Um…yeah, well…”

She released his hand and stepped away.

“Oh…uh…” Bercelak glanced at Dagmar, then muttered, “The queen wanted me to give you this.” He yanked a pouch hanging from his belt and handed it to her.

Talaith tugged the pouch open. “The Fianait root!” And just as quickly her face fell.

“It’s not the right one?” he asked, obviously concerned.

“It’s not that.” She let out a breath. “I’m just so frustrated. I work on these spells, and I see what I want. But dammit, Bercelak, I just cannot make it come together. The power is there. The energy. But I simply can’t control it. I’m getting frustrated.”

“It’ll take time to hone the power within you, Talaith,” he patiently explained. “You’re being too hard on yourself. Too impatient.”

She rolled her eyes and smirked. “I know. I don’t need you to tell me; I hear it enough from your son.”

“But apparently you’re not listening. The queen has already offered to help you; you should take her up on it.”

“She must be busy, though.”

“She’ll make the time for you. Besides, she needs the break. The Elders are making her insane, and her worries over Annwyl…” His gaze strayed to Dagmar and he finished with a mutter, “Just have Briec bring you. Or I can take you.”

“That is so sweet!” Then Bercelak was being hugged again. He glared at Dagmar over Talaith’s back, and Dagmar grinned, making sure to show him
all
her teeth.

“I simply don’t understand it,” Talaith said, pulling away from Bercelak. “How can
you
possibly be the father of Briec the Arrogant? You are so nice and he’s so not. It amazes me.”

Talaith winked. “Try to stay for dinner tonight,” she said before walking away.

Dagmar absolutely adored the silence that followed Talaith’s exit, knowing the growling, snarling dragon was feeling completely uncomfortable.

“This changes nothing,” he finally barked.

“Oh, I know. Big, scary…
you.
” She mockingly slashed at him with her hand and added a little roar sound.

“Now you’re just irritating me.”

“I know.” She took his arm. “So why don’t we find Ann wyl? I’m positive she detests you and I’m sure nothing will change that.”

“I guess that’s something,” he grumbled.

Morfyd held her hands up, her body blocking the doorway. “No one is going back to the hall until you all calm down. There will not be a family free-for-all.”

“I say free-for-all for everyone!” Gwenvael cheered.

“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.